#its a hard choice though because i loved demon in the wood too

[doyouknowthis-grishaverse]

#grishaverse #shadow and bone #my polls #fandom polls #grishaverse polls #the grisha trilogy #ditw #demon in the wood #language of thorns #lives of saints #the tailor #my fave is the tailor i love it #its a hard choice though because i loved demon in the wood too #and the other two are beautiful books too #genya safin #the darkling #aleksander morozova #ulla morozova #baghra morozova

[j4gm]

TOGETHER AGAIN SPOILERS

A thread of lore, Easter eggs, episode connections, and background details from Adventure Time: Distant Lands: Together Again! Let me know if I missed anything! This is adapted from my original Twitter thread.

Keep reading ⬇️⬇️⬇️

1. I was expecting them to perhaps do a classic style title sequence for this episode, but I wasn't expecting them to straight up use the original title sequence. The only difference is this final screen saying "Distant Lands".

2. The background of the title cards is also the hill from the title sequence.

3. The ice cream having "50 flavours" and having an image of an enlightened soul is an obvious reference to the 50th Dead World as we see it later in the episode.

4. Continuing with the metaphor, the dirt in the ice cream could be a parallel to the fact that Jake's Nirvana actually wasn't perfect, because his inaction was allowing for injustice to perpetuate.

5. This whole scene feels immediately slightly off. Finn has his Scarlet sword and is out on a classic Ice King adventure, but he speaks in his grown voice and all the slang feels much more forced than it did in the real season one. Turns out this was deliberate.

6. The snow golem speaks with a baby voice like it did in the pilot episode, even though in canon it has a deeper voice. This further hints that something is not quite right.

7. The first major break in continuity is these snow golems resembling Uncle Gumbald and Peace Master, who Finn didn't meet until later in his life.

8. LSP sitting on Finn's head like this is reminiscent of Pen Ward's piece for the 2018 Ble crew zine.

9. Finn being given the choice of helping somebody but ending up helping everybody reminds me of "Memories of Boom Boom Mountain". It's the kind of resolution that wouldn't happen so much in the late seasons of the show, which helps make this scene feel even further out of place.

10. Jake is half frozen by Ice King in pretty much the exact same way as he was in "Prisoners of Love", and even has a very similar line.

11. The Snail is seen here. The crew have said that the Snail has been deliberately left out of previous Distant Lands specials, so its placement here is another very deliberate hint that this whole sequence is "trying too hard" to be like the early seasons.

12. The book "Mind Games" appears a couple of times, as seen in several previous episodes of Adventure Time. The first is as Finn is approaching the library in his dream. It also appears as one of the items in Finn's backpack later.

13. Jake is hurt when Finn fist bumps him with his metal arm, revealing that this scene is not real. This is also a callback to the title sequences of "Islands" and "Elements".

14. A whole bunch of familiar skeletons are seen in the bird's nest: Dirt Beer Guy, Abracadaniel, Me-Mow, Lemongrab, Mr. Pig, and the Snail again. This doesn't necessarily mean that all these characters are dead, since this scene is just a hallucination.

15. Old Man Finn! He's still got the chest tattoo of Jake, and this time we know that Jake is dead, so the theory that Jake died before "Obsidian" seems pretty likely. He looks similar to his old man design from "Puhoy", with the same facial hair.

16. There are several cameos of familiar characters who apparently died at the same time as Finn. The first is this duck, who previously appeared in "Ocarina".

17. The second is Donny, from the episode... uh, "Donny".

18. This goblin guy is an unnamed background character from “The Silent King”.

19. This old lady first appeared in "The Enchiridion", way back in season one. Old ladies are a species in the Land of Ooo, so I guess she wasn't actually very old back then, given she just about outlived Finn.

20. This is the cobbler who first appears in "His Hero". Amazing that he lived so long given all the trouble he got into in that episode.

21. Land of the Dead! This place was first seen in season two's "Death in Bloom", and now we are finally learning its actual purpose. It's a sort of gateway and hub to all of the other dead worlds.

22. There are some more minor cameos at the gates: a house person from "Donny", a soft person from "Gut Grinder", and a wood person from "When Wedding Bells Thaw". And, of course, the gate guardian himself from “Death in Bloom”.

23. Finn completely ignores the gate guardian in the same way he did in Death in Bloom. This also has the convenient effect of not having to reveal how Finn died, leaving it up to the audience's imagination.

24. Mr. Fox! We already knew he would die at some point because BMO had his skull in the finale.

25. Finn has his design from the first Distant Lands poster in this scene. Turns out it's young Finn in old Finn's clothes. But they gave him a shirt in the poster so you wouldn't be able to see the tattoo.

26. The clapping that Finn does while he's looking for Jake is a callback to "James Baxter the Horse", when Jake tells Finn to listen for that same rhythm if they are killed and need to find each other in the afterlife.

27. Mr. Fox talks about a "past life quotient", suggesting that there might be some kind of limit to how many times somebody can reincarnate. Finn's reincarnations are also seen in this scene; a callback to "The Vault", and confirmation that reincarnations share the same soul.

28. Boobafina, the goose who Mr. Fox was in love with in his debut episode “Storytelling”, apparently reincarnated into a tugboat. We've already seen that objects can have souls in the episode "Ghost Fly".

29. Finn is initially assigned to the 37th Dead World, which is the same one that Jake went to when he died in "Sons of Mars". We can only guess at what the other numbers on the ticket mean ;)

30. Tiffany! Despite several lucky escapes throughout his life, Tiffany has finally died. I like the use of this imagery to express Finn's conflicted feelings about him.

31. The 50th Dead World has long been established as the "highest" dead world, and the one synonymous with Heaven within Adventure Time's universe. It was first mentioned in "Ghost Princess" back in season three.

32. It's unclear what happens to souls which are destroyed within the dead worlds. It is a similar question to asking what happened to the ghosts that were killed in "Ghost Fly".

33. Death doesn't speak at all in Together Again because his voice actor, Miguel Ferrer, passed away in 2017 long before production began.

34. Finn phases through New Death when he tries to attack him, just like what happened way back in "Death in Bloom".

35. The 30th Dead World contains Tree Trunks as well as many of her love interests; Mr. Pig, her alien husband from "High Strangeness", Danny and Randy who first appeared in "Apple Wedding", and several more who we don't recognise, including at least one who presents as a woman.

36. Literally yelled when these two showed up. Joshua calls Finn a crybaby, which is a callback to "Dad's Dungeon".

37. The wall of weapons in Joshua and Margaret's house includes the iconic Demon Blood Sword, which was broken in "Play Date", as well as Margaret's auto-loading crossbow from "Joshua & Margaret Investigations".

38. Jermaine is sidelined a few times through the episode, in reference to his attitude in "Jermaine" where he feels that Finn and Jake were always their parents' favourites. I would have hoped things would be a bit better by now.

39. Fern gets name dropped while Finn and Jake are reuniting. A shame he doesn't actually show up in the episode.

40. In this scene, Finn says "What time is it?" This is a very subtle reference to the 2010 cartoon "Adventure Time".

41. In a couple of shots during this fight scene it looks like Jake might have a tattoo. It seems like it only becomes visible when he stretches out his arm.

42. New Death's amulet in this scene resembles parts of the Lich's cape, foreshadowing his influence on New Death.

43. There are several more cameos in the 50th Dead World: Booshy from "High Strangeness", one of the Marshmallow Kids from "Scamps", and Ghost Princess and Clarence, who were seen ascending to the 50th Dead World in "Ghost Princess".

44. Finn didn't interact with Booshy in "High Strangeness", but it seems they must have met at some point before they both died because Finn knows his name.

45. It seems like people in the 1st Dead World are slowly melted away until they become part of the landscape. Nasty.

46. Lots more cameos in this scene: a gnome from "Power Animal", a gnome from "The Enchiridion", a Bath Boy from "The Vault", Blagertha from "Love Games", Maja the Sky Witch, a troll from "Dungeon", Chocoberry, Choose Goose, Wyatt, a spiky person from "Gut Grinder", and possibly more.

47. Tiffany's insults are consistently nonsensical and amazing, as they were in the original series.

48. The Candy Kingdom looks extremely different. Peppermint Butler is wearing the crown so he might be in charge now, which is supported by the kingdom's very magical-looking augmentations. It’s not clear whether Finn and Jake were expecting to find Princess Bubblegum or Peppermint Butler, since both have the initials “PB” and both could be going by the title of “Princess”. Perhaps Peps and Bubblegum share the princess duties now that PB is living with Marceline more of the time.

49. Peppermint Butler has a "Boss" mug, although it's not the same colour as the one from "Obsidian".

50. Jake's ghost has the same design as he did when BMO killed him in "Ghost Fly". I also absolutely love Finn's ghost. This scene establishes that ghosts are just visitors to the mortal plane from the dead worlds.

51. Life has only appeared in animated shorts before now. Namely, "The Gift That Reaps Giving" which establishes her relationship with Death, and "Frog Seasons: Winter". This episode gives her a concrete place within Adventure Time's pantheon: she is in charge of reincarnation.

52. A translation of Life’s angry French dialogue by Shado: “After all I did for that boy. After all I did for him. No, it's not possible. It's not possible no, that... that makes me so mad but it's not possible.”

53. We finally have in-universe confirmation that Shoko's tiger is a previous life of Jake. This was previously confirmed by one of the writers, but wasn't canon until now.

54. I feel like Finn pulled off Shoko's look even better than Shoko did. I wonder whether Finn has gained the memories of his past lives now that he’s dead.

55. No Easter egg here, just want to appreciate this image.

56. There is an elemental symbol on the wall here, as seen in "Jelly Beans Have Power".

57. Tiffany's dramatic internal monologue is a recurring gag, as is his habit of nearly dying from falling into holes.

58. The Jake suit makes a cameo in the fight against New Death. It was last seen in the episode "Reboot”.

59. Finn's backpack contains a few familiar items: the t-shirt with the pocket from "It Came from the Nightosphere", Finn's underwear from "Little Dude" and other episodes, and a copy of Mind Games as I've already mentioned.

60. The Lich's Hand is present in the background of Death's... death scene. This is probably the unseen "friend" who New Death keeps talking about.

61. The Lich's menacing monologues often begin with a single command. Previously they have included "Fall" and "Stop". This time, the command is "Burn".

62. Jake uses the word "boingloings", which is a callback all the way to "Hitman" in the third season.

63. Jake's blue shape-shifter form from "Abstract" appears very briefly during his fight with Finn.

64. Finn's lumpy space person form also makes an appearance. This design was last seen all the way back in the second episode of the entire show, "Trouble in Lumpy Space".

65. Jake steps on the Lich's hand in a very similar way to how he stepped on Ash in "Memory of a Memory", which is itself a Monty Python reference.

66. The credits include a dedication to a few AT cast and crew who have passed away. Polly Lou Livingston was the voice of Tree Trunks. Miguel Ferrer was the voice of Death. Michel Lyman and Maureen Mlynarczyk were both sheet timers on the original series. Rest in peace.

67. The message that Finn and Jake write out on the ouija board is "BUTT", which Peppermint Butler takes as a distress signal. This message is also used as a distress signal by the Hot Dog Knights in "The Limit".

68. Peppermint Butler's reversed dialogue from the scene where he makes contact with Finn and Jake is "Kee-Oth Rama Pancake", the spell from “Dad's Dungeon” for banishing demons.

69. That appears to be President Porpoise with all of Tree Trunks’ other lovers.

70. In this scene, Life is humming part of "Lonely Bones", the song which Death tried to record for her in her debut short "The Gift That Reaps Giving". It's hard to notice because it's so brief.

71. Finn and Jake's cover is blown while in the Land of the Dead because Jake loudly farts, which also happened in "Death in Bloom".

72. The place where Mr. Fox explains the perception mechanics of the afterlife is the exact same location as the River of Forgetfulness from "Death in Bloom", which, as it turns out, was imaginary.

These are sort of out of order at the end because I was adding stuff to the Twitter thread as it got discovered. That’s all for now!

#adventure time #together again #finn the human #jake the dog #lorepost

[tarithenurse]

In the eyes

Fandom: Naruto Pairing: Uchiha Itachi x fem!reader Content: Feels. Angst. Loss. Love. Reference to killing (war and murder). Captivity. Sorrow. Hope. Anger. You name it, it’s there. A/N: I just want to say in my defence that this story isn’t my fault. Blame @maladaptive-ninja-returns​...it’s her birthday present (yes, I’m late)!

In the eyes

The steam is long gone together with your interest in the drink when you drain the cup of tea as the black-haired man gets up to leave. The cape hides what he’s missing – if only it was his leg instead – that way you wouldn’t have to keep the distance to the bare minimum, constantly risking him discovering that you’re following him. It doesn’t help to complain, though: he’s alive and mobile...and you have to watch your every move.

Volunteering for the assignment has probably been one of the more masochistic choices you’ve made, but you just couldn’t let the last Uchiha go yet.

For years, watching the kid grow older had kept a wound alive that no one knew about. It festered, saturating you with a sickening, rotten, sadness that never washed off but wasn’t detected by your peers. You should have let it heal. Should have moved on. But there had always been something keeping you from accepting what everyone else had decided must be true.

You weren’t the only one dealing with grief, of course. The life of a Leaf ninja was to say goodbye too soon and then to live with the numbing ache, renewed each time memories stirred.

Before the fourth war, the newfangled gossip of the dead returning was treated as ghost stories by most people until the climax of it all, when too many stood face to face with loved ones. Lost ones. And you were too weak to prevent the hope from being rekindled, so once peace was a reality and all the shinobis prepared to celebrate in the chaotic haze of the aftermath, you made a decision.

That is why, three seconds after the door closes behind Uchiha Sasuke, you get up...

...and sit right down again to avoid pressing against the sharp blade of the person suddenly appearing beside you.

The newcomer’s face is hidden partially under the wide-rimmed hat and the rest behind a dark and tattered cloak. Glancing down, a hand with purple-painted nails slips the kunai into the darkness of the cloak, leaving you with the knowledge that it’s there.

There’s no doubt in your mind that this is a shinobi. Where did you come from? Admittedly, there are others frequenting the little tea house because it’s a popular stop at a major crossroads...even if it mainly services those without national affiliations. None of the rest of the clientele reacts to the scene unfolding discreetly and you have no wish to catch their attention before you know what and who you’re dealing with.

“What do you want?”

It takes a second before you realize the question isn’t asked by you. Another one to recover from the smooth dusk that is the stranger’s voice. A voice with a hint of familiarity in the timbre which you decide must be your mind playing games.

“Nothing. I’m no enemy of yours,” you try to placate them, silently counting the seconds worth of head start separating you from Sasuke, “and I hold nothing of value...you should let me go.”

The tickle of a laugh surprises you. “If I’d wanted your possessions, they’d already be mine. I want answers, Konoha-girl.”

The headband you carry is hidden under your clothes, well out of sight from any prying eyes. Finally giving up on stalking your initial target, you turn your undivided attention to the person who has seated them-self before you.

The little skin you can see is pale, and a few black strands have escaped the slack ponytail and fallen in front of the face where only chin and jawline is visible. As if knowing your annoyance, the head is tipped slightly, allowing you to glimpse soft, gently smiling lips. Kissable. The thought jars you.

“I recommend you give up that wish.” No one should be able to hear the nervousness in your voice...but the stranger smirks. “My business is my own.”

“Not when it involves him,” they says, inclining the hat towards the door where Uchiha left.

You’re out to get him? You almost feel sorry for this fool who clearly doesn’t have a clue about the one-armed ninja’s identity.

“Don’t be mistaken,” the person smiles as if reading your thoughts, “I know who he is and what he’s capable of, after all...he’s my brother.”

Calmly meeting your gaze, the eyes meeting you flash red.

...

“Don’t look an Uchiha in the eyes”. It was the warning that was whispered into your ears as soon as you were big enough to run errands on your own. Naturally, you had to do it, and what met you was not as demonic as the warning stories had made you think – rather, they were kind, and wiser than the smooth face hinted at – although you never looked another Uchiha in the eyes just to be on the safe side.

It was impossible to discern the colour. Some days, they seemed leaden as if the rain clouds were gathered inside the boy too. A few times, in the morning when he watched where his fists struck the wood, the sparks from the cozy fire of the evening before still lingered in the warmest of black. What you loved the most, though, was when the gaze was locked onto infinity and they were soft like liquid.

...

Everything is different: the stuffy tea room with its noisy patrons has been replaced by somewhere deserted that seems to be carved out of grey stone.

How did I get here? Careful to move as little as possible, you take in the new surroundings only to find the place empty and with only one way in and out. A dull cold has already seeped into your feet as you stand there, lost as your bearings have nothing to latch on to – the only light is a torch in a wall sconce to your left.

Feet. They are bare, and a quick pat-down reveals that all of your weapons, your belt, and your headband have been stripped from you too. The sensation is uncanny, akin to nakedness. The logic behind it is obvious as it reduces the chances of a successful escape even if you were to make it out and establish a route.

On the other hand: you’re unharmed and unbound.

Turning, you have no doubt that the wooden door is locked but of course you go over to try, heart frozen near your throat when you push against it with your shoulder. Surprisingly, it does open and the screaming hinges sets the tiniest hairs on your body on end.

“Not wasting any time, Konoha-girl.”

You recognize the voice and the decorated nails on the hand that appears to pull open the door completely, and not just from the rest stop but from years of aching recollections that have been warped by watching Sasuke grow up with this man’s shadow lingering over his life. Over your life.

No. There’s no way. He died. Now your heart jackhammers a frenzied rhythm.

It’s a fool’s hope that powers the jab towards his neck. An idiot’s dream urging you to sprint past him. At least I tried, a bitter thought comments the moment both attempts are thwarted as a rib-crushing kick sends your tumbling backwards and you land sprawled in the middle of the room.

The ceiling is still spinning, it seems, when you sense the man’s presence loom over you. The fingers are cool (and surprisingly gentle) as the curl around the back of your skull, fingers digging into your hair to grant a tight grip to pull you closer by. Very close. A hand’s length separates the tips of your noses and you want to be oblivious to the way his mouth curves softly.

“You’re not leaving,” he whispers, “until I say so.”

Feeling and strength are beginning to return to your arms, including a sharp ache in your chest that grows with every shallow breath which you try to ignore. Should have restrained me, fool...and the thought dies there as everything shifts and the ground swallows your limbs.

“N-no...how...? No!”

He watches your struggles lazily before releasing his grip and sitting down next to you on the hard floor. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

But you did. Wait...no! You haven’t...it wasn’t you...it can’t have been...

“You lie about your identity,” you scoff, regretting the outburst immediately as pain stabs coldly into your side, “so excuse me for not trusting you on this either.” There is a little smile there on his lips, full of sadness and regret that makes your insides cringe momentarily until you have the breath to explain to him (or yourself) why it can’t be true: “Uchiha Itachi has been killed!”

“Yes...and then I was brought back.” He’s impossibly calm as though he’s simply discussing the weather. “Twice.”

Double reanimated? As if! The war had been a horror to live through and would have been without people facing their deceased comrades and family members on the battlefield. However, once destroyed or sealed, none of the animated dead had walked again and all of them had been dealt with properly in the end.

Looking at the ninja, none of the signs of reanimation are prominent. On the other hand...even if they had been, you might not even notice it now that you meet the man’s gaze and the liquid infinity there.

“I could show you...but I’m afraid your mind can’t take the strain in your current state,” the so-called Itachi explains.

Mind, your aching heart still reels from fear of being broken once more, this is all in my mind.

Zoning out everything else, you focus on the flow of chakra within. Calming it, soothing it, until abruptly forcing the flow to revert. It feels as if your very soul drops for a second but the moment it returns to its place, the world is no longer made up of lies and imaginary sensations...and you’re still lying on the ground in a room made of stone, your ribs feeling as if they’re speared by frost. The only improvement is that at least your limbs are free.

And Itachi? Yes, you have to call him that because deep within you can’t deny it any longer.

The official reports hadn’t been released by the time you left Konoha and you’re not high enough up in the ranks as a shinobi to get the juicy information unless it’s necessary for a mission – and since your missions tend to be B or simpler A rank...well, I guess my current mission’s a bust but this is an important discovery!

A silky chuckle refocuses your attention. “Very good...I suppose I must strengthen my genjutsu against you.”

He’s so close, you could touch him. Shifting to lean against the wall, he rests his arms casually on the knees and begins to pick at the chapping nail polish.

“No need to,” you bite back a groan as you roll over to sit up, “I take it that’s how you got me here?” Pretty eyes are watching your every move as he nods in agreement. “Hm. It’ll probably be useless to ask where we are, so...why? Why show yourself now?”

Sitting cross legged, you find the pain lessens if you pull your clothes and arms tightly around your torso, restricting the depth of your breathing. Broken or bent ribs? Not that it really matters. First of all, he would be able to beat you in a fight anyways; secondly, even if you got out of here you wouldn’t know where “here” is; and third (but not least), you don’t really want to run from him.

Rather than answer, Itachi stands up and holds out his left hand for you. Puzzled, you take it. Soft fingers curl around yours and he pulls you to your feet, studying your movements and the twisting facial expressions.

He doesn’t let go.

Not when he guides you out the door and into a hallway shaped of the same kind of stone as the room was made of. Carved from.

Not when he slows down at the sound of the squeaky breathing the pace forces from you.

There doesn’t seem to be many rooms along the winding path. Here and there a door bars the way or you catch a glimpse of a dead-end that looks as though the excavation was abandoned or even disrupted by cave-ins.

You do your best to memorize the path, but frankly, your mind is getting fuzzy from pain and exhaustion. You have no sense of time, just hunger and tiredness weighing you down to indicate the loss of many hours.

“Just a bit longer, [Y/N],” Itachi soothes.

When did I tell him my name? You want to ask or at least protest, but it would be a choice between talking or getting to wherever he’s leading you...and you doubt he’ll let you pause.

A few dozen steps later and a short flight of stairs up, he ushers you through a door into a room that looks like a mix between a kitchen and work station. A fire is the only light and heat source (the smoke venting up through a chimney too narrow to be an escape route), casting a warm glow over the solid wooden table and chairs. Everything else is hewn from whatever mountain you’re inside.

“Sit,” your captor finally releases the grip and points at a chair near the fire and you obediently do as you’re told.

There are shelves and niches almost hidden in the dancing shadows at first holding with boxes, bundles, and various utensils. He knows where everything is, grabbing a few items before returning and laying it out in the light. Bandages. His movements are fluid and elegant, just like you remembered.

He motions towards your upper body, then turns to tend to the fire. “Strip.”

“That’s really not -”

“Some of your ribs are broken. Restraining them will minimize the pain.”

He’s right. Of course he is.

With clipped movements, you pull off the layers until you hesitate at the poor excuse of a bra. Despite the now roaring fire, the cold from the stone still seeps into your body and raises waves of goosebumps and tightens your nipples. It would be easier to apply the bandages correctly without the last bit of clothing in the way, but right now it feels like the only shield left at your disposal as Itachi turns back to you.

“We’ll work around that,” the man offers softly.

He works quietly at first. Hands winding the linen bandages around you adeptly, pausing each time the ministration intensifies the pain and causes the discomfort to escape as stubborn hisses. The purple nail polish is mesmerizing – simultaneously a contrast to the horrific stories of a killer and perfectly fitting the pretty, nearly feminine, traits you see. Especially the eyes. Sure, they’re filled with a bottomless sadness that you don’t feel comfortable acknowledging, but they’re beautiful. Haunting.

“You’re staring,” he hums without looking up.

Shit. “No. I just -...let’s say you’re who you claim to be,” you try to recover, “why’re you back?”

“To be his watcher.”

“Says who?”

This time, he stops and looks you dead in the eyes. “Otsutsuki Hagoromo, the Sage of Six Paths.” There are very few proper comebacks to that, so your captor continues without giving you a chance to think of something, “Otsutsuki told me about the bonds of families and that it can transcend blood. He knows hatred can cause – and has caused – too much harm...but something rekindled his hope that it can be overcome.“

I don’t have an eye on Uchiha constantly, but... “Does Sasuke know?” Returning to his work, Itachi avoids your gaze. “He doesn’t...”

“He’s finally found peace and is on the right path...I can’t risk undoing it.”

Bullshit! “Or you’re a coward who doesn’t have the guts to fa-” the rest is cut off as soft fingers tighten around your throat.

Blood-red eyes pierce your mind, numbing you for an eternity or a millisecond.

...

They were a means to reach the goal but their words still hurt as you followed meekly in their footsteps. Snobbery. Disdain. Considering how proud your two team members clearly felt, they had very little to show for their reputation as Uchihas and frankly, it was your skills rather than theirs that ensured successful missions and still, you never once looked them in their face. Instead, you kept an eye out for two other of the clan.

Where one was, so would the other be. Thick as thieves, the boys had found a companionship that complemented their differences in the same manner as the sun and the moon. But as opposed to your teammates who swooned at the brightness of the sun, you were drawn to the night and the calmness it brought whenever that boy was near – each time he met your eyes, time became meaningless.

...

The two of you sit in silence as the steam from the soup caresses your face. Your mind is blank, slowly starting to pick up on the absence of stone walls – wood has replaced the cold surfaces, making it almost unbearably warm with the bandages underneath your layers of clothes – and a plethora of questions begin to press against your conscious only to be held back as most of your thoughts get derailed whenever you look at the man before you.

Without the hat and cloak to conceal him, it’s impossible to ignore all the details you’ve nurtured in your memory for ages, such as the slight pull of his lips as he thinks or the elegance of his movements now that he gets up and refills his bowl from the pot hanging over the fire.

“Why are you following Sasuke?”

You should be diplomatic. “I could ask you the same.” You’re not.

“I already told you,” Itachi shrugs.

“Well I...I don’t believe you.”

But you do. There’s no denying anymore that this man is who he claims to be and so, why would he lie about his purpose? The sad smile. The quiet mannerisms. The idea that Itachi would somehow transcend death to watch over his little brother? That’s a mysterious intricacy that fits with your memories of him from before that night.

“You do...but something else is bothering you.” It’s a statement, not a question. “Am I not what you expected?”

No, you’re not. However, he’s what you remember with a layer of sorrow added on top. He doesn’t get to be sad. The little spark of anger is what you need. You nurse it, feed it until it flares up hot and bright and consumes your regrets and self-pity.

“Expected? I don’t know what I expected from someone like you!” Your voice is rising, shaking with years of frustration. “Clan killer. Murderer. I never told anyone but I was in love with an Uchiha! That night, I’d gone to bed, finally sure that I was gonna tell him but when I woke up...” Something inside you had broken that day and it still hurts now. “They told me how you’d left Sasuke alive...but the boy I loved was gone and no one knew I was mourning. Each time I saw him -” you can’t hold back a strangled sound and you realize, you’re crying -”I saw the ghost of...” The bowl of floating vegetables looks blurry until you blink angrily. “Ugh! But what does a teenager know of love, right? They’ll grow up. Get over it. Except I knew you were out there still and that you had all the answers. Why? The Itachi I remember wasn’t a mindless monster! I was told a story, but it doesn’t make any sense. If all the monster wanted was power then why spare Sasuke? Why did everyone else have to die?”

The inhalations are shallow and rapid, making you dizzy as you cling to the table and the spoon. It burns in your lungs and cheeks.

“I am sorry for the pain, I’ve caused you.”

Your gaze snaps to his face and you know he’s speaking the truth but it doesn’t matter right now.

“Sorry? Sorry?! You don’t get to be sorry! I missed y-...the boy, I loved was gone and it took ages before I could let go and stop mourning, finally accepting the truth had died with you and now...now you’re here? And it’s all back and I don’t understand! How could you?” Itachi doesn’t flinch as you launch the bowl towards him – he doesn’t have to because your aim is off and it clatters to the floor in a shower of shards and wasted food after hitting the wall behind him. “How? The boy I loved was not a monster! He wouldn’t do what they s-”

The echoes of your wheezing shouts ring through the room after the abrupt stop. Holding your breath, you wait for the ground to swallow you whole or for the man at the other end of the table to react and the fear is colder than the burning in your chest.

“Things aren’t always what they seem,” Itachi eventually whispers, “they were just people who had been wronged and misguided until their arrogance made them blind.”

What? That’s not exactly what you had expected. Without explaining further, your captor gets up, handing you his bowl of food before beginning to clean the mess you’ve made.

“Don’t...I’ll get tha-” you begin.

He only has to look at you.

...

The dew had soaked your toes, cooling and soothing them after each kick that you landed on the wood stump. Pine. The new splinters refreshed the scent as they fell to the ground and you knew that birds would rummage through them in the hope of finding a morning snack once the training grounds were free of people again – they were already gathering at the edge of the clearing except for where Itachi stood.

The realization made you stop mid-kick, gaze locked with his and heart fluttering in your chest. How long had he stood there?

“They’re wrong.” You could barely believe he was talking to you. “Your teammates...don’t listen to what they say.”

Before you could ask what he meant, Itachi was gone and maybe it had all been your imagination running free.

...

Sitting up abruptly, it takes a few seconds for your eyes to get used to the low light of the dying embers. Where am I?

Salt and drying seaweed is heavy in the air, somehow worming its way into what appears to be yet another room of stone. No...it’s a cave. You’re sitting on a bedroll splayed out onto the sand filling the place and you have no memory of arriving.

The dark form on the other side of the fire pit makes no move as you slip a hand underneath your shirt to confirm what you already know: the bandages are gone and there’s only a muted tenderness as you prod at the ribs. How long has it been?

“You’re safe,” Itachi’s gentle voice assures, and you feel your pulse slow despite the ominous situation, “go back to sleep.”

Yes. Sleep...hang on! Shaking your head, you fight the urge to succumb to the fuzziness that weighs your thoughts. “Why’re you doing this?” you mumble.

It doesn’t make sense why the man wouldn’t simply get the answers he want and then dispose of you or at the very least leave you locked up somewhere while he keeps following Sasuke from the shadows. Instead, your captor has put an effort into keeping you comfortable. Feeding you.

“I remember you.” His eyes reflect the red coals as they burn into your soul all over again. “Memories don’t do your justice, though.”

...

There is no world beyond the walls of the garden but a red sheet of sky dotted with storm clouds. The sliding doors have been pushed aside, opening the hallway to the view, and you know the wood beneath your bare feet should be silky from decades of use. You can’t feel it. There are no scents either, no breeze to toy with the soft fabric of your yukata, nor insects clicking from the rhododendron.

“This isn’t real.”

“No,” Itachi confirms from behind you, “but here I can create what you need. Who you need.”

Turning at last, there’s no reason to shy away from meeting his gaze even if it matches the fake sky. He looks real – as opposed to the familiarity of the home of your childhood that surrounds the two of you – and the ghost of a smile kindly tries to hide the sadness.

“...need. For what?”

The black strands falling into his face are strangely dull in the nightmarish light. “Closure.”

“That’s not possible.”

Wanting to leave, to run away and avoid what Itachi intends, you find yourself rooted in place by an invisible force. Even turning your face away is impossible and you pray that he doesn’t understand the well of emotions he must be able to see in your eyes.

“This is a chance for you to say goodbye to the one I killed. The one you...love,” he pauses to scrutinize your expression and you try to remain neutral, “because you do. You still love him.”

“You have no right...” swallowing hard, you fight to keep the words back, “no right t-to claim to know what I need!” Finally, you manage to close your eyes but they snap open again at the touch of his fingertips on your forehead. “This isn’t something you get to fix like -”

...

The world has shifted again and you’re back in the ocean side cave. You can feel how uneven the sand is under your knees and shins even with the bedroll to soften the press and some some the grains have found their way in between your toes...but none of that matters because Itachi is still right before you, his fingers gently resting on your brow.

A pop-and-crackle from the fire pit is the only sound other than your shallow breathing. You know, he knows. Eyes widened in nigh-comedic understanding, it’s as if he sees you for the first time.

“I’m sorry, [Y/N].”

You barely manage to whisper, “for what?”

His fingertips send shivers along your spine as they trace a path, allowing him to cradle the back of your neck in his palm.

“Everything” Itachi’s lips brush your cheek, “for breaking your heart in so many ways and for making you think your love was unrequited.”

#Itachi #Uchiha Itachi #Uchiha Itachi x fem!reader #In the eyes #Itachi x fem!reader #Itachi x you #Itachi x y/n #Itachi Uchiha #post naruto shippuuden #naruto fandom #itachi fanfiction #itachi fanfic #writing #fanfiction #fanfic #naruto #anime #x reader #x fem!reader

[foulcrownkryptonite]

Tracing Constellations, pt.2

The moment you’ve all been waiting for

Chapter Two: A Clarity

By the early evening, they had made it. Their journey was long and rough, leaving their muscles aching and in desperate need of rest. Ahead was a rather large shack nearly hidden by the towering elms all around it. Jean wasn’t really well versed in architecture, but he remembered one of Armin’s late night ramblings about an ancient style of housing that the cabin-like building resembled. It was a nice, homey looking place. Though it seemed long abandoned with ivy spreading up the walls and leaves camouflaging the roof and scattering the ground. To the east came a loud shushing sound, easily identifiable as a clogged up creek. Bingo.

“Yeah, tell me about it. We’re definitely going to have to stay the night here.” Marco chimed, trying to conceal the excitement that the sentiment brought.

They set the rest of their stuff by the rock-lined fire pit before making their way to the waterside. Water was building up rapidly, overflowing to the sides. Blocking it’s path was a massive oak tree, water only barely trickling over the top.

“Oh shit,” Jean began, rolling up his trousers and stepping in for a closer inspection.

Marco followed suit, yards of thick rope in his grasp. “Luckily it’s fairly hollow.” he called from behind Jean over the sound of water forcibly hitting the log. “The tree itself won’t be too heavy, it’s just stuck. Look there,” he gestured to the base of the tree trapped in the thick walls of the compacted mud. “It’s just trapped. If we attach rope to either side and pull at an angle, perhaps we can free it and get it to the surface.” he concluded with a small, self-satisfied smile, clearly proud of his little assessment. Marco always seemed to take joy in the simplest things, and Jean would be lying if he said it wasn’t endearing.

Jean smiled devilishly. “Well done my brilliant friend. Let’s get this started.” Marco gave a dramatic salute before getting to work, tying the rope tightly to one end of the tree. Jean took a nearby stick to dig at the tough mud, aiming to loosen its grip on the tree. Marco noticed and began to do the same. Soon enough, they felt a thudded movement of the tree as water poured in from the sides.

“It’s coming loose!” Marco leapt. “Jean, I’ll drag the rope up my end, you meet me with your end, ok?”

Jean lifted the rope. “Ok, aye aye captain!” he yelped.

With just enough force from Marco’s end and Jean coming to meet him on the same edge of the creek, the water ferociously gushed in, releasing all the built up tension behind the log.

“Alright ready to flip it?!” Jean called out over the rushing water, and was met with a swift, “Yep, heave!” With one last bout of labor, they had gotten the bulky tree over the edge of the water, the makeshift dam no longer able to wreak havoc on their water supply.

And with that, Jean dramatically flung himself into the semi shallow water, the flowing tide steadying to a more constant trickle as it evened out. Marco starred in bafflement before howling with a poorly contained laughter.

“Jean! What on earth are you doing!” he cried between laughs. Jean had that devilish grin on his face again, and Marco knew exactly what was coming - he was next. “Jean, Jean no. Splash me and I will have no choice but to go in and defeat you myself.” he pleaded, threatened, warned, but despite his desperate cries and admonishing face, Jean got closer, arms in position to fire water directly at him.

“I’d like to see you try.” he said menacingly, before pushing a massive wave of water to the surface, full on drenching Marco on the spot.

Oh. This was war.

Marco hurdled into the deepest part of the creek, a battle cry leaving his lips as he shoved a tall wall of water onto the other. Managing to side step his first attack, Jean beamed as his eyebrows furrowed, face contorting to that of a jester.

“Jean, oh my God.” he chuckled, a standoff between the two men putting them at a pause. Jean bent low in the water, soaking his chest.

“Well? Gonna come and get me?” he taunted, smirking his most devilish smile. Marco eagerly leapt at him, arms wrapping around the bulkier man in a wrestle. The two danced in and out of the embrace with Jean finally gaining the upper hand, slamming Marco backwards into the water. Marco let out a small cry, soon to be muffled by the incoming water enveloping the pair.

The two quickly resurfaced, Jean looking more than pleased with his second consecutive win, and Marco coughing and hacking up stream water.

“Oh shit. Marco, I'm sorry, are you ok?”

“I'm-” Marco proceeded to nearly cough up an entire lung, obviously not having been prepared to be body-slammed mercilessly into a deepish body of water.

Jean sloshed his way over to his choking friend patting him on the back hard as if that would somehow help the situation.

“Jea-” cough “It’s fin-” couch “Just sto-”

“It’s not fine, I almost drowned you! Here um I know the Heimlich maneuver!” Jean said in a panic, rushing to stand behind Marco. Of course the Heimlich maneuver wouldn’t do a damned thing to help, but Jean didn’t need to know that, as for Marco’s master plan to work he needed to lull the other into his trap. Now directly behind him, Jean couldn’t see the absolutely devious grin on Marco’s face.

Jean hurriedly wrapped his arms around the other’s torso and before he could start the first compression Marco turned to face him at the speed of light. Confused and a bit startled, Jean froze in place, finally realizing the deep shit he was in once he saw Marco’s lopsided and evil grin.

Fuck. He was tricked. That cheeky little bastard.

“Wait, Marco-”

Before Jean could plead for his life, Marco's hands were already steadfast onto each of his shoulders.

“Now, accept your defeat!” Marco dramatically yelled as he forcefully dunked a yelping Jean under the rushing current. He let out a downright maniacal laugh, still reaching Jean’s ears over the rumbling sound of being dunked into the water.

He grabbed blindly in Marco’s direction, finding what felt to be his shirt and hoisting himself up with a gasp. The quick movement and general unsteadiness of the creek caused him to lose his balance, Marco catching him by the waist before he capsized again. Marco looked at Jean with a satisfied grin, and Jean could only sigh exasperatedly after finally catching his breath.

“Why do people think you're the nice one?”

“What? You started it. All I did was finish it.”

“You’re a demon.”

“Only for you~”

Jean promptly shook the remaining water from his hair, making damn sure it got on the smirking devil in front of him. Marco chuckled at his petty revenge, turning his head to avoid most of the incoming droplets, though not retreating his arms holding Jean upright.

Their impulsive little duel in the water had them both utterly soaked, Marco’s white shirt practically useless as it clung tight and sheer on his body. Of course, Jean had seen his bare arms and chest before but never this close up. Never with said arms still wrapped around his damn waist. They were really no further than a foot away from each other and Jean felt his face heating up as he looked everywhere but Marco’s face. His sun kissed shoulders were speckled with freckles that matched his cheeks and it made Jean want to know just how much of Marco was covered with them.

Whoa.

What?

Back the fuck up.

He did not just think about Marco’s naked body while being held this close in his arms and shit shit shit abort mission. NOW.

Jean rather abruptly shook himself out of Marco’s gentle hold, looking absolutely everywhere but at the man himself. His face was probably bright red with the embarrassing amount of heat radiating off it. He could practically feel the questioning look on Marco’s face but Jean was absolutely not going to let him voice it.

“Hey, you hungry? Let’s uh... get dressed and get some grub, shall we?”

Though it was technically a question, Jean didn’t wait for an answer. He was up and out of the water before Marco could so much as say “polo”.

Jean didn’t walk towards the shed so much as run to it.

The embarrassment and guilt ate at his psyche and all Jean could do to stop it was just pretend it wasn’t there. He wasn’t going to make things awkward for the rest of the night because he was… Imaging his best friend naked? In a not so dude-bro way? No. No, he hadn’t assured that yet. He was only thinking about his friend’s freckles… And there was nothing inherently inappropriate about that. Right. Jean was fine. Marco was fine. Everything was fine.

He decided to go with that explanation for now.

Jean dressed in the shed first, putting on what sort of resembled sleepwear before hanging his soaked clothes to dry over a tree limb. Marco did so next, coming out of the shed dressed in plain brown pants and a thick white tunic that hung low, exposing a part of his dotted chest. Jean tried not to notice, really, he did, but it was hard. For some inexplicable reason, he was drawn to it.

Seeing the sun begin to set, Marco took initiative and got a head start on a fire in the pit yards away from the shed. Jean dug through the bags to grab food, sheepishly bringing it over to Marco at the fire pit.

“It’s uh just wrapped rations, nothing special.” Jean explained, handing the sitting man a packet.

“Thanks Je-” Marco began before a scream escaped Jean’s lips,

“But I snuck BOOOOOOZE!” he exclaimed, holding out a bottle of hard liquor. Marco’s mouth flew open.

“You sneaky bastard!” Marco teased, causing Jean to stick his tongue out playfully.

“I know, you love it” Jean said, sitting cross legged not but a palms length away from Marco.

The sun quickly fell behind the mountainside, leaving a distant dim glow as the crackling fire took its place as the center source of light. The smell of wood burning and the trickling sound of fresh water reminded Jean of how much he missed simply just enjoying the outdoors.

“Yknow,” Marco began as Jean opened the bottle and took a swig. “I’ve never been camping before.” Jean raised his eyebrows in disbelief, handing him the bottle.

“This is news to me, you sure know how to navigate in the wilderness!” Marco chuckled, taking a swig.

“Guess you can teach me a thing or two more,” he winked. Jean stirred, his hands finding stability only when the bottle was passed back to him. Jeez Marco had no right looking so-

“Well then, a toast!” he exclaimed perhaps a bit too loudly.

Marco looked at him quizzically. “Hah, to what?” Us he wanted to say, almost feeling the word slip off his tongue before correcting it.

“To Marco’s first night outdoors!” He held the bottle up in triumph, taking a large swig before handing it back to Marco, who did the same. They laughed heartily at the sentiment before settling to let the booze make its effect on their minds and bodies.

The moon’s soft white luster shone down onto the pair, reflecting off the fracturing water of the now ever-flowing stream. Broken images of adjacent trees appeared as inky veins dancing upon the water’s surface, nearly as mesmerizing of a sight as were the blinking flames in front of them. For a short while, there was a tranquil sort of silence. The soft sounds of a forested night; a lullaby, as Jean and Marco simply sat there, existing together under the dull shine of the stars.

The crackling heat of the fire provided ample warmth and light, allowing Jean an inviting gaze toward his companion's calmed face, eyelids shut softly as he enjoyed the slight chilly breeze. Jean let his eyes scan down the expanse of Marco’s figure, stopping at his toned, freckle-peppered arms. For reasons he could not decipher, Marco’s freckles enveloped his mind. Unbeknownst to Jean, he reached out to touch them, tracing shapes and constellations into the dots adorning Marco’s arm.

Marco startled a bit at the sudden touch, though upon seeing Jean’s peaceful, zoned out state, made no turn to move. His heart stammered in his chest, the light tracing of Jean's thumb on his arm spreading chills throughout his entire body. His mind abandoned any rational thought as he watched, rather felt Jean’s pointer finger and thumb gingerly dance across his skin. It was such a gentle gesture, one Marco hadn’t seen Jean ever perform. As his feather-light touch ran ever so slightly higher, Marco couldn’t hold back a twitch, halting Jean in his place. What on earth was he doing? Jean yanked his hand back close to his chest and averted his gaze back to the trees, the creek, the shack, hell anything but Marco.

“Uh, sorry,” he mumbled under his breath, just barely audible over the steady whooshing of running water. For the second time that night Jean’s face felt hotter than hell itself.

“It’s okay,” Marco whispered back, looking over at his now abashed friend. “I… don’t mind.” he finished and Jean glanced up, dilated eyes looking up through his lashes, not knowing what that response meant.

“Listen, Jean, I-” Marco began, liquid courage pushing him almost as hard as Ymir’s words the previous night. Jean crossed his arms in front of his chest, uncomfortable and otherwise unmoving as he took in Marco’s increasingly anxious behavior. “Fuck it, I just- Gah.” he swore, bringing his hands to grab nervously at his reddening face. Jean shivered, though he doubted it was due to the chilling air. What was the matter? Was it him? Did he make him uncomfortable?

Assuming that was certainly the case, Jean tugged in his legs close to his chest, demeanor physically decreasing. “I’m sorry, shouldn’t have.... Was weird. I-” he was silenced by Marco’s fingertips resting on his knee in an action of reassurance.

“I liked it.” he hurriedly quipped, before his eyes widened and his cheeks grew a more prominent crimson. Marco turned away and looked off into the fire, seeming to contemplate something, though his hand stayed placed atop his knee. If Jean was being completely honest with himself, he was terrified. Terrified of himself, of fucking everything up, of how nice it felt to be touched like this…

Despite being a self-proclaimed womanizer, Jean was often untouched, making the sensation of Marco’s fingers upon his knee amplified and probably more intimate than was intended. But still, he longed for more, so much more. His mind went foggy as he tried to decipher what this all meant, what this entire night had ment. His skin felt hot as he took a deep breath, looking at Marco with equal amounts of concern and desire.

The want to always be close by to him, the walls of confidence and arrogance that seemed to falter and collapse when with him, the unjustifiable jealousy towards Ymir who had only just became close-ish to him, his obsession with seeing him laugh, seeing him happy, seeing him prattle on about his childish feather collection and seeing those freckles and that damned smile: it was all leading towards the same answer, an answer Jean didn’t know he was ready to fully confront.

Marco was still facing the dwindling fire, a heavy look weighing his features down. Unsure of what to do, but knowing he ought to do something, he rested a hand atop Marcos. He turned away from the smoldering coals to look Jean in the eyes, features flashing a whole myriad of emotions Jean couldn’t even begin to decipher. The tension between them grew as they both stared at one another, neither of them knowing how to proceed.

As if God Herself had had enough of the two’s back and forth antics, a downpour of rain started to fall from the darkened sky. Feeling the icy drops of water on his skin, Marco instinctively let Jean go, making his way up and off the now dampening ground.

“Ah shit, looks like the storm followed us here.” Marco awkwardly blurted, the contrast of the casual line with the previously tense staredown like chalk against a blackboard, finally breaking the impenetrable silence. Marco turned to start towards the shed, though when Jean didn’t follow, he threw him a worried glance. Jean knew he had to go in - this type of rain only meant bad news to come and it wasn’t like he wanted to ruin another pair of clothes... But something was stopping him. He was nervous. Nervous of the fire in Marcos eyes yet realizing he wanted it more than anything.

Seeing Jean unmoving as rain drenched his body, Marco bit his lips nervously, swimming with his own uncertainties and nerves from it all.

“Jean…?” he re-approached calmly, voice cautious as if approaching some sort of wild animal. The air grew colder and wetter as the winds picked up, Jean’s mumbled response rendered inaudible as he shook in the frigid air. He slowly stood, still fixating on the ground as the two made their way inside.

…

It seemed like this untouchable silence was to follow them inside as well.

The two men stood face to face in that rustic styled living room, Marco leaning against the east most wall and Jean standing limp by the door, neither sure if they had the courage to initiate what they both so desperately wanted. Marco looked at him with practically every traceable emotion etched onto his features. Jean could feel his remaining walls starting to chip away, a long running crack threatening to crumble the blockade into an unidentifiable nothing. Fine. He knows what he’s got to do.

A second of contemplation later and finally, it crumbles.

Jean makes his way over to the other, wordlessly and with his brain running damn miles a minute. Marco let out a shaky breath as Jean continued to step towards the other, stopping just a footstep in front of him. He looked a bit startled, though not afraid. If anything, Jean would say Marco looked… hopeful? Relieved? He reached out, hand grazing Marco’s hair as he settled it onto the wall behind him, leaning closer still. Marco was essentially trapped between the wood wall flush against his back and Jean, enclosing arm, yet he still did not look uncomfortable.

He had already made it this far… It was too late to chicken out right? Last minute thoughts raced in Jean’s mind as Marco's eyes looked up into his from wherever they were set before. His gaze was intense, his eyes aflame with a fire Jean had never seen in the other before. Now he wasn’t necessarily great with feelings and general social awareness, but looking into those fire orbs Jean saw nothing that said ‘Stop’

And so Jean said ‘Fuck it’

Jean finally closed the remaining space between them, lips meeting lips and- oh. OH. Jean’s body ignited with a sense of overwhelming intensity and desperation, the long awaited action of this sending his mind into overdrive. He was kissing Marco. Marco was kissing him. Marco didn’t hesitate to cup his jaw, Jean leaning into the touch before grabbing onto his arm. His other hand slid down from the base of the wall to slink around his waist, pulling the goddamned beautiful man closer.

Marco took initiative in deepening the kiss, eliciting unexpected hum from Jean’s lips. He let his other hand fall to meet Marcos waist, wanting nothing more than to graze his heated skin underneath the damp cloth, though Jean pulled back for a second, allowing room for retaliation or, possibly, resentment.

“Is this okay?” he whispered.

Marco nodded, fingers toying with the man's wet hair. “It’s more than okay.” he replied before Jean resumed his actions, lips meeting his with urgency. If it didn’t feel real at first, it sure as hell felt real now, and Jean was soaring.

It was sudden when Marco pulled back, hands moving to graze up and down Jean’s chest. Jean looked at him with nothing but fondness and ease, all his barriers down for him and him alone in this moment. Marco looked in his arms, skin burning with heat and eyes flaring with longing.

“Well…” Marco chuckled nervously, and Jean grinned. “This is unexpected,” Marco finished his sentence in a hush whisper.

Jean bit his tongue, more worried about this reaction than he had expected. “In a… good way?” he asked as anxiety crept its way into his slightly shaking hands. Marco put his forehead to his, getting a better look into his eyes. “You tell me,” he taunted.

Jean’s features took a turn for the serious, as he softly rocked his forehead against Marco’s. “Marco…” he began, the tone of his voice causing the said man to tremble slightly. “You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this... with you.” As Marco peered through the darkened wet strands of Jean’s hair, he saw his eyes were glistening. Tears. Jean was crying. Unable to spit even a syllable out in return, Marco simply brushed his lips against his in a kiss. This time, it was Jean who returned the action with haste. Marco cupped his cheeks and felt their fresh tears mixed with warm flesh as they kissed once again, this time, with mutual cognizance.

Jean began laughing between kisses, almost unable to comprehend what was happening. He hadn’t realized how damaging it had been trying to ignore his feelings for Marco, nor how euphoric it would feel to finally acknowledge them. Marco pushed him back impishly and Jean caught his near-fall before grabbing Marco’s hand and holding it in his own.

“Is this real…?” Marco asked mindlessly, focusing entirely on their hands entangling as Jean rubbed his thumb over his forefinger.

“It better fucking be,” Jean half-joked. “'Cus if it’s a dream, please don’t ever wake me up” he concluded, studying Marco’s lightly speckled skin in the little light the shack provided.

“Hug me, please” Marco hushed, embarrassed at the question despite having kissed the man already. Jean flushed, the demand sending chills down his spine and making something in the pit of his stomach flip. Without a word, Jean snaked his arms around him, Marco hesitantly leaning his head on Jean’s broad shoulder. It was an apprehensive embrace at first, as if they still were somewhat afraid this was some kind of prank. He held him, too, and Marco’s hands were tangled around his neck. After a moment of comforting solace, it seemed Marco had finally realized that yes, this was in fact real. “Thank you.” he muffled into the crook of his neck.

Jean smiled, placing a small kiss to the top of his head. “No, thank you,” he said.

“Why?” Marco chuckled. Jean stroked his back, stepping somehow even closer in the embrace.

“Because you’re the most beautiful fuckin’ man I’ve ever laid eyes on…” he worded earnestly. Marco giggled cutely and placed a gentle kiss to his neck, nearly eliciting an embarrassing gasp from Jean.

“Says Jean fucking Kirstein.” he emphasized, kissing his neck again. Jean flushed furiously. He was seriously going to die.

“Mhph- don’t tease me, Bodt” he bit, forcing Marco’s head up as he collided with his lips again. Marco’s eyes widened as their bodies hit the wall, hands once more exploring and teasing through clothes.

Jean hiked his hands up Marco’s shirt, feeling his hot torso beneath as he thumbed the outline of his toned chest. Marco rutted against him, his hands moving to his hips in an attempt to bring him closer. “Ah-“ Jean hitched, his breath wavering as their clothed bodies rubbed against each other. Kisses deepened and tongues grazed curiously. All that could be heard in the little shack made for two were breathy moans and wanton grasps as the night took a physically fervent direction.

__________

Jean woke up in a daze, last night barely able to find its way back into his mind as his eyesight adjusted to the morning light. He shifted slightly before noticing Marco lying naked on his chest, hand snaked behind his head.

A smile easily spread over his tired face as the shining sun was proof the evening they shared wasn’t a dream or another figment of his imagination. It was real, and he treasured the feeling of Marco’s soft skin touching his. Careful to not wake him, he shyly traced false patterns on his speckled shoulder, elated at the prospect that he could just do that now.

A slight gust of cool wind slithered under the door and into the room, making Marco shiver slightly in his sleep. Jean pulled the fleece blanket to better cover the both of them as he continued to swipe his fingers across his skin. But it was too late, as Marco had already opened his pretty brown eyes.

Not being near awake enough to communicate, he entangled himself with Jean’s body as he reveled in the feeling of his skin being touched. Jean took this as full confidence there was no regret concerning what had happened and he kissed his forehead, hand ever so softly tickling his back.

Marco hummed, smiling into his touch as he slowly eased awake. He moved his head further into Jean’s chest, peppering him with small kisses as both of their quickening heart beats thumped against one another. Jean’s comforting touch faltered slightly, not being able to focus on much of anything other than the soft lips against his chest. Noticing this, Marco lifted his head up to be eye-level with him.

“Hi,” he grumbled cutely, voice deep and ridden with sleep.

“Hi,” Jean grumbled back, reaching slightly to place a quick kiss on Marco’s nose. They admired each other's sweat-lined skin before Jean spoke up again. “So,” he gulped, and Marco let out a low, grovely chuckle.

“We fucked and now you can barely look me in the eyes?” Jean went bright red. Hearing Marco’s joking tone and following chuckle didn’t lessen the effect this sentence had on him.

“I- sorry. Just never-” he began, and Marco placed his fingers on the man's chin.

“Me neither.” he confirmed, letting out a shaky breath.

Jean swung his thigh over Marco’s in a desperate attempt to get even closer - a clear sign to Marco that he was content with their situation. He snuggled closer, the blanket enveloping the both of them from the cool winds.

“Can I kiss you?” he breathed.

Marco’s sun-kissed cheeks went pink, those words being uttered to him by Jean only ever being a part of his late night fantasies.

“Of course,” he managed, and Jean obliged, leathery lips kissing him in a delicate action of reverence.

“Jean,” Marco began, breaking the kiss. “Before anything… y'know. I have to know your feelings on, this, I guess. I’m not- I can’t just leave until I have absolute clarification. Listen, if this was just a one-off, I understand, but-”

Marco was silenced by Jean using his thigh to maneuver himself on top, resting atop the man before answering his plea. “I don’t want this to be a one-off, Marco. Believe me, last night was a blast, but you need to understand it’s you that has me smitten - you who has me wanting to stay in this stupid shack forever. And for some goddamn reason, you fuckin like me just as much as I like you.” he answered wholeheartedly. Marco opened his mouth to speak but was cut off as Jean continued on. “Fuck, what I’m trying to say is it wasn’t the alcohol or anything that led to last night. Marco, I kissed you because for a long time now, I knew I didn’t want to be friends. And… being alone with you it just - it opened that up for me and-”

His words caught in his throat as Marco used his same technique to hoister himself on top. He smiled from ear to ear, a sight Jean couldn’t get enough of. “If at any point in time you would’ve made a move, I’d’ve been yours. That talk I had with Ymir? It was about you. Jean, if you’re serious, I need a definitive-”

“Yes.”

“Yeah?”

“Sorry, let me rephrase: fuck yes”

Marco could’ve squealed, elation running through his veins as he watched Jean’s equally giddy reaction. He adored Jean, his bluntness, sarcasm, and tender heart. Not everyone knew of Jean’s warm heart, they hadn’t given the jock the chance. But Marco did, and to Jean, that’s all that mattered. They kissed for the thousandth time before laying back down in a fervent embrace, both knowing they had to get up and head back to camp soon but neither making the move to do so.

Eventually, and begrudgingly, they got up. A little cleanup and packing was done before they got fully dressed, ready to make the trip back. “We still have several hours,” Marco pointed out as he slipped his backpack on.

Jean grinned. “Yeah?”

Marco nodded. “We could… if you wanted to, hold hands?” he finished. Jean blushed despite how juvenile it may have seemed as he took Marco’s hand in his, giving a light squeeze of assurance.

“You never have to ask to hold my hand,” he chuckled.

A few hours had passed as the overcast sky seemed somehow even brighter than usual, their spirits beyond content with themselves and the world around them. Jean looked at Marco as their hands stuck like glue, neither daring to let go. Overwhelmed with adoration of the man next to him, Jean snaked his hand behind his waist, pulling him close. Marco stopped out of surprise, returning the action and turning his head to kiss him.

“Fuck you,” he snipped as he smiled. Jean played with his hair.

“You already did.” he quipped, causing Marco’s face to glow a bright red.

“I- ah-” he stammered as Jean kissed him again.

“I don’t ever want to go back,” Jean whispered, resting his head on the man's shoulder as they slowly began to pick up the pace again. Marco rubbed Jean’s back lovingly as they stayed conjoined at the hip.

“It’ll be okay. We’ll find time to sneak around. Especially at night”. Jean closed his eyes for a moment, imagining several nights of being close to him before waking up the next day to have it be their own little secret. That was okay by him, and by Marco too.

It was nearly nightfall when the pair had finally made it back, the sleeping quarters seen just ahead in the distance, lit by the torches lining the paths. They sighed, letting go of each other as they attempted to keep some semblance of normality of who they were before.

A hacking noise was heard, and Marco whipped his head to the side to see Ymir chopping wood. “Ymir?! What are you doing out so late?” Marco gasped. Ymir got up, striding toward them as she spoke. “Dumbasses back there are bickering. I’d rather be out here in order to avoid a headache.” she said flatly. Jean could only nod, as he had no idea what to say in reply.

“Fair enough,” Marco said nervously, watching as she crept closer to Jean. She pulled down the collar of his shirt and smirked.

“Ah Marco, it seems you finally learned how to ride horses.” she quipped. Jean nearly died right there on the campground and Marco let a hand shoot up to cover his mouth in surprise.

“Ymir!” he exclaimed before laughing out of embarrassment and defeat. She cackled before resting an arm on his shoulder, eyeing Jean’s absolutely horrified expression. “I’m proud of you, really. It was about time something was done about you two.”

Jean straightened out, a hand covering half of his face.”You… oh shit. You won't-”

“Tell anyone?” She finished, cutting through the bullshit. “No, ‘course not. That’s up to the two of you.” she smiled, calming the boys down.

Marco looked at her with a gentle gratitude. “Ymir, thank you. But… How do we keep this from everyone else? I just- I’m not ready. Jean isn’t ready.” he suggested before looking to Jean who was nodding furiously in confirmation. Ymir put her hand to her chin in momentary contemplation.

“Look, I’m not telling you all my secrets. But I can give a few. For now though I’ll just say this: if Christa and I can get away with it, so can you two knuckleheads.”

Jean’s eyes widened. So many bombshells in one evening. Ymir and Christa? Together? Thinking of it now, he wasn’t that surprised, but the sudden admittance of it caught him off guard. “Wow” is all he could muster before Marco tenderly put his head on his shoulder, making his face flush a light pink.

Seeing this, Ymir couldn’t help but grin. They were cute, and she unfortunately had to concede to that. “Well, I’m turning in for the night-” she began as Marco brought her in for a hug, interrupting her goodbyes.

“Thank you Ymir, really” he whispered. She patted his back. “Anytime man.” she concluded before breaking the hug to turn back. “Sleep tight!” she winked, and Marco looked back at a flushing Jean.

“How do you feel?” he questioned, unable to read Jean’s expression.

He ruffled Marco’s hair. “Good,” he said. “Really good”. He cupped Marco’s cheek and leaned in to meet his forehead. They breathed in the warmth of each other before pulling back, knowing they had to actually go back this time. “Meet me in my room, twenty minutes.” Jean hushed, and Marco bit his cheek.

“Fifteen” he quipped, jogging off to report their mission.

“Deal.”

#JeanMarco #jean kirschtein fanfiction #jean x marco #marco x jean #fluff #spicy #our second fic ever #please be nice #im scared #kissing #making out #hot n heavy #this went way longer than we thought #not the end lol

[dothwrites]

spn15 spec, destiel, post 15.18, mcd?? sort of???

---

And when your sorrow is comforted (time soothes all sorrows) you will be content that you have known me. You will always be my friend.--Antoine de-Saint Exupery, The Little Prince

---

Castiel opens his eyes in nothingness. 

It’s not dark, though the air which presses around him is thick onyx. There is neither gravity nor weightlessness here. Castiel exists but he does so in a void so barren that he doubts his own mind. He opens his mouth to call out, but no sound escapes. 

Castiel exists in ignorance for one, glorious moment. Then the weight of memory crushes into him. His chest buckles underneath the pressure. He tries to scream, but the vast emptiness swallows the sound. 

---

“Cas, we can fight this!” 

Dean, his Righteous Man, Dean, the shining beacon, his friend...The first real friend he’d ever made. Dean is ready to fight. Dean would fight God, has indeed fought God. But he can’t fight this. 

The door shudders in its frame. Blow after blow rains down on the weakening wood. Already, the wood is splintering under the assault. The thin strip of light at the bottom of the door disappears underneath a sea of writhing black. The Empty is here. It wants what it was promised.  

“Dean,” he says. He intends to say much more--It’s too late, let me go, thank you--but his voice cracks on the single syllable of Dean’s name. 

He wants to stay. God help him, but he wants to stay. 

“No, dammit Cas! You don’t get to give up! We can fight this thing, we can keep running, we can...” Dean’s voice trails off into nothing as he looks wildly around the small room. 

Though he might protest, Castiel knows that Dean is a man bailing out a sinking ship. In his heart, Dean knows the battle is already lost. But he’s still defiant, still clinging to the faintest shred of hope.

Castiel loves him for that. 

“You fought for the whole world.” Castiel’s voice is weak and pale against the ear-shattering thunder of the Empty’s attempts to break into the room. 

“Cas, no--” 

“But you can’t fight for me.” 

The words shatter something vital in him. Castiel gasps as the agony shreds through him. He thought there would be more time. He thought that happiness was an ideal that no one could ever reach. He thought there would be time, he doesn’t want to go, he wants to stay--

“Cas, I can’t...Not again, I can’t lose you again, please don’t go--” 

Black seeps into the room, slender tendrils snaking across the room towards where they stand. Castiel feels every second ticking away. He’s lived for millennia, seen worlds and empires rise and fall, felt the passing of centuries like nothing more than a passing breeze. Millions of years, and now, when it means everything, he has no time. 

Castiel cups Dean’s cheek with one shaking hand. If this is it, then he doesn’t want to leave with any regrets. “Dean,” he croaks. That word has become his compass, his prayer, the star to which he hitched his wagon. 

“I’m so sorry. I don’t want to leave you. If I had a choice, i would stay. I would stay with you through every sunrise and sunset, through every moment, the mundane and extraordinary alike.” Castiel’s voice catches in his throat as the door finally shatters and darkness pours into the room. 

“You’ve taught me everything, Dean, and I...I’m so grateful that I got to know you. Without you...” 

Castiel can’t continue. He’s immeasurably grateful for all he’s experienced with Dean, but he’s always been greedy. He wants more. He wants to see Dean’s hair continue to silver until it’s soft and grey. He wants to go fishing with Dean and discover the peace inherent in the activity. He wants to watch Jack grow into his own and Sam start a family. He wants, with a fierceness that takes his breath away. 

Darkness curls around his ankle and winds its way up his calf. 

Dean shakes his head. Tears well in his eyes but refuse to spill over, though his lower lip shakes. “Please,” he asks, tilting his head into Castiel’s palm. “I can’t...how am I supposed to do this without you?” 

Castiel starts to respond, but his voice is cut off by the swift, hard press of Dean’s lips into his. His heart jolts and gutters in his chest before it picks up again, beating so hard he thinks it might escape through the confines of his ribs. 

“I love you.” 

The words tumble out of Castiel’s mouth, the same as they did years ago when he was rotting from in the inside out. The same frantic need consumes him now as it did then, when every beat of his heart dragged him closer to the edge of oblivion, when seconds were more precious than gold, when he was so close to losing everything--

Dean sobs. He clutches the lapels of Castiel’s coat and kisses him, teeth bruising behind his lips.

Castiel’s whole lower body is engulfed in darkness so complete that it feels as though it’s ceased to exist. His whimper is lost in Dean’s mouth. 

“No,” Dean gasps, pulling away. Castiel already knows the cause of Dean’s denial. He can feel it, creeping up his chest and shoulders, slithering down to his arms. He remembers how it was to be devoured, remembers the noxious black ooze of the Leviathan crawling through him, but this is worse, is so much worse, because now he knows what Dean’s lips taste like, now he knows everything he has to lose--

“Cas, I love you,” Dean tells him, though his words echo strangely. The Empty crawls up his throat. Castiel chokes on it, but he doesn’t dare to blink. He can’t lose a second of this, of Dean’s face, horrified and tear-stricken though it is. 

Seconds tick away like centuries, Dean’s face in front of him. Castiel can’t hear what he’s saying, but he can see the words shaped on his lips. 

I’ll find you, I promise, I’m coming for you, Cas, Cas, I love--

And then. 

Empty. 

---

With the image of Dean’s face in his mind, Castiel screams. 

There is no sound in the Empty, but he screams anyway. His agony and loss pour out of him, his grief and fear. Everything that he’s lost, Dean--

Castiel screams until his voice cracks and breaks, until his throat is shredded and raw, until he tastes blood in the back of his throat. 

Hollow, he slumps to the side, curling into himself. His one consolation was that he would at least be asleep for the rest of eternity. He wouldn’t have to live with the weight of everything he’d lost. Now, even that slender comfort has been ripped from him. For the rest of time, he’ll have to exist with the memory of Dean’s glassy eyes, with the sound of Dean’s choked voice echoing through his skull, with the phantom ache of Dean’s lips against his. Castiel shudders, sobs ripping out of his throat. 

“Jesus. So much for helping.” 

Castiel blinks. The sound of another voice is foreign in this void where nothing should exist. He rolls over, looking up at the sardonic face staring down at him. 

“Ruby,” he rasps, then remembers himself. 

That’s not Ruby. 

“Go away,” he mutters. He wraps his arms around his legs, pressing his forehead to his knees. There’s no point in having pride here, not when time is meaningless and every second is a torture. The Empty already knows his secrets, though why it chose Ruby’s form to torment him is a mystery. 

“Look feathers, you were the one who screwed the pooch on this whole ‘fixing eternity’ thing. So I think I’m going to stick around for a bit.” 

“There’s no point,” Castiel says miserably. “You got what you wanted. I’m here. I’m suffering. What more could you possibly want from me?”

“Were you dropped on your halo? I told you what I wanted the last time you were here. I want out, you moron. I told you to find a way out, and you wound up here, which is kind of the opposite of what I asked.” 

Castiel blinks slowly, lifting his forehead from his knees. “Ruby?” he asks. 

Ruby rolls her eyes and sighs for dramatic effect. “Yeah, dumbo. You know, I’ve only been trying to tell you that since the beginning.” 

“I can’t trust that.” Castiel remembers all too well the last time he was here, the jolt of pleasure at seeing Meg once more only to realize that the Empty was aping her appearance to hurt him. “The Empty, it takes on your visage, your memories--”

“Yeah, you’re just going to have to trust me on this.” Ruby’s eyes flash black. “You know, as much as you can.” 

“I’d pay attention to her, Clarence. If you don’t, then she’ll probably kick your ass.” 

Castiel knows that voice. He whirls around. Meg’s face greets him, a tiny smirk twisting her lips upward. “Meg,” he whispers, an odd combination of grief and happiness twisting in his chest. 

“The one and only,” she assures him. 

A small shred of doubt clings at the back of Castiel’s mind, but he has to trust in something right now. Even if it’s two dead demons. 

“Castiel. So lovely to see you again. Though I can’t say that I agree with the company you’re keeping these days.” 

Make that three dead demons. 

“Crowley,” Castiel breathes. 

The demon looks exactly the same as he did  the day he died. His suit is pristine, down to the pocket square. He looks at Meg and Ruby with disdain before he turns that expression on Castiel. “I suppose you’re doing your biannual visit to this dump? Feel like taking any passengers out with you when you make your escape this time?” 

“I’m not...I made a deal,” Castiel whispers. He made a deal to save his son and he’ll never regret that, not for a second, but then he thinks of Dean’s face. “I’m not leaving.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so negative, Cassie. You do have a way of wriggling out of the tightest of places.” 

Mingled guilt and joy sear through Castiel as he turns around. Balthazar’s familiar face looks at him. Balthazar raises an eyebrow. “No hug?” he asks. 

“I don’t understand,” Castiel breathes. Surrounded by ghosts from his past, he feels weak. “None of you should be awake. That’s the whole point of this place. All of us, asleep, forever.” 

“That’s the way it should be, but you have a habit of wrecking the natural order.” Castiel winces at Anna’s cool voice. Though there’s no real judgement in her voice, there’s also no real warmth. “It’s been changing here, ever since your last visit.” 

“I woke it up.” 

“And because you woke it up, we all started to awake as well.” Hannah’s calm voice joins their small group, though it’s growing steadily larger. “All of us, demons and angels, started awaking. At first, it was just for moments, but lately, it’s been distracted. More of us have been able to stay awake for longer. Eventually we started finding each other.” 

“That’s my boy,” Meg says, unmistakable fondness in her voice. “Shaking up the natural order, wrecking the whole of the afterlife.” 

Castiel’s eyes dart between all of them, former enemies, allies, and friends. “Is this all of you?” 

“Were you not listening? Did they not just tell you that we’ve all been waking up, at least a little bit?” 

Gabriel pops into existence next to Castiel. Despite himself, Castiel jerks back in surprise. 

“So, what’s it going to be, Cas? Are you going to just pop out of here like always?” Crowley brings Castiel’s brain back to the present. 

When he made his deal, he made it with full awareness that there was no coming back. He accepted that burden because he knew it was the only way he could save Jack. 

But that was before he felt Dean’s lips against his, before he heard the words fall from Dean’s mouth. I love you. 

When he made the deal, he had never heard those words directed at him. When he made the deal, he had nothing to fight for. 

Now he does.

He made a choice long ago. You don’t have to be ruled by Fate. You can choose freedom. 

Castiel looks at all of them, demons and angels alike, and makes a choice. 

“We’ve got work to do.” 

#destiel #destiel fic #destiel fanfic #supernatural #supernatural fic #deancas #deancas fic #spn15 #spn spoilers #kinda? #dean winchester #castiel #s15 speculation #the empty #cas' deal #angst #open ending #dothwrites #throwing my hat into the speculation ring #because why not #but this is what i always wanted from the empty deal #@dabb just let me write for this show

[elizabethrobertajones]

Did Bobo really create the Wayward Sisters? If so, why weren't Jack and especially Cas included in that episode? That's my biggest issue with that pilot honestly, I mean, the fact that the show abandoned Claire and Cas' bond after season 10 and gave that storyline to Salmondean. Her bond with Cas is more interesting because of their connection to the Novaks. I also think that Claire and Jack would've made a more engaging dynamic and spin off together, I think they're strong characters & actors

Hi there!

Bobo isn’t the “creator” of Wayward so much as it can even have one, as it was a very organic idea, which even involved a healthy amount of fandom input. The original campaign in season 10 was for Wayward Daughters, and the idea picked up so much steam the altered title for, I guess, a mix of copyright and thematic relevance was the Sisters one. I’d say 10x08 was the real genesis of it as something that could be really solid. Once Kim and Briana were put together the chemistry and star power they could have had together was really meteoric as far as our small SPN world was concerned. Phil Sgriccia directed 9x13 and wrote 10x08 and was more of the parent of Wayward than any specific writer in that sense. Jody and Claire were pretty much common property of the show by that point. Claire was really introduced again in relation to plotlines and questions about Cas and less to do with them really going out of their way to re-launch her. I think they’d have been much cornier about it from the start and while YA protagonist diary writing her way through the end of Wayward Sisters was cute, it’s the sort of cutesy that really has to be earned. If she STARTED that way, like maybe me and 3 friends would be stanning her and everyone else would be revolted :P

(I am a YA fantasy novel author, but I do think everyone should make room in their hearts for this level of cheese)

In any case, Bobo just threw his hat into an already crowded ring with Alex, but obviously loving the characters and having his own personal wayward child to contribute did help elevate him to the prospective showrunner seat, but also all the other writers who’d written these characters except Dabb had left at that point. If Bobo was going to shepherd them through to their new show, he’d be the legacy writer, even though he was a new baby writer in the season Donna was introduced... Attrition aside, he did genuinely write them very well, loved their stories and was great with writing Jody when he could get her, so he would also have been a good choice even if all the others were left still... 

But anyway. Season 10′s subplot for Cas was about Claire and learning some stuff about himself along the way, but she was used very much for his personal development and for Dean as well, being a mini Dean herself in a season where he had lost a lot of his sense of self. It’s a total accident of scheduling but Angel Heart (10x20) being the last episode before 10x22 is a nice touch in that regard. And while Cas tried really hard with Claire and awoke his inner Dad side so that he’d be more prepared for fatherhood next time, it was pretty insurmountable between them to have anything more than a bittersweet relationship where the best he could do was make up with her and see her somewhere safe. The fact of him looking like her actual dead father is horrendous the more you think about it and while she managed to see him for who he was instead of a horrible monster, that’s more than enough trauma to inflict on an already traumatised girl for the sake of helping Cas’s manpain and tidying up the sticky question of Jimmy and Cas’s right to the vessel. 

Angel Heart very specifically ends with TFW mailing Claire to Jody because they know she’s already good with Alex in a genuine way and can handle these sort of issues and has done it before. And also because she can be a guardian who will not constantly remind Claire that her father is dead but something is walking around wearing a perfect reconstruction of his face. Carver era did a few things here and there with bodily autonomy and the problem of angel and demon vessels, but it was also really hit and miss. They’d get random waves of feeling guilty about it but then by necessity go back to stabbing angels in their still-living vessels an episode later. Claire was a way to address at the very least that whatever Cas was being put through was only a punishment on Cas and not on Jimmy as well, which is probably why we got such sappy Heaven scenes. We NEEDED to be shown he was in Heaven and largely okay with what was going on so that the show could justify using Cas at all as a character without breaking the code of ethics they tried to make their own characters adhere to. Aside from that it also gave Cas a side plot for when he wasn’t needed in the main plot, and any emotional connection to anything that wasn’t Sam and Dean.

Anyway 10x20 caused this huge fandom high which was followed by one of the lowest lows of the fandom immediately after, and both centred on female characters (in fact, now we know, 2 lesbians even! Though I’d wonder if, The Gay Agenda aside, Bobo spite-wrote that specifically because of the roots of Wayward) and I think that galvanised the whole movement of fans and hopefully some self-reflection in the show. They DID start making an effort in season 11, which shows some of the early signs of better inclusion but also backtracking or edging nervously away from the more intense Carver era stuff. Not just because Dean didn’t have the Mark any more but in general it was like someone had opened a window and let in some fresh air... Even before Carver bailed somewhere around the midseason to go do a different show and Dabb started to step up. 

All this to say that the Wayward stuff was always about the female characters and making up for the past sins of the show. It’s even a riff on the “wayward son” line which obviously centres around male protagonists and their journey. Claire stumbled into being a part of it in the lucky way of being in the right place and time, but the journey had already started even in the season 10 momentum with earlier work and it was that which suddenly made the prospect that Jody had two young women living with her now seem like a starter for the next generation of the show as it was a mirrored format to season 1 in a way, if you took Alex and Claire as the new Sam and Dean. It was exciting but people flipped out after Angel Heart because stuff had been bubbling since season 9 and earlier in season 10, so this was just pouring more candy into an already visibly full bowl of potential tasty gems. It made a possibility seem real that hadn’t before because we already had Kim bitterly complaining that the CW refused to hear the case for a Jody spin off because she was too old. The next best thing was a Jody spin off where she was the Gandalf to some CW age appropriate characters.

(the CW is and always has been garbage)

Anyway in season 13 Jack was introduced as a Claire 2.0 but as a male character with staying power for that reason, but he was filling the space she left for Cas. He couldn’t be a father to her and neither really wanted that set up anyway. But thematically it had created the possibility of Dadstiel and the space he had in his heart for that. Since the show was in its waning years they would be looking for endgame and handing Cas an easy win with a son he could unconditionally love who would love him back unconditionally absolutely filled that gap. It was a non SamnDean thing that Cas could have for himself outside of whatever happened with them. Not sure the memo came back that he was supposed to have mORE than that but oh well it’s not real if you don’t watch it :))) But yeah Jack was always going to be linked to Cas’s endgame, he wasn’t a free-floating character such as Jody who could go where she wanted and do as she pleased. He was main story relevant from start to finish and tied inexorably to another main character’s fate. Because the show wouldn’t do that with its female characters they could be bundled into spin offs but in practical terms Jack was both never what the Wayward as envisioned by fans or writers was about, nor would he have been free to go. 

Since it would have been about centering the stories of people overlooked by the main story, Claire a case in point that she had her life ruined in season 4 and it was a footnote until season ten, and then metaphorically more the concept of having queer and non-white characters in the mix of main characters, it would have represented a future of the story where the main show was unable to tread. Probably because of the CW. Also inherent biases in the writers. Bad cocktail. Jack is both too white and too male to fit the brief to ever leave SPN, and not only that but he is so as a precise mirror to the main white male characters, being passably any one of their sons if you squint, and meant to be instantly instinctively read as such... he was one of the safest bets of representing the show as the network wanted to imagine its target demographic.

So I really don’t think that Jack has any place being in a spin off of the show unless you want more of the same. They tried to give us something different and the CW didn’t like it because it wasn’t more of the same. Ironically a Jack spin off, with or without Claire, would have more chance of being greenlit and more chance of success. But the spin off they put their heart behind was Wayward Sisters as it was. And I think it was absolutely correct that never mind leaving Jack out of it after his work was done in the lead up episode to help set the table, but honestly they could have cut all the middle scenes of Sam and Dean wandering in the woods and gained precious seconds with the girls and still had a functioning story with those guys. It was like some cowardly missive was sent that the show couldn’t actually go more than 10 minutes without showing a flesh and blood Winchester or the whole thing would spontaneously sizzle out of syndication and the money tree would wither on the spot. And in the mean time, we could have been having Banter with the girls. Or Claire and Kaia holding hands some more. The good stuff :P 

[the-dimitrescu-seamstress]

Help Wanted, A Prequel

(Mun here! I’ve been a bit busy writing drabbles and finally finished one up. It’s the backstory of how Magda came under the employment of House Dimitrescu.

One thing I’ve noticed is that pre-castle Magda is a bit more rough around the edges than seamstress Magda. I hope you all enjoy it.)

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

The shuttle bus rolling to a stop was what woke Magdalena from her slumber. Normally, she didn’t fall asleep on such rides but the night train from Bucharest to Bistrița hadn’t exactly been restful. But, to its credit, the bus had been mostly empty.

Mostly.

As what seemed to always be the rule with nearly empty buses, an older woman just had to sit next to her. It didn’t matter that there were plenty of other empty seats she could have chosen from. No, she decided to sit right next to Magdalena… and then proceed to talk almost incessantly about to her family, to the point where the younger woman had to fake falling asleep.

Except that in faking it, she actually eventually succumbed to her tiredness.

Looking out the window, Magda rubbed her eyes and blinked, more than a bit confused at the sight of trees closer than they should have been if they were at a rest stop. Which they were not.

The bus was parked in the middle of an unpaved mountain road, the motor turned off, and the driver standing over her. Also noticeable was the fact that, aside from herself and said looming driver, there were no other passengers on the bus.

“Did we break down?” Magda asked cautiously, sitting up.

“There was a rock slide on the main road, closing it down,” he replied, a little too casually. “This is the detour. The other passengers decided to wait at the last rest stop for a bus back, but you had no complaints, so I continued.”

“I had no complaints? I was asleep! And now we’re in the middle of nowhere.” Why the hell hadn’t anyone woken her up? Even the woman who tried to talk her ear off. Magda just loved and appreciated the everlasting kindness of strangers.

“Exactly. And since you’re my only passenger, we should talk. If you want to keep going, you’ll need to pay more.”

“Keep going?! We’re on a dirt road!” she yelled. “Where the hell are we even going?!”

“That is a good point,” he answered, scratching his chin. “We’re on the side of some mountain. You’ll need to pay me to get back to the main road. And civilization.” Magda blinked, dumbfounded. Was he really trying to extort her for more money?

Looking out the window, she stalled for time in order to think of a solution that didn’t involve punching the driver in the face. She didn’t have money; certainly not enough he would consider worth his time and effort. If he knew that, it was possible he’d want a different form of compensation, and she wasn’t about to give that up for him. As Magda mulled over her options, something caught her eye through the trees. It was the turrets of a rather imposing castle. She then saw the turning blades of a large windmill a bit further off, as well as smoke curling from what looked like modern chimneys nestled in the shadow of the castle.

Smoke meant civilization, people, and a potential alternate exit from this hellhole of a scenario.

“I’ll take my chances walking,” she informed the driver while standing up with her bag and doing her best to shoulder past him hard in one swift motion. She almost made it to the door too before being roughly grabbed and pulled back.

“There are wolves and other things in these woods that will happily eat you right up, little girl,” the driver growled, his breath a bit too warm and close to Magda’s neck for comfort.

“Better there than here,” she countered, shifting her weight into him while delivering an elbow to his ribs and the heel of her palm sharply to the side of his nose. It might not have exceedingly effective, but it was enough to escape his grip, as well as the bus. Once outside, Magda did her best to put distance between herself and the road, scrambling through the woods and undergrowth. For all she knew, the driver could have been armed and more than a little pissed off.

After running for a bit, she jumped down an embankment and paused, catching her breath while listening. There were no sounds of pursuit, which she was grateful for, and after a few tense minutes, she heard a motor fire up and the bus drive away.

Now she was well and truly stuck in the middle of nowhere.

Yes, there was absolutely a sudden reaction of ‘what the fuck did you just do, Magdalena?’ but that thought was shushed as worry about the other alternative was brought up as a brief counter-argument. It was the lesser of two evils. Besides, there was the nearby town. Perhaps they had vehicles to rent or someone would be nice enough to drive her to the nearest train station. Hell, if the castle was any indication, maybe it was a local tourist destination with a proper hotel where she could get cleaned up and spend the night.

At least that was what Magda had intended and hoped for.

It was safe to say that she hadn’t dressed for a hike through the woods, but rather a walk through the metropolitan area of a well populated city. Thankfully, she had the decency to wear sensible boots. It was also safe to say that, when it came to mountains, distances were deceiving. Yes, it wasn’t that far to the town, as the crow flew, but for Magda, there were some unexpected ups and downs. Eventually she came upon what looked to be an old farm trail, which saved her ankles from being rolled too much. Either way, by the time she reached the town, she was more than a bit tired.

Not that it could even be considered a town.

It was more like a village, and a poor one at that. Or perhaps one that still lived in a era where not much had changed since the Soviets had marched through. If you were from a more cultured or modern city, it was sometimes still a shock, and a sobering one at that, to see that there were still areas where the horse and cart were still just as prevalent as more modern modes of transportation, and they cut hay with scythes that they had just sharpened by hand that morning. Being away at school and traveling the various cities of Western Europe had spoiled Magda.

The roads were all dirt and gravel or rather, due to a recent rain, gravel and mud. This was a gray mud that was somehow both slippery and sticky, grabbing hold of Magda’s boots at any chance it got. The houses, though in decent shape, were old and worn. Fresh coats of blue, yellow, white, and red paint gave life to wood that was otherwise weathered with that unmistakable brown-grey color brought on by time. The fences, some metal, but most wood, were kept in good shape, as they were what contained the multitudes of chickens she saw, along with a few pigs, goats, and horses.

What Magda didn’t see much of were people. Yes, the village was inhabited, but as soon as she approached any of the residents, they all hurried inside their dwellings, shut the door, and ignored any attempts she made at communication.

“This is ridiculous! We are in Romania, right? You do speak Romanian? The damn bus driver couldn’t have crossed a border!” Magda yelled to no one. Even if he had been able to do so, the surrounding countries recognized the language she spoke. Clearly these people just hated outsiders. Mumbling a few choice words about hospitality, she continued into the center of town. If she could make it to the castle, maybe she could find out where the hell she was and learn exactly how she could get out of here.

The village square was as disappointing as the rest of the village. Aside from the roads converging, the only way she knew it was the village center was because of the statue. It was a crouching woman, armed with a sword and shield, clearly ready to do battle with… something unseen. The plaque read ‘Maiden of War’ which made Magda smile a little. When she was little, her grandparents had spoken about the village they were from having a statue of a warrior maiden. If this was the same village, it would be one hell of a coincidence. Though if the rest of their stories were to be believed, then the castle was home to a terrible monster. Actually, all the aristocrats were supposed to be monsters. As she grew older, Magda chocked that up to being a bit of resentment towards the ruling class, political upheaval, and whatever else would make overthrowing the elite easier in the minds of the populace.

Besides, even if they were monsters, the people in the castle had to be more helpful than the villagers.

The gate that separated the village from the castle grounds was large and impressive, with a carved relief depicting the warrior maid fighting a horned demon. The laugh that escaped her was brief, but maybe a bit harsh. This almost looked like something an American would put outside a castle in an effort to claim it belong to Vlad Tepes. All that was missing were the impaled bodies. Maybe this had been a failed tourist attempt, trying to ride the coattails of the many Dracula movies made over the years. Either way, the road to the castle looked well traveled and she could see faint lights in the windows, so someone must be living there.

As she made her way up the road, Magda re-evaluated the owner’s intentions yet again when she saw the grapevines. She knew absolutely nothing about vineyards and winery, but if one had an old castle with extensive cellars that were kept at a stable temperature, and the soil was good enough, why not start producing wine? It still didn’t explain why the locals treated her as such. Perhaps they were naturally wary of outsiders or just pissed off people in general. Not that it really mattered. She’d be out of their hair soon enough.

At a distance, the castle looked old, gothic, and imposing, but up close, Magda knocked a few hundred years off its age, moving it away from the mountain fortresses that waged war and stood against sieges in the Middle Ages to something more along the lines of the proverbial fairytale castles built in the 1700’s. Turrets, balconies, and large windows abounded. Once you looked past the dark exterior stone coloring, it was actually quite beautiful, and she spent a few minutes admiring the facade before making her way to the front door.

Though the small lion-headed door knockers looked purely ornamental, Magda still used them to announce her presence. After a second try and a few minutes without an answer, she made sure her boots were free of that awful mud before testing the doorknob. The door opened easily and silently, revealing a gorgeously ornate entry hall, centered on an alcove holding a painting of three young women.

“Three daughters… Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela,” she read quietly off the title plaque. White walls, with gilded details and carved woodwork; it all said this was either a home or a museum. Part of Magda hoped it was the latter, so she wouldn’t feel like she was intruding, but again, this didn’t fully explain the state of the village below… unless the person who owned this castle was some overly moneyed individual that looked down on anyone who couldn’t date their family history back eighteen generations and therefore didn’t care about commoners.

To the right of the entrance hall was a room containing an antique elevator. It was something that didn’t look to be in the best of shape, but then again neither was the room itself. Magda had a feeling it was left over from when the castle was built, probably used to move materials to the upper levels. The hallway on the opposite side of the entrance hall looked much more promising. At least for the time being.

The luxury of the castle continued on with inlayed wood floors, lace and brocade curtains, antique furniture, and art pieces scattered all about. Magda quietly made her way down the hallway, listening for any indication of people. The stillness that surrounded her was almost palpable. Which was probably why the normally soft sound of a door opening seemed as loud as a gunshot. Through the doorway at the bottom of the the stairs came a tall woman dressed all in black, with a hood pulled up in order to put her face and red hair in shadow.

“I am very sorry to intrude and disturb you, ma’am,” Magda apologized. “I was just looking for the owner of this castle or someone I could see about possibly getting a ride into a nearby city?” The woman just smiled and giggled a little as she started up the stairs.

“Awwww, you’re lost and looking for someone?” she crooned. “Well, it’s your lucky day. I’m someone.” That was when Magda noticed the sickle in the redhead’s hand and the bloodstains on both her face and dress. Then there was also the matter of her height. At first Magda thought it was just due to an odd angle, but as the other woman climbed the stairs, Magda realized she had to be well over six feet tall, possibly nearing seven. Alarm bells began ringing in her head.

“Oh! Oh, no… no, you see, I am very sorry. I don’t know what you’ve been doing, but I am soooo very sorry for interrupting you. You’re clearly busy, so I’ll let you be,” she explained while quickly backpedaling the way she came, doing her best not to run, despite every instinct saying to do just that. What kind of place had she stumbled upon?

Magda’s steady retreat stopped when she backed into something unexpected. Risking a look behind her, she saw another equally tall woman, dressed almost identically to the redhead, only this one was a brunette, and the look in her eyes was more of a predatory nature. As if she were choosing the right cut of beef off a cow.

Her exit blocked by the brunette, Magda did a stupid thing and bolted for the nearby double doors. She touched the handles just as they burst open, revealing a third individual. Turning to run, arms encircled Magda, pulling her back and holding her tight.

“Never have we had prey come to us so eagerly,” the third woman, a blonde, said with a loud laugh and manic grin. She then leaned in close and inhaled deeply, causing Magda to flinch and close her eyes, going still in the woman’s arms. “I do so enjoy hot blood tinged with fear… Promise you’ll scream for me when I cut you open?” she whispered excitedly into her ear.

“And here I thought you never played with your food,” the brunette quipped drily. Magda could practically hear the blonde rolling her eyes.

“Just because you have what seems to be a perishingly limited imagination, Cassandra, that doesn’t mean that I have to share the same fate.” These two argued like siblings, while the redhead simply smiled and traced her fingers over and around the sickle she held, all the while watching Magda.

“You’ve never shared anything in your life. Why start now?” Cassandra countered.

“You are absolutely correct. Maybe next time you’ll be faster and finally get a bite.” As the blonde replied, the impossible happened. Part of the woman’s body dissolved… and turned into insects. She still held Magda close and tight, but her lower half had utterly disappeared into a swarming mass of flies. Then they suddenly took off together, flying through the castle. Whereas Magda had thought she might have been able to talk her way out of this situation prior to this insanity, now she was utterly filled with dread; a cold fear washing over her. What were these things? How was any of this even possible? Was this how she was going to die? All these thoughts were wiped away as she was dumped, a bit unceremoniously, on the floor of bedchamber.

“Mother… this was found wandering the halls.” The room was mostly dark, lit only by the roaring fire in the hearth. A feminine figure sat behind a desk littered with paperwork. Something was off about the woman. Maybe it was due a combination of the large hat she wore, the dancing shadows caused by the firelight, and the angle Magda was laying at, but something just didn’t look right, and she didn’t know why.

“Ma’am, I can explain. I was on a bus and the driver was trying to extort money from me, so I thought I’d have better luck with getting a ride in your town. The people there were less willing to help, so I came here. I swear I haven’t stolen anything,” she explained in a hurried fashion, hoping they could somehow reach an understanding.

“ ‘My town’? How quaint of you to say that.” The woman’s voice and small chuckle that followed were both rich and cultured, with a foreign affected accent, like she had been educated somewhere other than Romania. Had she been? Did wealthy families still send their children abroad to study? “Whether or not you have stolen anything isn’t the issue, my dear. You are still trespassing, and I do not take kindly to those that trespass on my property.” With that, the woman stood up.

And up.

Magda’s face blanched as the woman’s head drew level with the top of the nearby canopied bed. She had to have been ten feet tall.

“Futu-i!” she yelled, scrambling back and away, only to bump, once again, into the brunette woman, the smiling redhead standing beside her. Hands roughly grabbed Magda, hauling her to her feet. “Ma’am, I’m sorry!” Her voice trembled with fear. “I knocked, but there was no answer and your door was unlocked. Had I known, I wouldn’t have entered, I swear. Please don’t kill me.” That last sentence was said in a pathetic whimper which made the lady smile in a manner that was both pleased and terribly cruel-looking. As if she had heard that request time and time before.

Magda’s stomach sank as she realized she likely had.

The blood stained dresses and sickles were one indication. Her eyes wandered, finding more. There were unusual dark spots on the rug and shackles by the fire. Their impossible height and ability to change into insects. As impossible as it seemed, these women weren’t human. Did vampires really exist? Magda was so in shock and distracted by that thought that she didn’t realize what else was going on until she felt a pressure draw across her left wrist. She blinked. The blonde was holding a knife and Magda could see blood welling up on her wrist. Oddly enough, there was no pain. Just the blood flowing easily and freely.

A large, leather gloved hand cupped her wrist in a firm yet gentle manner. For as lavish as the home decor was, Magda couldn’t help but notice how less than ideal the state of the tall woman’s dress was. The buttons at her wrist were loose, and the fabric? Although it was clean, there were minute stains either from food, in terms of her sleeves and bustline, or from general dirt, if her hemline was any indication. She also saw small repairs where a seam had popped or a tear had formed. It wasn’t the worst stitching she’d seen, but it could have been better. Why was a woman this rich wearing clothing repaired many times over? Yes, she had to have everything custom made, but that surely wasn’t an obstacle, was it?

The lady’s head suddenly dipped into view and almost immediately her tongue was felt along Magda’s wrist. She hissed in pain, forgetting all her questions, and unintentionally tried to pull her hand away, but to no avail. The lady’s grasp was incredibly strong and, in that moment of resistance, they locked eyes.

She had a dread beauty about her. Pale white skin, coal-black hair, deep crimson lips made that much darker by the blood, and eerily captivating yellow eyes. Even with her life currently on the line, Magda was absolutely taken by her.

The tasting was brief, lasting no more than a few seconds. The tall lady stood there for a quiet few moments before making a small hum of approval.

“Take her to the cellar and drain her,” she said in a dismissive manner and a flick of her hand. Almost immediately, Magda found herself being dragged towards the door and to her doom. For what it was worth, she did put up a good fight. Having a brother five years her senior gave Magda the knowledge of how to defend against someone bigger and stronger than her. It probably had been a good thing that, up until this point, she had been nothing but meek and quiet. However, despite her valiant effort and a surprisingly well placed elbow to the brunette’s midsection, she found herself pinned and being dragged away once more.

They say that the strangest things can come out of a person’s mouth when they’re in danger. That they would promise anything just to live a little while longer.

Magda clearly was not an exception to that particular rule.

“Wait!” she exclaimed. “Wait! Your dress! I can make it better! I can do better than whoever you have on hand with your current repairs. I went to school for this! I was on my way to Cluj-Napoca to work at the National Opera as a seamstress!” A slight lie. The National Opera had said to check back with them in six months to a year for a chance at an opening. Until then, she had secured a gig at the North Theatre in Satu Mare. “I know how to sew and I know how to draft patterns! Let me live and I swear I will make you the most beautiful wardrobe made out of the finest fabrics I can find. If money is not an obstacle, I will have you wearing the best silks, satins, brocades, and whatever else pleases you!”

At that, the woman held up a hand and all movement in the room stopped. She studied Magda; scrutinizing and looking for any hint of a lie or falsehood. After a minute that seemed to be drawn out for an eternity, she finally spoke.

“A trial run. Two weeks. You’ll be shown to your new home and given tasks. Complete them,” she ordered. There was no leniency to those words or any sign of gentleness. She then stepped closer to Magda, looking down at her and using her height to cut an even more imposing figure. “Should you fail or try to run, you’ll wish you had died today,” she purred, showing off a wicked little grin. “Bela, tend to her wrist and then escort our new seamstress to her workshop. She has work to do.”

“Yes, mother,” the blonde said, stepping forward and quickly ushering Magda out of the room. Unlike the previous escorting, this time she was gentle. A hand pressing against the small of her back was all that was needed to keep Magda moving. Did she pay attention to where they were going? No. Should she have? Yes, absolutely, but she was still trying to understand what all had just happened.

The room they entered could have been a study or den, perhaps even a catch-all room if the miniature castle in the corner was any indication. Taking a seat at the desk, Magda made the mistake of glancing at her wrist. The incision was neat and clean, but blood had made little rivulet pathways all over her hand and wrist, while a smeared streak up her forearm indicated where the woman’s tongue had been. As if in response of being observed, the wound suddenly began to ache and throb. Magda quickly looked away, not wanting to risk passing out or becoming sick.

She hated the sight of her own blood.

Bela, meanwhile, retrieved a small medical kit from a locked drawer. She then proceeded to carefully and systematically clean almost the entirety of Magda’s forearm and hand, even going as far as checking under her fingernails.

“Five minutes ago, you were fantasizing about drinking my blood,” Magda commented.

“That was five minutes ago,” she answered matter of factly before applying the iodine. It stung and Magda reacted accordingly as every normal human did, by wincing in pain. “Hold still,” Bela ordered, positioning her arm back under the desk light. The suturing of the wound once more made Magda turn away and examine the contents of the room in great detail.

“If this is enough to turn your stomach, then for your sake you had best been telling the truth to mother. She abhors liars.”

“I was telling the truth, I swear it,” the quiet reply came, the reality of her situation now sinking in. Bela made a small, noncommittal noise.

“You should also be careful with how you swear.” Advice now given, the wound was quickly covered in a piece of gauze and neatly wrapped.

“Thank you,” Magda offered. Bela gave no response, only putting the medical kit away and gesturing for Magda to accompany her out of the room. The taller blonde allowed no time for her to look around, keeping the pace at a brisk walk… for her. With her height and longer strides, that meant Magda had to almost jog in order to keep up.

The workshop was…quite the state. It was obvious that no one had been working in here for a rather long time. Magda didn’t know what she expected, but it certainly wasn’t this. Cobwebs, dust, and machinery that, if she were lucky, would actually manage to function for the next two weeks. She wanted to sigh. She wanted to scream and cry or do something that would at least alleviate the frustration of her current situation. However, Bela was probably expecting that, maybe even looking forward to it, just so she could run off to tell her mother and then start sharpening their knives for dinner.

So instead, Magda simply took a deep breath and nodded. “This… will do. Bring whatever items you need repaired and I will take care of them.” There was a drone of insects taking flight behind her and, by the time she turned to look, all Magda saw was the tail end of an insect swarm leaving the room. Once the sound had subsided, she quietly closed the door and sat against it, trying not to cry or to think about the fresh hell she was just been thrown into and what would happen if she failed during these next two weeks.

#drabble #one-shot #Alcina Dimitrescu #Daniela Dimitrescu #Cassandra Dimitrescu #Bela Dimitrescu

[themadlostgirl]

Abandoned (3)

*Finals are almost over! That has nothing to do with this chapter I’m just happy.*

~~~

It had been several days since Pan had left me with that sack of food and the news that my father had traded me away for freedom. I refused to believe it though. It was a lie. It was a lie to get me to stop believing in papa.

The music from Pan’s pipes could take my memories but that didn’t mean I was going to let them go without a fight. I wrote down everything I could remember. I sang shanties every night over the sound of Pan’s music. Tonight was no different. What I sang wasn’t a shanty though. It was something much softer.

“My young love said to me, "My mother won't mind, and my father won't slight you for your lack of kind." And she stepped away from me, and this she did say,” I struggled with the next line, it was right there on the tip of my tongue, “And this she did say...she did say…”

“Ugh!” I flopped back against the sand, “What did she say?”

Papa sang this to me every night when I was little. Or was it every time I had a nightmare? Everything is getting so hard to remember. Did papa sing it to me at all or was it a song one of the others on the ship sang? Or maybe it was a song I had heard at a festival or maybe a tavern?

It feels useless. I can’t even remember the next line of a song!

I pulled the pocketwatch from my pocket and stared at the unmoving hands. Pan’s unwanted words started to echo in my head.

You really do not want to face the truth do you?

No.

You wanna know how I know that he isn’t coming back for you? How I know he abandoned you here?

It’s another lie. Another trick.

He left because I told him to.

Papa wouldn’t abandon me. Papa wouldn’t trade me away!

Adults are so disappointing, especially parents. Selfish enough to sell their own children off to make their lives easier.

“Papa, please,” I whispered to the night air, “Please come back. I know you didn’t leave me here on purpose. You’re gonna come back but it needs to be soon. Please papa...I miss you.”

A soft melody broke through my quiet sobs. I turned around and stared into the jungle. I could practically see the notes floating out from the darkness and wrapping around me. I stood to my feet. Letting the music take me closer to the jungle’s edge.

I followed the song into the jungle. It was trance like but not in the way it had been before. I was more conscious of what I was doing. Choosing to follow it instead of letting myself slip completely under its spell.

After a while I could make out the glow of the bonfire in the distance. The music was coming from the camp as I knew it would be. I could just walk in. Pan had said that I would be welcome. I could join the boys dancing around the fire. I could sit and listen to their stories. We could play games. We could have fun. We could be a family…

Family.

I don’t remember much about about my family. I do remember one thing though. Papa taking me above deck the day after mama died. We stood before the crew and he said that though one of us had fallen it did not mean we were alone. We were a family by more than just blood. We were a family by choice. That was a bond stronger than blood.

Where was that bond now? Where was my family now?

The warmth drained out of me all at once and I stepped away from the camp. I need to get out of here. I need to get away from here!

I started running back through the darkness to get to my camp. I caught a movement out of place among the shadows and stumbled to a stop. There, calmly sitting under a tree and illuminated by a beam of moonlight was Pan. His eyes closed. Was he asleep? Why so far from camp? Why was he out here by himself? He had just been at the camp, hadn’t he?

This was my chance! I crept closer keeping as quiet as I could as I came up behind him. He did not stir. His even measured breaths assuring me he was fast asleep. The music ended tonight. Keeping my grip tight I knocked him on the head as hard as I could with the hilt of my sword. Papa or maybe it was mama always did that to knock people out when they were down.

I kicked him lightly with my foot to make sure he was really out of it then went about looking for his pipes or anything else useful. There was nothing. No pipes. No beans. Not even lint in his pocket!

Fine. If I can’t get rid of the music I can at least get rid of him! I grabbed his arms and started dragging him back to my camp. I silently prayed that he’d stay unconscious long enough for me to get him back which by some miracle he did. I grabbed a length of rope and tied his hands behind his back and bound his legs together. I also wrapped a scarf around his mouth for some personal satisfaction. No big words were coming out of his mouth now.

After I was sure he was secure I hauled him into the rowboat and took either oar in hand. My single person rowing was not the best and the added weight didn’t make it any easier but I had already come too far. I rowed us out until we were in deeper waters. Being out here at night with the mermaids wasn’t the smartest decision I had ever made but I wasn’t in the mood for making smart decisions.

I sat there in the rocking boat staring at the unconscious demon across from me. The moon was bright and full casting everything in pale light. I could make out mermaids bobbing in and out of the water closer to shore. They didn’t seem to be moving any closer. Perhaps they were waiting to see what would happen. So was I.

What was I supposed to do now? Killing him would be the obvious thing to do after all the grief he has put me through. Running him through while he was still unconscious wasn’t right though. Bad form. He deserved to look his death in the eye.

I cupped some water and tossed it in his face to wake him up. He groaned as his eyes cracked open. Then they widened some more as his situation became more clear. He pulled at the ropes binding him but to no avail. He glared at me and tried to talk around his gag.

“Sorry? Have something to say?” I asked, enjoying the irritation on his face.

He continued to grumble until I decided to let him have some final words. I pulled the gag down out of his mouth.

“Why thank you,” He rolled his eyes, “I haven’t been bound and gagged in so long. What’s the occasion?”

“To victory.”

“Mine or yours.” He quirked an eyebrow up at me.

“Isn’t it obvious,” I gestured to the situation, “Out of the two of us which one isn’t being held prisoner?”

“Prisoner? Is that what you think of me, swordfish? I thought this was a bit of fun between friends.”

“We’re not friends. We never have been and we never will be.”

“Never is an awfully long time. You sure you can resist me for that long? I am a lot of fun when you get to know me.”

“I think I know you well enough. Also, I won’t have to resist much longer since I can kill you at any moment. The mermaids are wading nearby and I’m sure they’d love a late night snack.”

“You brought chum for them? That’s awfully sweet for a hoard of bloodthirsty half-fish.”

“Will you stop.” I pointed my dagger at him, “Stop acting like you don’t care. I understand wanting to go to your death with dignity but you can’t be so flippant about it. Look at the situation. This is where you will die. Don’t you care?”

“Oh no, I do care. I care very much and I am impressed by this whole scene you’ve created. Job well done. I’d clap if my hands weren’t tied behind my back.”

“You are really just an ass, aren’t you?”

“Part of my charm.” he winked at me, “Please, proceed, I wanna hear where you’re gonna take this next.”

“I said to stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Denying your situation. This cannot be having no impact on you.” I grabbed him by the collar, “So stop making fun of me!”

“I don’t know what you mean. I’m exactly where I want to be.”

“Tied up and at my mercy?”

“Obviously. Did you really think it would have been this easy? To sneak up on me and subdue me so easily? To drag me out here without any of my boys noticing?”

“You’re saying that you let me kidnap you?”

“How else would we have gotten here?”

“No. No! I beat you! You’re just trying to turn the situation around so it looks like you have the upperhand when you know I have you cornered! I beat you!”

“Of course you did. You beat me entirely. Here I am, tied up and at your complete mercy. There’s no conceivable way this could be in my favor.”

“Then why are you talking like it is?”

“Is this a trick question?”

“Pan!”

“Let’s look at the facts here, spitfire. You snuck up on me, knocked me unconscious, dragged my limp unconscious body through the jungle back to your camp, tied me up, put me in a boat, rowed me out into the middle of the ocean, and then woke me up to lord your victory over me.”

“And?”

“Do you not see the game you’re playing. I told you once before you don’t want to kill me and here is the proof.”

“All I have to do is stab you through the heart.”

“Yes. So why haven’t you done it yet?”

The realization rocked through me like a tidal wave.

“You had multiple opportunities to. You could have run me through back in the jungle. But then you dragged me through the jungle. You could have killed me when we got back to your camp. You could have thrown me over the side of the boat to drown after you hauled me all tied up in here. You could stab me any moment you choose but still your blade stays holstered. Why do you think that is? You’re bored, swordfish. You are so utterly bored and this game between us is the only thing keeping you from hurling yourself off Dead Man’s Peak. We both know it. You won’t kill me because I am the most fun you’ve had in years! You may not like it but the truth can be hard to swallow.”

I grabbed my dagger and poised it over his heart. “I am going to kill you. I am going to stab this blade through your heart and watch the life drain out of your eyes!”

“Do it then!” He shouted, “Do it! Kill me!”

“I will!” My grip on the handle tightened.

“Come on, do it.” He urged, “Do it! Do it!”

“I--I--” My hand started to shake. “AH!” I stabbed the blade into the wood of the boat.

I couldn’t do it. Why couldn’t I do it?

“Don’t beat yourself up over it, precious.” I felt a hand run through my hair. The ropes binding Pan had fallen away and he had inched forward to pet my head. “It was a good effort. You certainly kept me on my toes and I can say that this has been the most fun I’ve had in ages. But really, do not worry about not being able to kill me. It’s a big thing taking someone’s life, especially for the first time. Although, I would have been very happy to be your first victim if you had the courage to go through with it.”

“Don’t patronize me.” I slapped his hand away. “You could get out the entire time. Why didn’t you?”

“Because I was having fun. Have you not listened to a word I’ve said?”

“What kind of pirate am I that I can’t kill the one person who has given me the most grief?”

“You’re not a pirate, Lady Jones. You’re a Lost Girl.” He held out a hand, “And I am not the one who has caused you your greatest grief. We both know who is really to blame for that.”

I stared at the hand stretched out towards me. A ball of emotion caught in my throat. “He really left me...didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

I took a deep breath and pulled the pocketwatch papa had gifted me so long ago. I opened it up and stared at the inscription. Those unwilling to fight for what they want deserve what they get. “So much of a fight you put up for me.”

I snapped it closed and threw it into the ocean as far as I could.

“I’ll row us back to shore, shall I?” Pan said after a long lapse of silence.

I sat back down staring numbly at my toes as Pan rowed us back to shore. Not a word was uttered. When we got back to shore I sat down at my camp. The only place I felt safe for I don’t even remember how long anymore. It didn’t bring me any calm this time though. All around were reminders. Mementos of a life I was forced out of by the one person I trusted most.

“Precious,” Pan knelt next to me, “You don’t have to stay out here alone anymore. Come back to camp with me.”

I turned to look at him and saw the way he almost flinched when he stared into my eyes. “If it’s all the same to you, I would much rather be alone right now.”

“Of course…” He stood up again, “You know where to go if you change your mind.”

It felt like there was something more he wanted to say but he kept it to himself. I waited until long after he left before any composure I had left me and I sunk into the sand huddling in on myself. Short muffled sobs escaping me as the last dregs of my hope were drowned.

Papa wasn’t coming back for me.

---

(Previous) (Next)

#peter pan ouat #ouat peter pan #ouat #neverland #peter pan x reader #peter pan imagine

[talesmaniac89]

Choices - You Chose Dean

New to Choices? Start Here

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Choices is an interactive Supernatural choose your own adventure story where your choices determine the outcome and whether it’s a Dean x Reader or Sam x Reader. Go to the intro to start your story now!

Triggers: None really, some mention of Dean putting himself in harm’s way.

Choice:  [You chose Dean Winchester]

Y/N = Your Name

—

“Right… So, to make sure we’re ready…” Dean said with a sigh, eyeing the signs as they passed by. The tense tone and hard voice of a soldier enough for you to tell you were quickly closing in on the farmhouse in question. 

“There’s supposed to be five demons in there. We’ll have to take ‘em all out fast. Try to catch them off guard,” Dean spoke over the music, echoing the earlier plan and case details. Though you didn’t mind. It was better to be prepared. Know the case inside out. Especially when you were dealing with those slimy black-eyed bastards. They tended to try and wiggle their way free if you left them even the slightest bit of breathing room.

According to the briefing, the five demons had made themselves a cosy little home in the middle of farm town USA. Happily living their best evil little lives and causing havoc wherever they went. But they weren’t big shots. So, the fight shouldn’t be too hard for three experienced hunters. In, out, find a motel for a snooze if necessary and home in time for lunch tomorrow.

“We’ll have to split up. (Y/N), I think…” Dean started, those infuriatingly striking green eyes glancing up at you through the rear-view mirror and nearly leaving you tongue-tied. Damn him and his… Gorgeous fucking bastard. You couldn’t even think straight. Dean Winchester did things to your mind; filthy, explicit, breathless things. Leaving you mentally winded and unable to string two words together with just a flash of green or a blinding smile.

Yet you somehow still managed to get the protest out before he finished his sentence. The stubbornness of a hunter tackling the wanton daydreamer in you to the floor and wrestling the not-so-innocent devil on your shoulder into submission for long enough to let you find your voice again.

“I’m not sitting this one out Winchester,” You snapped back. Allowing your annoyance to mask the way the hunter always left you winded as you shot down Dean’s attempt to keep you out of harm's way. Like he did every hunt. Disguised as you either taking on the research-, backup- or otherwise removed from action roles.

Though he always failed. You were just as unwilling to see him hurt as he was to see anyone hurt. There was no way in hell you’d be able to sit a fight out and risk the man you loved (oh so very secretly and silently mind you) get hurt because of it. 

“Alright… But you’re staying behind me,” Dean sighed after a moment. Clearly sensing the fight brewing as he backed off quite easily. Plus, even the infuriatingly protective hunter had to agree that 3 against 5 were still better odds than 2 against 5. No matter how much he wanted to go in, guns blazing, alone to keep his little brother and you out of harm’s way.

“Ok, so… We’ll head in the front, while Sammy goes around back?” You clarified; happy he’d dropped the fight for once. And doubly happy since you’d be right there by his side. Able to protect him and the heart you’d silently slipped him without him noticing. 

“Yeah, after, we paint some Devil’s Traps outside. Give ‘em nowhere to run,” Dean’s voice was all business again as he revved the engine, green eyes hard as you sped down the old country roads. Straightening in your own seat, you felt the adrenaline start coursing through you. It was show time, and you were planning on kicking some serious demon ass. 

--- 

“Nice place they’ve got here…” Raising an eyebrow, you kept your eyes on the dilapidated farmhouse through the trees as you stepped out of the car, hidden just out of view from the demon hideout. Unable to stop the disgusted shudder that crawled up your spine as snapshots from some of the goriest movies you knew flashed in front of your eyes.

It looked like something from a classic horror movie. You could nearly hear the Deliverance banjo music in the background as your eyes scanned the rickety porch and rotting wood. It was the kind of place you’d normally scream at the characters on the screen to run away from. Not in fear, but in pure exasperation. After all, nothing good was ever found in old abandoned farmhouses. The demons in the one in front of you just helped prove your point. 

Following Dean to the back of the car, you kept your angel blade by your side as you busied yourself stocking up on holy water and enough iron to make Tony Stark jealous. Taking extra care to ensure everything was safely strapped to your body, and that none of the ‘pointier’ weapons would end up turning on you if you took a tumble. Though you knew you’d most likely just end up sticking to good ol’ reliable and angelic in your hand. The silver white blade thumping against your thigh matched your heartbeat. Adrenaline already coursing pleasurably through your veins from the thought of the upcoming fight.

You needed action, and you needed it fast. The nearly uncomfortable buzz in your body seemed to be reacting violently to the evil in the air, culminating in an itch in your bones that nothing but gunpowder and steel could scratch. So, as you finished building your wearable arsenal of guns, knives and all things pain-inducing, you glanced over at Dean, lips parted to get the show on the road. However, Dean wasn’t moving next to you. 

The gun he’d picked up first still heavy in his palm as he stood frozen, watching you. Worry making the green summer days in his eyes cloud over like a sudden midday storm. The barely hidden pain in them squeezing at your heart as you readied yourself for words you knew would come. 

“You don’t have to…”

“Yes, I do Dean,” You sighed, unwilling to even let him finish his usual attempt at making you sit the hunt out. The same frustrating song and dance as always, yet you couldn’t help the way your heart followed the rhythm of it. The kind, protective streak that made the hunter ask you that same question every time you set out to fight another monster was, after all, part of why you loved him. 

Always so willing to carry every burden on his own shoulders, yet hiding that small, fragile part of himself that showed how everyone’s burdens were taking their toll. Keeping his own pain, his own burdens, hidden until he was alone in the bunker. Or at least, until he thought he was alone. You’d caught him more than once. Tired green eyes squeezed shut as he rested his head in his hands, gasping for breath through the onslaught of guilt and hurt. Strong shoulders shaking with unshed tears and the weight of the blame he placed on them. 

He wanted to keep you safe. Not just you, but the whole god damned world. Still, he was just one man. One soldier in a war that had been raging since the beginning of time itself and he never put down his weapon. Always ready to jump back into the fray. Even as his armour cracked, and his blade dulled. Even as he collapsed under the weight of it all.

The family business; his life since childhood had forced him to hide away his fears as weaknesses. Shaping himself into a shield instead, as he readily threw himself into harm’s way if he believed it could save someone else. Dean Winchester lived like he had a death wish, even though he feared the unknown darkness that was waiting on the other side. Always a little too ready to sacrifice himself for the greater good. 

Never seeing that he was greater than the sum of his sins. That he was good. 

Never willing to believe that the world was a better place with him in it. Though to you it was. Hell… Without him in it, the world would just be a black and white imitation of its formerly vibrant self.

Because you knew the truth that he spent every waking moment trying to hide from the greedy world that just kept demanding more of its one-man army. That behind the soldier, there was a man with a big heart and a need to be loved. A young boy who was denied a childhood. A broken big brother that always blamed himself for pulling Sammy back into the life. A friend willing to sacrifice anything just to see you smile. And, a beautiful soul, who hurt and mourned deeper than anyone else whenever you failed to save someone. 

Dean Winchester was a complex man.

He wasn’t just a hunter, brother, friend or secret keeper of your heart. Dean was a heartrendingly beautiful story with untold depths, a full unexplored universe. With all the nuances and colours that painted a picture of his painful history in scars, heartbreaks and timid smiles that he felt guilty for letting slip. 

A story made up of all the stifled emotions and locked in screams, that easily brought those who knew him to tears. Peppered with small verses of agonisingly fragile hope and the long forgotten innocence of a childhood he never got to have. Hidden and hard to decipher among the many self-deprecating jokes and harsh rejections, yet not lost to you as it was to many others who saw the man as unfeeling and cold. Dean just had to grow up a little faster than most, it didn’t make him a monster, it didn’t make him any less human.

And you didn’t want to add new bruised and battered sentences to that story. You never wanted to be the reason for him to ever get hurt. So, as always, you told him the same thing you’d repeated for an immeasurable number of former hunts. Speaking into the quiet air around you as you grabbed one of the spray cans from the trunk.

“We’re in this together Dean. I’ve got your back, you’ve got mine. Forever,” 

--- 

Straightening back up with a stifled groan you admired your work. 

If all else failed and hunting didn’t work out, maybe you could turn to street art. The Devil’s Trap was expertly painted, if you’d say so yourself. Which you did. Albeit silently and in your own head, as to not alert the demons in the farmhouse to the right of you. 

The trap you’d been assigned was the closest to the Impala, another attempt from Dean at keeping you safe. Yet, it was also the most likely escape route if the demons turned cowards and tried to run for the hills. 

The sliding door just a few steps away to your right was not a planned entry point. So, they’d be most likely to try and use it to scutter away like the scared little black-eyed rats they were if it came down to that. So, your work had to be perfect. Allowing yourself just one more careful look over the symbols, you stepped back. Turning on light feet to carefully, and silently, re-join Dean by the front door. 

The worry in green eyes had once more been replaced by steely determination once you made it back to the front of the farmhouse. Squaring his jaw, he watched you quietly jog up to him before just as soundlessly signalling for Sam to start moving towards the back door with a raised hand and to fingers pointed down the path around the house. His own eyes moving to lock onto the front door, weapon at the ready while he relayed the wordless orders. Missing the small nod from Sam as the younger hunter stayed crouched and quiet, moving before Dean’s hand even had time to straighten out and silently relay his next orders.

Lifting his hand to you, you frowned at the straight palm facing you. He was asking you to wait outside for his signal. To let him walk in through the front door first and act like your shield in case something went wrong. 

Looking at him you gritted your teeth to keep the angry whisper at bay. Gripping your angel blade a little harder, you chose to instead just silently shake your head at him in protest. Catching his eye as he glanced away from the door to make sure you caught the order you tried to silently plead with him. But this time he wasn’t backing down.

His own wordless reply was just a repeat of the single hand gesture that was supposed to be your command and role in the coming battle. Green eyes leaving yours to cut off every silent argument you had as he kept his shoulders tense and jaw squared. 

Your stubborn hunter wasn’t going to let you argue this time as he slowly but surely started moving forward, towards the door. Leaving you standing in the gravel, fuming silently.

—

Make your choice below to move the story along:

What do you do?

[Follow him in] or [Wait outside]

—

Confused or New to Choices? Start Here Choices is an interactive Supernatural choose your own adventure story where you pick your Winchester brother and go on a hunt for one of 8 different endings in total. Four for Sam and four for Dean (2 happy and 2 bad endings per brother). Go to the intro to start your story!

—

#spn choose your own adventure #Dean Winchester #choose your own ending #choose your own path #choose your own adventure #dean winchester supernatural #deanwinchester #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x y/n #dean x you #interactive supernatural #spn interactive #spn interactive story #supernatural dean #supernatural dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #spider #supernatural #choices #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction

[robodaydreamer]

RadioHusk Week - #1. Falling in Love

I have a weakness for heart-eyed, lovestruck expressions!

Here’s a little fic for this awful comic. Hope you enjoy!

This counter never seemed to be clean enough… though he didn’t really give too much of a shit about cleanliness either way. All he had to do was make it look like he gave a damn about it and his peppy princess hotel manager of this shitshow would leave him alone.

That and Niffty wouldn’t feel as compelled to hop, skip, or literally jump over their residents to get to him in her haste to clean it. The last time he let the bar get the slightest bit dirty… okay it was fucking disgusting… but the last time that happened he’d been tackled rather viciously to the floor.

He was used to laying unceremoniously in a heap on the ground, but that had just been ridiculous. Not to mention the headache he had to deal with after the back of his head had bounced off of the floor was something he really could have done without.

He’d pick a hangover over a concussion any day of the week. Although, it had gotten him out of work for the rest of the day. Maybe he’d get her to do it voluntarily once in a while.

With a snort and a shake of his head, Husk wrung out the small towel clenched between his claws and slapped it against the counter, pushing it back and forth along the hard surface for what felt like the hundredth time that morning.

...

He needed a drink.

Muttering a few choice swears, he scrubbed at a particularly sticky spot on the wooden counter, his mouth twitching into an irritated scowl.

Before he could throw the soaked rag away carelessly and most likely at some poor random passerby, a loud bout of laughter caught his attention.

Charlie came into the lobby, mouth seemingly moving a mile a minute as she spoke with their notorious radio demon.

Alastor was nodding his head appropriately, responding just as fast if not faster as he waved his arms around in the air as melodramatically as he possibly could.

He fucking would…

As the two came to a stop, Husk watched as Alastor brought out his microphone staff, a jazzy upbeat tune filling the lobby with a wave of his hand.

As much as Husk hated to admit it, and he really really hated admitting these kinds of things, the bastard could sing.

He could sing, he could dance, and he could eat a demon whole. Gross… and yet the crazy sonofabitch was charming as all hell.

His ears perked up as Charlie kicked off their tune, her voice causing the few residents hanging around in the lobby to stop and watch their performance.

He heard a thump and glanced behind him at his tail, giving the offending appendage a glare. For its sake, it better not wag again. He wasn’t a damned dog!

Turning back toward the two, he watched as Alastor spun a random demon who looked just as confused as the rest of them. Heh, the poor shmuck.

Leaning onto the counter, he let his paws rest against the countertop and didn’t notice his tail give another thump behind him. The rag was left forgotten beside him as his claws tapped idly against the wood to the beat of the song.

As Charlie finished what he assumed was her verse, Alastor’s smiling mouth opened to join her in their song, his voice echoing throughout the room.

He felt his fur stand on end as the sound of Alastor’s voice took ahold of him, the tone alone making his heart race in his chest.

Husk would never admit it out loud, but this cannibalistic lunatic had a power over him that was more than just the ability to force him into whatever miscellaneous adventures he could get his entertainment obsessed hands on. 

If only that were the case.

But no, his heart had to go and screw up the whole, “I lost the ability to love years ago” thing he’s had going for himself for decades.

He was royally fucked the moment Alastor wrapped his arm around him after they’d met.

No good clingy overlord. 

Smug bastard is what he was… 

Husk’s eyes roamed over the two, twirling and dancing their way around the lobby. His eyes were focused on the red overlord as he tapped his feet, grin sharpening as his shadow self came out to join in on the fun.

Oh, he was looking for trouble. 

If Vaggie were here, she’d be throwing a fit… heh. He hoped she heard about this. The yelling would be equal parts annoying and hilarious. Annoying because his ears were fucking sensitive as shit, but hilarious and abso-fuckin-lutely worth it because he wasn’t the one who was going to be scolded.

Husk stiffened as he felt the other’s shadow pass behind him, a ghost of a touch akin to caressing traveled along the outer feathers of his wings. 

He turned just in time to watch the creepy entity throw a wink his way before slithering out of his bar area and behind another demon, making said demon jump and cry out in fear.

What was that about?

Glancing back over to Alastor, he wondered if he’d noticed what his shadow had done.

Nope… he was still singing his number.

Honestly, he probably wouldn’t care, seeing as to how touchy Alastor was on his own already. His shadow probably got it from him. 

The guy really liked to piss him off. He always liked to make people squirm…

With a shiver, he allowed himself to relax and watch the rest of the trainwreck in front of him.

Charlie and Alastor looked like they were in their element. The demons surrounding them looked uncomfortable and ready to cry. 

This was the best kind of a trainwreck.

Slumping forward, Husk sighed. How did he do it? How did this nutjob trap his heart in his red clawed grasp? Was it the voodoo magic he always conjured up? Or the looming threat of his everpresent power? Or maybe it was his ability to manipulate even the most cautious of demons?

Did he real him in with his gentlemanly manner, his charming personality, his fearless pride, his brilliant wit…?

Was it his hypnotizing voice or his mesmerizing eyes?

Maybe it was that handsome face… his controlling behavior… or his uncanny skill of convincing just about anyone to dance with him?

As Husk lost himself in his thoughts, he was too distracted to fight off the lovestruck expression that made its way onto his face.

Alastor grabbed Charlie for the final verse of their song to spin and dip her, his grin sharp and utterly satisfied.

Husk couldn’t help imagining himself in her position, held up only by the arms that would be firmly wrapped around him... their faces close… breaths intermingling-

Shit… he was so fucked.

#radiohusk #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor x husk #i have to be at work in four hours what am i doing #i still cant draw #hope youre all okay with a rough as heck comic

[for-a-muse-of-fire]

tame your demons

the wench and the witcher

"tame your demons”

Fandom: The Witcher (2019)

Paring: Geralt of Rivia x Fem!POC Reader.

Summary: Geralt keeps pieces of himself locked away and sheathed in ice. Sooner or later, the ice does have to melt.

Warnings: Possibly hard teen - we get a little smexy towards the end of this one, but nothing graphic. We are definitely getting into some angst now, kids.

A/N: I have a lot of feelings about these two. Basically, Hozier’s quote about “trying to love a damaged person” stuck with me and I refuse to give it up. Lyrics and title for this one come from “Arsonist’s Lullaby”, which was actually one of the first Hozier songs I ever fell in love with.

@coconutxraikage - @onyour-right - @ly–canthrope - @kianya-loves - @c-s-stars - @gczanetti1 - @alwaysnatz - @agniavateira - @witchernonsense - @owillofthewisps - @hina-chans-stuff - @yespolkadotkitty​

When I was a man, I thought it ended When I knew love's perfect ache But my peace has always depended On all the ashes in my wake

Gods, you should be used to the cold by now. For his kindness and warmth, your Witcher is capable of it. Biting cold, harsh as freezing rain. You try to insulate yourself against it, hoping that you can somehow bear the winter of his moods when they roll through, but it never seems to get any easier. You brace against the ice-cold of his silences and the way he draws himself away from you – steel your spine, try to smile when the flint in his eyes chips away at you.

Geralt can drop the temperature of a room without so much as a word. It’s remarkable.

And it fucking hurts.

He won’t look at you as you carefully clean the blood from his split knuckles. You kneel at the edge of the tub he soaks in, focused on the task at hand and swallowing back what feel like chips of ice caught in your throat. Even with the hearth fire at your back and the slight humidity from the steaming water, you feel like you’ve been thrown in a damned snow drift. It aches down into your bones.

The hunt had gone badly. Some alderman and his cronies unwilling to pay up for services rendered – and speaking up would have meant leaving town on the end of a rope. Geralt had blown in two weeks ago with an arctic cold around him, frosted over too thick for even you to break through, and then…

And then, there were those backwater pricks from Hagge.

You’d tried to be firm, but polite at first. The Witcher was your guest, and you didn’t take kindly to anyone speaking ill of the people under your roof, but they’d turned their drunken cruelty on you without so much as a second thought. Nothing new, there. You bore the insults when they came without flinching; it was just how it worked. They were the sort of men that didn’t much like being told what to do by the likes of you. A woman – stupid tavern wench.

‘The Butcher’s Bitch’, they’d called you.

And in all the time you’ve known him, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Geralt so furious.

You’d managed to pull him away before it devolved to a full-on tavern brawl and crushed aside the hurt when the Witcher had ripped his arm from your grasp. The instigators were summarily banned from the premises; the rest of the night had drawn to a close without incident, save for the fact that you’d practically had to snarl at Geralt to let you tend to his wounds.

“You’re lucky you didn’t break a finger,” you mutter.

Silence. The cold of it sinks in deep. You bite your tongue, standing and letting go of Geralt’s hand in favor of packing your healer’s kit up once more. The bottles clack together with a little more force that necessary as you grit your teeth; under the sting of your ego, you can feel your own anger bubbling just under the surface. Gods, you want to shake him – shout him down, throttle him around his stupid, thick head.

‘Let me in’, you want to scream.

“I’ll be downstairs,” you tell him instead, tone short and hoarse. “Need to settle the accounts for the week.”

He doesn’t stop you until you try to skirt past the tub. One big, scarred hand reaches up from the water and grips at your wrist, halting you in your tracks. His palm burns on your skin.

“Do you know why they call me that?” he growls out.

“No,” you snap. “And I don’t fucking care – “

“Well, you should.”

Geralt looks at you. Finally – finally – meets your gaze and you’re shocked to see those bright eyes have lost the ice behind them. He just looks tired; tired, and angry, with something that could be sorrow hidden just underneath. The firelight dances over his wet skin, reflects off the hammered copper of the tub to give the Witcher a gilded look about him. Pale and broad, tinged with gold. You study him, taking in the fall of his damp hair around his face. He looks so much younger.

You turn your wrist in his grip, shift to lace your fingers with his, and kneel at his side again. He stares at you and nearly seems to lose his nerve, shifting his gaze to the surface of the water. “Do you know of the Curse of the Black Sun?” he mumbles.

His other hand spins lazily over the bathwater, rippling it with a soft noise against the edge of the tub. “Heard it was shit,” you tell him. “Gave a lot of men the excuse to hurt a lot of young girls.”

The Witcher’s soft mouth twitches up, just for a moment – barely a smirk. The line of his jaw goes tense, same as it does when he’s biting his tongue. “Renfri… she was one of those girls,” he says after a moment. “I met her in Blaviken.”

It feels like the bits of ice at the back of your throat have started to melt and you find you can swallow again. Geralt’s hand is warm over yours, both from his own body heat and the steaming water. He’s silent for a long stretch, the quiet broken only by the quiet whisper of the water and the occasional crackle of the logs on the fire. His gaze stays where it is, but he finally begins to speak again.

You learn about Renfri and her men. How she called them off when they were ready to hang Geralt in the woods outside Blaviken. He tells you of Stregebor, and you can hear the sneer in his voice when he mentions the sorcerer by name. How the old man told him that Renfri was a monster, something mad and deadly that needed to be put down. He tells you Renfri’s story. He tells you about the marketplace.

Renfri’s death.

The stoning.

The Butcher of Blaviken tells you his story in a low, even, almost monotone voice. He doesn’t glance at you, not once. But neither does he push you away.

“That’s where the name comes from,” he says at the last of it, and it’s so quiet you’re not sure if he’s meant to say it out loud. “And with good reason.”

You inhale slow, taking in a breath that you didn’t realize you were holding. It catches in the back of your throat. You half expect him to shrug away, but when you lean against the edge of the tub – when you grip his hand tight and press your lips against his temple – Geralt seems to relax into the contact. He smells of your soap, and oiled leather. You nuzzle softly into his damp hair.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper to him. “I’m so sorry you had to make that choice, dear heart.”

The Witcher lets out a slow breath, shoulders sinking further into the warm water surrounding him. He lets you take gentle hold of his chin, lets you turn his face until he’s meeting your eyes. You study him, carefully, taking in the sharp cheekbones and the slope of his nose. Your thumb brushes gently over the stubble at his jaw. He leans into your hand, just for a moment.

“You are not the Butcher here,” you tell him, and your tone is fiercely gentle. “You were never the Butcher here, not to me. You are just Geralt – my Geralt.”

Pretty gold eyes flash back at you. There’s a curiosity behind them, something sharp that makes your stomach drop towards your knees because you realize the implication of what you’ve just told him. Shit – shit. Your face goes warm. You bite your lip, but don’t drop the Witcher’s gaze, and you see his soft lips tilt up at one corner. “Yours, hm?” he mumbles.

Your face feels too hot, but you nod regardless. “Aye.”

He stares. Studious, intense, and the heat in your face flushes downward, prickles over your skin until you feel sweat begin to bead at the back of your neck. You duck your head. The Witcher lets you break the spell, lets you escape and stand to grab the large bath sheet hanging by the hearth. You hear water slosh when he stands and steps out of the bath; you feel oddly shy when you hand him the warmed fabric, chewing at your bottom lip as Geralt rubs the water from his pale skin. Shadow and firelight play over the cut of his torso – you watch a bead of water slick its way down the side of his thick neck before it catches on the dip of his collarbone.

All the while, he watches you. You try not to fidget and fail. Gods, you can’t stand it when he looks at you like that – it’s curious heat and shameless, open desire. It makes you feel like you’ve laced your bodice too tight and you clear your very dry throat.

“Are you hungry?” you ask weakly.

The Witcher shakes his head. He stalks towards you – for that’s the only way to describe the movement – dropping the bath sheet as he closes the distance, all pale, naked skin and solid muscle. You can feel the beat of your pulse in your throat when he crowds close and he cups your face in his scarred hands before slanting his mouth over yours. The kiss is deep, but unhurried. Geralt licks your gasp out from behind your teeth, growling in return when your hands grip the solid plane of his back. He kisses you until you feel dizzy, until your heart thunders hard against your ribs and your legs go weak.

“Are you mine, then?” the Witcher growls, low and ominous as summer thunder. He keeps one hand at your jaw; the other trails sweetly down your neck. His fingertips skate over the smooth, polished wolf’s tooth of your necklace. He tugs the laces at the top of your bodice.

“Hm? Does that make you mine, sweet girl?”

The lacing whispers free of its grommets and though the tension on your bodice goes slack, you still find it difficult to catch your breath. You can barely remember how to fucking nod, but you do it. “Yes,” you whisper.

Geralt kisses you again. The heat of it scorches.

#geralt x reader #geralt x you #geralt x poc!reader #geralt x woc reader #geralt of rivia #the witcher #the witcher netflix #the witcher fandom #the witcher fanfiction #fanfic #reader insert #tutu scribbles #the wench and the witcher

[soundwavefucker69]

It started out pretty simple. Most things tend to start out simple. This was no different, really.

They fell asleep, dreaming of a headset fluctuating between being too hard on their skull to too soft, garbled voices over the phone with words they couldn’t parse through, their own voice asking for someone to repeat that, please, we don’t have any for this county, we’re waiting on a shipment, we’re overbooked, could you please repeat that, please repeat, I didn’t hear you, over and over again, as words became more unintelligible until only one word remained: covid.

It was par for the course for this work. Their entire life had so quickly come to revolve around the virus, so it was no real shock that they would dream about it, too, but one lucid moment in the midst of fitful dreams rose up a quiet, tremulous request.

Can I go anywhere else?

It was easy, after that. One moment, they were resting easy in their bed, or as easy as they could, fitful dreams waking them up and putting them back under, the anxiety of missing their alarm again making it impossible to slumber for much longer than a few hours at a time. One moment, they were fast asleep curled around an overly-large lion plushie, which they swore helped with their hips, of course it helped with their hips, and the next they were asleep again, but it was a different kind of asleep. A kind of asleep that left them wide, wide awake, in an endless expanse of towers of books and dappled light coming from a skylight that was too high up to see.

“Am I dreaming?” they asked the silence, and there was a cha-ching! They swerved to look behind them, and there sat an owl behind a desk, a typewriter before it with keys that were making no noise as some unseen force pressed them down in a dizzying pattern that left them feeling like it was wrong, splattering ink they could not see on paper that did not move, not even to sway with the force of each strike.

“Not nearly enough, my dear,” the owl said and reached up with one feathery wing to adjust the glasses sitting primly on its beak.

“Oh,” they murmured and turned, the plushie still clutched tightly to them, to look up at the endless expanse of books going round and round in a circle that seemed to stretch on forever and ever. “I’m sorry.”

They weren’t sure what they were sorry for, but it felt like the right thing to say.

“Well, it’s hardly your fault,” the owl said brusquely, and flitted up to sit on the desk and stride across the expanse of it which only seemed to get longer and longer the more they stared at it. “Now, what will we do about it?”

“... Let me wake up?” That didn’t seem like the right answer, but this dream felt unhinged as it was. They were rarely ever so clear, and they found that they weren’t enjoying it all that much.

“Precisely. We will be waking-” and here the owl loomed closer, becoming impossibly larger, “you-” and every feather stood on end as it came ever closer and closer, “UP!”

The last word was a thunderous roar that sent their hair flying back and their clothes flapping in the wind, and the owl was so large all light in the room was eclipsed in its presence. For a moment, the only thing that existed was luminous golden eyes, burning in the hush of the room, and they were breathless in the face of it. Every muscle in their body was frozen, and their fingers were crushing into the soft plush of the stuffie. It felt like if they breathed, they might anger it. Something in its eyes searched in them, pulling their soul out like strands of spun gold, before it all coiled back into their chest like it had never left.

“Now,” the owl said suddenly, and they blinked, because it had been larger, hadn’t it? It had, it had to have been larger- “let’s get ourselves comfortable. I have only a limited time before your body wakes up, and you need to be gone by then. But fear not, young one, I’m a professional.”

“What are you doing?” they asked, and out of nowhere a chair slammed into the back of their legs and forced them to flop into the overstuffed armchair, lion propped in their lap like it was the only shield they possessed.

“I have analyzed your every dream, your every hope and wish and longing, from the time you were born to the moment you came to my department,” the owl continued, as if they hadn’t said a thing. “Princess, prince, marine biologist, superhero, Foley artist, witch in the woods, actor, actress, for awhile, a singer, a mechanic, a great novelist that lived as a hermit and took no callers, a Shakespearean thespian!”

The last two words were trilled, and the owl whirled back on them and threw a wing in the air, feathers twisting abnormally, and they slowly blinked as it demurely tilted its head over its shoulder with a fierce gaze set on them. Slowly, they mouthed ‘okay’, and it turned aside again as it waddled back to its desk.

“All of the games of dungeons and dragons you were too tired to start, too exhausted to finish,” it continued, “all of the shows that ignited your soul and made you wish to create, only to inevitably fail you. All of the people you loved, and all of the people you’ve hated. The friends that betrayed you, left you alone, and the people that had faith who you let down one too many times because you couldn’t cut it. Your life, I have decided, will be the great tapestry I will unravel, and the threads will be put to better use than this.”

“I don’t understand,” they blurted, and the owl trilled lightly as they pushed an inkwell to the side and laid out its feathers across the desk.

“I have found you the perfect story,” it said simply, and the mouthed the words like the form of them on their lips would make the sentence make sense. “Another world, with a new body, based on everything you’ve ever longed for, every dream you’ve ever had, everything that you lost that made you you. I can shuffle some things around to make your comfortable start, but you need to give me one single thing to make it happen.”

They hesitated, because this was starting to feel less and less like a weird dream, and more and more like a chance, and they didn’t know what to do with that spiraling information that all of this might be real. Slowly, the owl extended one wing, and they looked down at the soft, brown, downy flight feathers that were splayed out like they were strong enough to hold something. Why did it feel like it held the secrets to everything in that simple gesture?

“Give me your name,” the owl said, and they slowly looked back up as the realization dawned that they had forgotten it as soon as they woke up.

“Are you a faerie?” they asked, because they’d heard that before, and the trade of a name could never be trusted. The owl, however, didn’t react beyond a slow and deliberate tilt of its head.

“Of course not.”

The words settled, impossible to be a lie, at the very least, and they thought about it. Their name had always been something precious, something hated, and they’d had a million of them, though it had always felt like they didn’t really have one at all. It had been a contentious relationship, the last thing they had ever gone to war over, and every one of them swirled in their gut. The usernames, the names online, the names in person, the names that had been forced on them, and the names they had clung to and seized for themself. Their name… their name was something precious, more precious than anything else, because it was the only thing they had learned couldn’t be taken from them. Slowly, they reached out their hand, and then it hovered in the air.

“Why?” they asked, because that was the only question they could ask in the face of the weight of it all, and the owl blinked once again.

“Why indeed?”

They thought about it. This could be a demon. This could be the wrong choice. All of their faith had been beaten out of them long ago, all of their trust, but… people didn’t do things like this without a reason for it.

“Why is a name of equal value?” they asked, and the owl leaned forward.

“This isn’t a trade, my dear. It’s a chance. You’ve fought your whole life to be happy where you are, my biggest dreamer, and my biggest failure. Nothing ever worked, and my proudest warrior lost all of their spark to a world I have been struggling to fix. If you are to start again, you have to give it all up. But you’ve done it a million times there already, haven’t you? You just need to do it one more time.”

They had. They cut off friends, they cut off family, they viciously uprooted themself over and over in the hopes that maybe this time, they wouldn’t be so miserable. Their face changed with the seasons, and when one name no longer fit, they slipped into another, not really understanding why people needed a single name to carry them through all of life when there was so much more. Not that it ever helped, of course. It always felt like they were looking for something that was never going to be there. Maybe even looking for something that was mocking them.

“Just one more time?”

“The last time,” the owl promised, and held out its wing just a little bit more. “Give me your names, and go make your own.”

Their hands seemed to move unbidden, and they watched as something both warm and sad and light and heavy inhabited them, something bleeding and forgotten and lost and still so full of life, even through all of its wounds. Their muscles clenched and shivered, and they took the little spark of life, of person, held so delicately in their grasp, and then they took a deep breath.

One last time.

The names, all of them, were placed on downy soft feathers, and the owl cradled them like they were something precious close to its chest, stroked over them and whispered something in a language they did not know, but every syllable settled something in their heart, carved out a place of rest, and the owl nuzzled the names, called them its children, and with a breath…

They scattered like butterflies, flew to the ceiling in a shower of light, and they didn’t really feel anything as all of the names and faces were released to the great towering library to roam forever. It was a bit like finding an old picture of themself in an instagram post from someone they hadn’t spoken to in years. Wistful, maybe, nostalgic, certainly, but…

“Now,” the owl said as they watched the butterflies spiral up and up to the endless ceiling. “I think it’s time you woke up, my dear.”

“Will they be happy?” they asked softly, and the owl followed their gaze.

“They were always happy. You just weren’t.”

#what is this #a teaser??? #a teaser for you all?? #hello #shrooms is writing #original writing #my writing #writing on tumblr #writers of tumblr

[lavendertwilight89]

InuxKag Week 2020 Day 4--Desire

Give it to me

Rated E NSFW

May do a one-shot later of something else? @lemonlushff hella late bday present? Who knows!

@inukag-week​ @superpixie42 @lemonlushff @dangerouspompadour @keichanz @cstormsinukagblog @willowandfog @inuyashaloverforever @xfangheartx @clearwillow  @umacaking @procellaxletalis @smmahamazing @murdergiraffe @faulkner-blog @sapphirestarxx@swaggingtomboy @sarah-writes-stories @hnnwnchstr @wolverine1092

What was wrong with her??? She couldn’t not be touching Inuyasha. It had gotten to the point of embarrassment for her. She thought at that point she would wear a permanent blush on her face. Her… desires were getting the better of her. PDA was non-existent in the feudal era, hell, even in the future holding hands marked territory. Hugs were as intimate as people usually got in Japan.

And here she was… making out with her husband after having to drag him off to crash her lips to his behind Sango and Miroku’s hut. She had to have him. It wasn’t even a choice. Her blood literally called to him. Her body demanded him. Desire probably wasn’t even the right word to describe it. Lust? Need?

Either way, she had to have him. Night, day, mid-afternoon, morning, all she wanted was to… fuck. She didn’t use that kind of language at all, but that’s all she could think of to describe their heated encounters. It wasn’t that they hadn’t made love or that she thought sex was crude—but the way they engaged in those activities could only be described as ‘fucking’.

He was a half demon. A strong, sexy, dominant male. The way he would crash over her body, the way he sucked her taut nipples, the way his hands slithered and caressed her figure, his tongue diving down and swirling around her sensitive nub and Gods she couldn’t even get started on the way his cock would drive into her.

“Inu-Yasha—ughh,” she panted heatedly.

“Should we go home?” That jerk was smirking. He thought the whole thing was funny. IF she could withstand him, he would be punished… but anything she liked it when he spanked her when he had her on all fours. She deserved the punishment! Gods! What had he done to her?!

“It’s—not funny,” she gasped as his fingers had latched onto her nipples through her kimono. “Oh, please don’t stop,” she begged.

Begged. She. Kagome. Begged for him. And she thought he was supposed to be the dog in the relationship. Not to say that was derogatory—no—not at all. Because when they did things the inu way—Gods—sometimes that was her favorite way.

“Who said I thought this was funny?” Arrogant, prick, jackass, ass—she moaned louder as one of his talented hands made its way through her hakama and into her wet folds.

“Yashhhhhh,” she whined. She was trying to be quiet but was failing. Supremely.

“You wanna go home yet? Or would you prefer if I took you right here?”

“They’ll hear us,” she whispered heatedly mortified at the thought of them being caught… Mortified that it absolutely turned her on at the thought of someone catching them being intimate—and even more embarrassed that Inuyasha was well aware those thoughts had made her more aroused when his sexy fangs poked out of his mouth. Prick.

“Smells like you’d enjoy that—do you like making sure everyone knows you’re mine, Ka-Go-Me?”

“Inu—” she started to scold before her treacherous hands reached out to undo his obi. She inwardly swore at herself. Stupid desires. Stupid, sexy, God-like body, cocky, arrogant half demon.

He chuckled. The jerk actually laughed. If she wasn’t so hot and bothered, she’d ‘sit’ him. OR maybe find the laugh endearing and cute. It was a side of Inuyasha no one had really seen aside from her. Actually, if anyone else saw this side of Inuyasha, the hot-heavy-panting-brought-down-by-his-own-needs-wants-desires-for-her-by-her, she’d probably have to kill them. The jealousy for this man’s body let alone touch was unreal. She saw why he was so crazed about Koga even brushing his hand against her own.

This internal struggle had been going on for weeks—since she returned to his era and they had mated. They had ultimately decided to wait until they were married, just in case she lost her spiritual powers and for Inuyasha’s sanity. He didn’t want the villagers to blame him for ‘tarnishing’ their priestess. Kagome did make sure they all knew that she did not return to just be their priestess though; she returned to become his wife and mate.

Her powers did not fade, if anything they grew more powerful. As did his demonic aura. They trained together to control their higher energies—which was often interrupted with their need to ‘strengthen the mate bond’ as Inuyasha put it.

He had grown cocky, self-assured, and best of all carefree. The latter being the most annoying because he didn’t care how much he touched her in public. Getting her all rattled and flustered almost seemed like a game to him. She assumed it had to be some demonic instinct of ‘marking one’s territory’. What she hadn’t thought was the same desire would pour through her.

One day a group of travelers came into the village. A young woman caught eye of her husband and approached him. Her husband. Her mate. She’d never been that jealous or angry in her life. That was including when he would run off to see Kikyo. He had looked stunned and confused when the woman spoke to him in such a manner but before he could completely shake her off, Kagome did the unthinkable. Thinking about it still embarrassed her; she pulled his arm and yanked his head down to her level and kissed him. Hard. Not just a chaste kiss either. Noooooooooooo. She slipped her tongue into his mouth and made love to it. Made him groan, whimper, and pant until finally when she pulled away to stare in the eyes of the other woman, the poor thing looked… stunned. Kagome immediately took off blushing asking Kaede to take over as she had no idea what had come over her.

Inuyasha followed her into the woods hell-bent on finishing what she started. He took her roughly, as if he had a point to prove that she was the only one who made him feel that way. The way he comforted her, the way he pressed into her, holding her, cradling her, thrusting and plunging into her over and over made her body oddly relax while her coil grew tight. He made her mind foggy like a drug. All she could think of was him as he devoured her entire being.

Once she finally undid his obi and her hakama had somehow fallen open and her panties were pushed down, he knelt before her. Grabbing her leg and throwing it over his shoulder, his tongue sought out her core and gave her a hard lick. She grasped his head, careful not to grab his ears and tried to pull him further in her. The ache of not having him inside her was killing her. The blush she wore was no longer of embarrassment but of frustration. She needed him. 

“Please Inuyasha,” she moaned, daring to plead with the man kneeling before her to soothe her rampant desires to be filled with him. He rumbled his approval as she felt his fingers press at her opening and slowly glide into her.

She couldn’t stifle the gasp or cry even if she had wanted to—he did things to her she had never thought were possible. The purr he exuded, his fingers teasing her walls, filling her, his tongue and lips prodding her was too much. Her head swung and banged against the hut as she tried to take control of the situation—of where she needed his attentions to find her release. If he had not been holding her up, she surely would have fallen. Her hips were trying to grind against his mouth and after what felt like an eternity, he finally moved to her nub and brushed his fangs against it before taking it in his mouth. He latched on and sucked. Hard.

She felt her leg she was still standing on fully give out as her walls clenched around his inserted fingers tightly and wildly. Her voice was not her own as she cried out his name as she felt the warm liquid that his mouth didn’t catch seep down her leg. 

He stood quickly and held her weak body to his as he took her lips with his own. She never thought tasting herself would be as exciting and erotic as it was. Honestly, she never imagined half the things they did together. It was like taboo when she was locked in her era—she never wanted to imagine the impossible. She couldn’t allow her heart to break further.

His tongue ran up her cheek and his whimper caught her attention. She stared into the golden eyes of worry and concern. Touching her face, she hadn’t realized she had started crying. She smiled at him and wrapped her arms around his shoulder and lifted her jelly-legs to wrap around his waist.

“I’m okay, I was just… I’m just so happy to be here,” she confessed before pressing her lips to his.

“I am too, you know,” he admitted as he rested his forehead against her own.

“I love you, Yash,” she said breathlessly as he filled her with his hardened length.

“Not nearly as much as I love you,” he groaned as he began thrusting into her, showing her exactly how much he desired her in return.

#inuyasha x kagome #inu x kag #inukag #inuxkag week #inuyasha x kagome week #day 4 desire

[virlath]

harellan

Some time after the second Exalted March against the Dales, Fen’Harel’s title and meaning changed from rebel leader to the god of betrayal.

The Dalish use "Harellan" to mean "traitor to one's kin," but the word does not appear in any elven text before the Towers Age. The ancient root-word is related to "harillen," or opposition, and "hellathen," or noble struggle. The Dalish call Fen'Harel a god of deception, but I posit a far more accurate translation would be "god of rebellion."

===

If you drink from the Well of Sorrows, you are able to enter Fen’Harel’s sanctuary with a secret greeting.

Ar-melana dirthaveren. Revas vir-anaris.

Ar-melana = I, now

dirthaveren = promise (elves refer to it as the Exalted plains)

revas = freedom

vir-anaris = path/way(passage) of time ? (this is an interpretation based on the word bellanaris/bellanar)

I realise many people often translate vir-Anaris to the “way of Anaris”, but I disagree. If we’re going by consistency I would expect the phrase to be “vir-Anaris” and not “vir-anaris”.

Given that we know the elven language is intentional, I interpret the phrase to mean “I promise my time in the fight for freedom” . In other words, his rebels dedicated their lives to his cause, which was a weighty promise considering they were immortal.

Anyone who wanted to enter Fen’Harel’s sanctuary were made to promise this. Sure, none were beholden but by choice. But the blessing also says “He leads only those who would help willingly.”

The Promise of Fen’Harel

A wash of powerful magic carries a pang of hope. Images flash by: a man in wolfskin standing with a group of freed slaves, clasping one's arm in friendship. Words aren't so much heard as felt:

"Fen'Harel has been falsely named a god, but is as mortal as any of you. He takes no divine mantle and asks that none be bestowed upon him. He leads only those who would help willingly. Let none be beholden but by choice."

This is because Fen’Harel also made a promise to them in return.

The specifics of his promise aren’t elaborated on, but based on the Skyhold codex (which I’ll break down later), I think it’s safe to say it was the promise of freedom and freedom of choice. I also think there is a possibility the promise he made to his people formed the foundation of the meaning of dirthavaren.

Dirthavaren is often referred to as the Exalted Plains, land promised to the elves by Andraste. If you connect enough dots though, I believe the elves’ search for a homeland can be traced back to the promise made by him - that they would one day be able to live freely on land they could call their own.

When the veil was created, Fen’Harel fulfilled his promise to the rebels, ensuring their freedom and imprisoning the false gods for “eternity”. However, this came at the price of the elves’ empire and immortality- a loss many of the elves likely never even imagined was on the cards to begin with. 

Not only did the survivors of Arlathan have to suddenly contend with a vast new world sundered from the Fade, they could now also age and die, a fearful thing to consider when you realise these beings likely previously existed for millenia.

The pages of this book—memory?—show a solemn group of elves in an ampitheater of living wood, entire trees grown into seats and stairs for the listeners to recline on. Two other elves and a spirit of learning are speaking in turn on ways to bend the properties of the material world when casting spells. At the end, the spirit, with the air of a senior lecturer, floats forward and booms in a surprisingly deep voice.

"The unchanging world is delicate: spells of power invite disaster and annihilation. The unchanging world is stubborn: the pull of the earth fiercely resists making fire run like water or stone rise like mist. The unchanging world rings with its own harmony. Listen with fearless hearts, and great works will unfold."

Without warning, survivors were thrown into the unchanging world where their magic now invited annihilation.

Clans and tribes gave way to a powerful empire called Tevinter, which—and for what reason we do not know—moved to conquer Elvhenan. When they breached the great city of Arlathan, our people, fearful of disease and loss of immortality, chose to flee rather than fight. With magic, demons, and even dragons at their behest, the Tevinter Imperium marched easily through Arlathan, destroying homes and galleries and amphitheaters that had stood for ages. Our people were corralled as slaves, and human contact quickened their veins until every captured elf turned mortal. The elves called to their ancient gods, but there was no answer.

Slavery relics such as the vallaslin lived on in elven nobles with the hopes it would save them, but the gods didn’t answer because they were imprisoned. And while Fen’Harel’s people knew he had won them their freedom, their mortality (and fear of it) meant the majority of the elven empire was inevitably decimated.

Solas believes in “cause and effect” and the way he won this “victory” is very similar to the Slow Arrow story, or the story about the noble asking him for advice on how to find the woman he desired. 

“Nothing is gained without something being lost”. 

With the eventual fall of the Dales, I presume it was only a matter of time before his people rejected the notion entirely that the Dread Wolf had in fact saved them and so the word ‘harel’ eventually morphed into ‘harellan’.

What care have I for gods I have never seen, for a Maker I do not know? Let others distract themselves with such lofty concerns. I know only this life, I have seen only this world, and I care only for you. 

Mourn for the past—and all that was left there. For we trusted in dreams and perceived immortality. We trusted in promises and in hope. So we dreamed in vain, for we lost these gifts long ago.

===

The creation of the veil

Skyhold, or Tarasyl'an Te'las ("the place where the sky is kept" or, more specifically, "the place where the sky was held back") was once Solas’ fortress and likely the site where he created the veil.

"After he held back the sky to imprison the gods, the Dread Wolf disappeared" - Archivist in Vir Dirthara

Skyhold is filled with elven imagery and old notes and carvings are found throughout the castle as it is renovated. A scratching under a pillar reveals this block of elven text (which was probably translated by Solas ironically)

Skyhold has not just been claimed time and again, but sacked as well. We've managed to uncover some remnants, including a scratching under a pillar that mentions the name given by your witch. Old but still long after the place had been built over. But the author knew something of its first purpose, or at least, something of a legend.

Var'landivalis him sa'bellanaris san elgar Melanada him sa'miras fena'taldin (word missing) Nadasalin telrevas ne suli telsethenera Tarasyl'an te'las vehn'ir abelath'vir (word missing)

Even with assistance from your elf, we managed only a partial translation. Elven is often a game of intents, not direct mapping of phonetic meaning. That means it's a mess.

Our belief transformed into everything. (assertation/problem? uncertain) All time is transformed into the final/first death (uncertain), Inevitable/threatened victory and horrible/promised freedom in the untorn veils, (uncertain) Where the sky is held up/back, where the people give/gain love that is an apology/promise from/to....(missing subject, uncertain)

Mostly complete, as fragments go. The rhythm is strange, not like others I've recorded. Perhaps less a poem than a statement? The elven language does tend to meander.

My interpretation of the elven text, in bold:

Our belief transformed into everything. (assertation/problem? uncertain)

All time is transformed into the final/first death (uncertain),

Inevitable/threatened victory and horrible/promised freedom in the untorn veils, (uncertain)

Where the sky is held up/back, where the people give/gain love that is an apology/promise from/to....(missing subject, uncertain) 

The elves used will to shape their empire. This was a gift and a curse, possibly because it led to endless wars and in-fighting between those in positions of power.

The veil changed the flow of time and "quickened” the elves’ immortality, allowing them only one chance to live, age, and die 

The veil was created to ensure their freedom when the rebellion was threatened (I presume the threat was Mythal’s death). Thus the rebels got the freedom they were promised, but at the “horrible” cost of the entire elven empire.

Fen’Harel fulfilled his promise to his people at Skyhold by creating the veil, however he did so apologetically as the price of freedom was the destruction of the world that they knew. 

Solas says “every other alternative was worse” when it came to the creation of the veil. Given the fact the evanuris were clearly drunk on power and the blight was possibly already floating around too, I’m inclined to believe the urgency was there for him to make that hard decision. I think the biggest flaw in his plan however was that he didn’t seem to warn anyone but instead acted recklessly out of pride and rage.

Where willows wail 

We/it lost eternity or the ruined tree of the People,

Time won't help when the land of dreams is no longer our journey.

We try to lead despite the eventual failing of our markings.

To the inevitable and troubling freedom we are committed.

When we could no longer believe, we lost glory to war.

When the Wolf failed/won, we lost the People to war.

The war against the evanuris didn’t stop with the veil, as evidenced with Tevinter’s ransacking of Arlathan. Thus any memories or guidance that might have been saved by Arlathan’s survivors were just as quickly lost.

===

The din’an shiral / journey of death

The veil was the lesser of many evils, and it could even be argued it did/will end up saving many lives in the long run. Solas however only sees the ruins of a once grand, golden empire.

Imagine, waking up after millenia and realising the people you freed have become subjugated and live in squalor? Imagine encountering the Dalish and realising the majority of their culture is formed from relics of slavery? Imagine leading a rebellion fighting for freedom, only to be branded a traitor and god of betrayal by his own people in the aftermath? 

Perhaps he has realised he actually needs to let go of his own pride so he can properly fulfil the promise he made to his people, hence the di’nan shiral/journey of death.

When he says to Flemeth “...the failure was mine. I should pay the price...but the people..they need me”, she understands he is still beholden to the promise he made to them, because as it is, the elves have basically lost everything of their once grand empire.

When Solas encounters Nightmare in the Fade, Nightmare says to him:

Dirth ma, harellan. Ma banal enasalin. Mar solas ena mar din. 

Learn my traitor. You were not victorious. Your pride will be your death.

And Solas replies:

Banal nadas

It was long speculated before JoH that “Banal nadas” meant “Nothing is inevitable”, however Jaws of Hakkon revealed “telanadas” actually means the latter. Considering the fact the dialogue in JoH very specifically underscores the word’s meaning (In the old tongue, your name, Telanadas, means nothing is inevitable. I will remember your name and hope.) I’m inclined to believe “banal nadas” means something more specific.

banal = negates (inferred from banal'vhen=astray, banal'abelas, banal vhenan=you’re not sorry, you’re not my heart) 

nadas =  something that must be (inferred from telanadas=nothing is inevitable, mala suledin nadas=now you must endure)

It’s a fuzzy interpretation, but I think the phrase could be a negation to Nightmare’s assertion that his pride will be his death. Solas is rejecting Nightmare’s mockery as he is now willing to let go of his pride and potentially his life to save what’s left of the elven people. 

This is where it gets interesting, because his collusion with Mythal is one of the biggest mysteries to me. Did anyone else influence the creation of the veil or was it Solas’ own single-handed creation? Do Solas and Mythal’s end-games align or will his absorption of Flemeth’s power come back to bite him? Does Solas have a new plan for imprisoning/killing the false gods for good? Or is he actually planning on reinstating/working with allies from his time once the veil is destroyed?

When you say to him “you would murder countless people?”, he replies “wouldn’t you, to save your own?” 

Considering he doesn’t consider the modern elves as his own people, who actually are the people he is intending on saving?

And- this is the kicker for me- the fairy in the Tiniest Cave  quest says this cryptic message:

"He'll remake the world to suit his desires. His chosen to reign." 

Given the fact that I don’t think Solas was working alone in the rebellion, and the fact Flemythal went out of her way to save the old god soul, I’m starting to think they both have diverging plans for how everyone will be led into this new age of existence. This will obviously be a sticking point, because Morrigan was groomed to be the inheritor who awaits the next age, something I could see Solas disapproving of.

Now we know from TN that Solas’ plans involves “saving the world” and that he is “sympathetic to elves”. While all of this may be true, the reason you cannot sway him on his path is because his primary motivation is upholding the promise he made to his people. Perhaps he even intends to clear his name in doing so, whether that is by exposing the evanuris as frauds once the veil is destroyed (maybe his pride will come back to haunt him after all, depending on your relationship with him in DAI) or by destroying the eternal/Black city for good.

#dragon age #dai #solas #da theories #evanuris #fen'harel #dirthavaren

[husbants]

My 2020 Reviewed... in My Fic

Hello! I saw a few other people do this because of The Phanfic Awards and I figured I’d put together a list of my own, just in case you wanted to nominate me for something! Also, there will be at least one more fic coming out, my Gift Exchange fic coming on the 20th! In chronological order, I have included links, the word count, rating, and, looking back, an even shorter summary I’ve called the fic vibe.

~

In Which Dan Returns to the Hundred-Acre Wood

Word Count: 6742

Rating: T

Summary: Growing up comes with changes, Dan’s familiar with that. More responsibility. More difficult relationships. Less time running around with your favorite stuffed bear named Winnie the Pooh.

When the first day of year thirteen is finally here, Dan’s life is flipped on its head. He meets Phil, the new boy from the North, and he’s immediately smitten. Dan hates that the world doesn’t like boys that like boys, but maybe a visit to the Hundred Acre Wood, Pooh thinks, will help Dan realize that it doesn’t matter what the world’s opinion is.

Fic Vibe: A bittersweet high school AU where Dan plays the part of Christopher Robin.

~

Thunderstorm

Word Count: 1134

Rating: G

Summary: Dan watches a thunderstorm. Maybe he relates to it a little.

Fic Vibe: The most poetic fic I’ve ever written; Dan has some anxious thoughts, Phil’s there to comfort him, and it’s all one big extended metaphor.

~

Little Spoon

Word Count: 1468

Rating: G

Summary: In a not-too-distant future, Dan and Phil are engaged and preparing for their forever home. Dan has strong opinions about their silverware situation, among other things.

Fic Vibe: Just a silly little thing where they argue in an IKEA and snuggle a bunch.

~

What a Glorious Feeling

Word Count: 1220

Rating: G

Summary: It's date night for Dan and Phil. After their meal, the shower outside begins to wash away their inhibitions and they're suddenly re-creating "Singin' in the Rain."

...Not well, but they're having fun.

Fic Vibe: I used the tag “chaos dorks” on AO3 and I think it applies well, haha. After their dinner date, it’s raining outside. They make the most out of the situation (and smooch a little, too).

~

A Sickening Pair of Heels

Word Count: 977

Rating: T

Summary: Dan orders his first pair of heels. Phil isn't surprised that he finally did, but rather he's surprised by Dan's choice.

Fic Vibe: This seems to be the fan favorite, honestly. Also, yes, they’re the Kinky Boots boots.

~

An Intergalactic Kind of Love

Word Count: 1666

Rating: T

Summary: Phil has been acting terribly strange recently and Dan just can’t stop his emotions from running wild. (Or, alternatively, Phil is an alien and Dan doesn’t know.)

Fic Vibe: Honestly, I think this is my least favorite fic I’ve written all year. Idk, I was trying to step out of my comfort zone and write something kind of angsty and sci-fi. I think I definitely failed, whoops haha.

~

In Between

Word Count: 3617 (Not Finished)

Rating: T

Summary: Dan has never quite fit in where he is supposed to. He has lived in Heaven his whole life, but he's really half-angel and half-demon. No matter how hard he tries to act like a full-angel, he simply can’t. Things become even more complicated when he is reassigned and has to work as a guardian angel. And, his best-kept secret is compromised when he develops a massive crush on the guy he’s supposed to be guarding, a barista named Phil Lester.

Dan’s life is complicated, sure, but he wants nothing more than to feel less torn, less in between.

Fic Vibe: I wrote the beginning of this for the summer Reverse Bang and then couldn’t ever get back into it! I really do like the concept but can’t seem to continue right now. I’d really like it to have a a grand, magical, cinematic kind of feeling.

~

Your Face

Word Count: 547

Rating: G

Summary: Phil can't help but smile at his computer. Dan walks into their living room and questions what he's looking at.

Fic Vibe: A little something short and fluffy. Phil thinks Dan’s cute.

~

Hot Chocolate Therapy

Word Count: 1099

Rating: G

Summary: When Phil wakes up without Dan in the bed beside him, he worries. It’s a good thing that they can always calm each other’s anxieties. And, well, sometimes hot chocolate works okay, too.

Fic Vibe: I kind of wanted to capture that weird liminal space experience of waking up in the middle of the night. I’m not sure I quite captured that, but I sure do like writing fluff.

~

Up the Hill, Making Memories

Word Count: 2156

Rating: T

Summary: It's the night of October 19th, 2009. The bus has just dropped Dan and Phil off after their day in Manchester together. This doesn't mean the night is over, though: they've got one long hill to climb before they're getting to Phil's house. (And maybe they are a little excited to get to Phil's house.)

Fic Vibe: Right after I saw Phil’s “Tour of My Hometown” video and he showed us the hill, I was like “Yes! That’s fic material, Babey!!!” and wrote this a little while later for October 19th. This was also my first time writing 2009 so that was cool!

~

Homoerotic Vampire Make-Out Session

Word Count: 2148

Rating: T

Summary: It’s October 2015 and Phil wants to indulge Dan in a little festive vampire roleplay. Dan seemed to like writing “The Urge,” after all.

Fic Vibe: lol this is the raunchiest thing I’ve ever written just because of the sheer amount of sex jokes they make. This is my attempt at comedy, but I’m not sure it’s funny at all, haha. Also let’s just like assume this takes place back in their flat sometime between some of the TATINOF shows that actually occurred October of 2015.

~

#Phanfic #phanfiction #phandom #fanfic #fic #my fic #phan

[darklymelanatedstories]

A weird idea I had a while ago.

Sucker for pain (ft Frieza)

I slowly opened my eyes as they focused on the ceiling of the dark, cold room. I sat up and slumped against the concrete wall. The pain made it unbearable as every part of my body hurt but I couldn't let that stop me, I need to survive. I had to.

Thirsty. My throat felt raspy and dry. It's been so long since I had anything to drink. One thing I was happy about was losing my constraints. No more shackles. No more chains. That didn't change that I was still a prisoner but it was better.

I heard the heavy metal door slowly open with a slight creak, as the bright white light entered the room. The cold light hit my face, it didn't feel like the warm sun kissing you awake on a nice Sunday morning. No. This was the light that reminded me that I was still stuck here and the silhouette of the monster in the doorway caused a flicker in my eyes. Him.

With his hands behind his back and tail swaying swiftly, he approached me. I rested my head against the wall and stared at the demon incarnate coming towards me. At times, I'd keep my head down and ignore him just to get him bored of me but no, not today. Not today Satan.

"Morning, my dear."he said cheerfully. Morning? It's so dark in here that time has lost all meaning. I turned away from him with no response.

"It's very rude to ignore your captor you know." He bent down and aggressively lifted my chin up to face him. I was unfazed and so, didn't give him the satisfaction of seeing any other expression on my face besides blank and uncaring.

His grip on my chin tightened, moving his fingers up to my cheeks and pulling me closer. I felt his breath hit my lips, fresh but with a hint of wine. Not bad. I thought it'd wreak of the blood of thousands of innocent people he's slaughtered.

"You're quite beautiful you know. Or you would be if you didn't look the trash you are."he sneered. He tossed my head to the side like I was nothing. I really wanted to choke him with his own tail and take his last breath.

With my frizzled hair in my face, I glared at him. He just smiled. He enjoyed this, he enjoyed torturing me but nowadays he seemed to grow quite bored of me. I stopped showing fear, sadness or any emotion in front of him. I know the camera would show them when I was alone but he loved seeing it up close in person. He turned, his back facing me. I stared. He had a great physique, I might add.

Oh, how I it would be a shame to cover his beautiful body with scars and paint it with his blood. Or would that make him look that much magnificent.

"What do you want me to say?"I asked, trying my best not to give away the thirst in my voice.

He glanced at me over his shoulder, his dark red pupils finding mine. He slowly walked over to me and went on one knee. He had an unreadable expression which quickly transitioned to amusement. A large wicked smile formed his lips.

"So you can talk?" He chuckled. "After our little session last week I thought you'd lost your voice."

"It's funny. After all you've done, all you've been through, I've finally caught up to you. How does it feel to finally be in my cells, on the brink of death, after watching your planet and family perish at my hands?"

I think he could tell that I wasn't gonna talk after that because his tail slithered up my chest and wrapped itself around my neck, it didn't hurt like I thought it would but the shock caused a gasp to escape my lips.

His smile grew wider. It annoyed me to see how much he enjoyed this. I gave no reaction which seemed to irritate him more because a scowl replaced his sinister smile.

"Answer me!" His tail tightened around my neck, making the burning in my throat even more unbearable.

I groaned and tried to look away from his glare but his tail held me in place. He's hurt me all over except for my neck or any inappropriate places. I'd say he was being a gentleman but that wouldn't be possible. Doing so would make it more personal, which would be the case now.

I tried to pull his tail off but it wrapped even tighter. I dug my sharp nails into the skin of his tail and I pulled for dear life. He winced in pain but didn't let go. His teeth gritted when my nails got deep enough and reached their limit. By now there was blood. His sweet, sweet blood.

"Hmp." I looked at him and saw a smirk on his face. He enjoyed this, way too much if I must say.

"Let...go of me."I growled. I looked down and took a huge bite at his tail.

"Gah! Bitch!"

I kicked him in the groin before grabbing his arm and pushing him into the wall. All those days training non stop in my cell have paid off.

He gave me a backhand to the face to which I responded with grabbing him and biting his neck. He groaned, I'm not sure in pain or pleasure. Before I could do anything else I felt a sharp pain on my butt. The bastard whipped me, causing me to let go of him. He grabbed my arms, held them in his hand and whipped me with his tail over and over.

It's hard to say but the more he whipped the better it felt.

I couldn't help but smile with every hit, every slash. The pain, the sweet sweet pain.

"That's what you get you pathetic little vermin.",he growled before tossing me on the ground. My ass hurt from the whipping but the adrenaline made it feel better.

I soon remembered that I was in a fight with this son of a bxtch so I formed a fist and aimed for his face. He caught it with his tail. I tried with my other fist but grabbed it with his hand. His other hand got hold of my neck and pushed me against the wall.

"And to think I was actually here to take you out for some fresh air."Frieza said. My eyes widened. "W-what?"

He grinned. "Be a dear and put your cuffs on. I can't take you out looking like a freeloader." He let go of me and handed me the cuffs that took me weeks just to get off. I hesitated for a moment but if he was telling the truth and I was going to breath fresh air, even for a few minutes then I didn't have much of a choice.

"Good girl." He grabbed my arm and dragged me out of my grimy cell. It felt refreshing. I couldn't help but smile. Few minutes of freedom in a while.

"Don't expect me to feed you there. I'm a fair emperor not a charity case."

He led me out of his ship into a beautiful forest of black trees and grass and white barked wood. The sky was a beautiful shade of.. pink? Blah I hate pink.

I narrowed my eyes but I guess Frieza noticed because he asked, "What?"

"Pink hurts my eyes."I said as I looked down. Frieza chuckled. In a few minutes we stopped at a garden like place with a...red waterfall?

I stared in amazement at its beauty. The colour of blood flowing so peaceful, so relaxing, like I just killed all my enemies and didn't have a care in the world.

"Lovely isn't it?",Frieza asked when he saw me.

"Yeah."I said. My voice came out raspy. I didn't realise I was thirsty till then.

"Thirsty?" I nodded. That blood water looked pretty good right now. "Go ahead."he said. I'm pretty sure he could tell that I was about to jump in even if he wouldn't let me.

I sat on my knees and scooped up the water from the blood red stream with my bare hands. I smiled before taking a sip. It tasted amazing, so refreshing. I had to have more. I'll never take water for granted ever again especially if they start giving me this water.

Frieza strolled over to me and lifted my chin up just as I was about to have another sip. He smiled before wiping a bit of the red liquid from the corner of my lip. We stared into each other's eyes, cliche I know but who can resist those ruby pupils.

He leaned closer to me, our lips almost touching. "Why'd you bring me here?"I asked before anything could happen. His mouth gapped as he moved away from me.

"Can't I just be nice?" I cocked a brow at him and he sighed.

"Ok I'll admit I have my own selfish reasons."he said before pushing me into the stream. I struggled to swim up, with the cuffs and all but eventually made it up. I could see the corner of his lip perk up. He found this amusing.

I pulled myself out of the water and plopped down on my back for a breather.

"Oooh. I must say you look divine in red." I scanned myself and found out that I look like the first person that dies in horror movies. Not bad.

I grinned as he got closer to me. "Maybe it'll look better ok you." I said before grabbing him and tossing him in the water. He gasped for air as soon as his head was out of the water.

Even wet in what looked like blood, he looked divine.

He soon got out and glared at me. I just smiled. He sat next to me. It was weird. My captor, torturer, reason for my pain and I were sitting in a comfortable silence on black grass next to a stream of blood red water.

It's a fun game we play if I might say. Another thing I enjoy about our relationship.

We share the bond of pain, love of others suffering, psychopathic tendencies and our weird roleplaying sessions.

Today was a fun one. Prisoner and captor. Next time I'm thinking Queen and slave. He's in for a treat.

Soon I heard a noise. I noted it coming from his scouter.

"Looks like times up."he sighed. "Too bad, I was enjoying having you at my mercy."

He undid the cuffs and rubbed my sore wrists.

"You were weren't you?"I grabbed his chin and pulled him closer to me. I slowly licked his bottom lip before biting it which caused a moan to escape his lips. What a masochist.

"Well sweetie. After we're done conquering Planet Cremona you're in for quite a treat."

"Why do I feel like I should be nervous?",he teased.

"I don't know.",I said as I got up. "Because you should be scared."I said in a menacing tone before walking towards the ship. I stopped and glanced over my shoulder and noticed that he was only a few steps away.

"Be honest, was that real blood?"

"A sadistic man never tells."he replied. Now my curiosity was peaked but in a way I knew the answer.

I'm glad that it's all over though, I needed a bath and this whole acting thing was tiring.

Ah, Frieza my love.

He's a sadistic fxck that's caused me nothing but pain...but what can I say, I'm a sucker for pain.

#frieza #frieza x oc #weird #sucker for pain