#reach out touch grace yadda yadda

[timetravelonion]

I know the lyrics are "reach out, touch faith" but its JUUUST similar enough to get stuck in my head every time I reach a site of grace in elden ring

#reach out touch grace yadda yadda #your own personal jesus

[greycaelum]

Jujutsu Kaisen: Gojo Satoru X Painter Reader

[Gentle Affection Collections]

Request: 26 & 28 [ List is Here ]

squishing their cheeks, wiping away/her tears

Notes & Warning: fluff; Word Count: 2.2k

For the amazing artist who kept feeding me all the KnY arts of the Gojo Munchkins, thank you so much for simply blessing me with serotonin with your beautiful arts. I hope you enjoy this one! Thank you for joining! —Grey,

Ocean Eyes

Satoru is not a stranger to playing with your adorable cheeks. That's all he thinks whenever he plans his shenanigans just to see you pout. He's not foreign to your tears too, tears of joy, the painful ones from your frustrations, or those pretty cries you make while writhing underneath him in heights of passion. Little do you know that he badly wishes to be the one who will wipe those tears away and hug you when things gets tough.

Right now he stares as you unveil your art exhibit. He told you he's coming back tomorrow from an overseas mission, but really he just wants you to focus on today's event. And also it's a part of his plan...

"Take off your shirt Satoru." You frowned.

"Woah! I didn't know my sweetie pie would have this kink." He gestured to the wide-open beach and himself. "Really? Are you gonna share ME with all these people? Yadda! Yadda!" Satoru squealed and giggled.

"... Are you gonna help me or what?" An irk mark formed on your temples.

"I just have to get in the water, right? Piece of cake, even if you need me to swim the Pacific Ocean; I, your boyfriend will dare the w—amph"

You stuff his mouth with your half-eaten sandwich and push him to the edge of the sand and sea. Satoru sighed and took off his shirt revealing his glorious well-toned body.

He always wear shirts that covers his body in public, however in the confines of your home? A topless Satoru complaining about heat always grace your eyes with his rippling muscles. He glances at you and winks. "Like what you're seeing?" He runs back to you and cups your face. "Kiss me first, then I'll model for you." Satoru grins, lips hovering over yours, his nose rubs the bridge of yours eliciting butterflies in your stomach and heat pooling in your belly that you can only pout and desperately hide your flaming cheeks.

This man! Does he know the severity of his impact on your sanity? Surely no. Because if yes, he will only add more until you melt like putty in his hands. You shrug off the eyes of bystanders despite your internal self dying from embarrassment with Satoru and his public display of affection.

Standing on your tiptoes your lips touch over Satoru's cold and soft ones, a fleeting touch of your lips and you nudge his cheeks with your nose.

"Hurry up, we're gonna lose the golden hour 'Toru!" You readied the camera. But Satoru's lips stretch so wide, leaning in for another quick one before entering the sea.

"Tough love. Hey! My talent fee is not just this sandwich right?!" He waded into the water until it reach his waist. Behind him, the sun is kissing the horizon. "I'm the best model you could get out there and you give me, just this sandwich? Sucks to be a model, bleh!" He complained but got into position. Half of his body submerged in the sea and the other half of his perfectly sculpted natural muscles, every bulge from his pectorals down to the lines of his abs outlining the ridges of Satoru's Adonis belt, well defined and dripping with the seawater...

"Do you know that sudden feeling of seeing the ocean and having the urge to swim to the ends of the world? Forgetting all your worries and disappearing forever?" His blue eyes stared intensely at you. Beautiful ocean eyes take you in with those enigmatic hues of blue and the fading light of the sun reflected on the opaque waters. "I don't have that urge." He held his hands up in surrender and splash the water on your face and ran away, laughing his hearts out.

What the fuck?!

"Satoru come back here? Jerk!"

He watches you pull off the cloth on the main piece. The spectators stood in awe before that canvas. A beautiful man with such profound and mysterious blue eyes, behind is the sun sinking into the sea.

"Ocean Eyes..." You murmured the name of the piece with a proud smile on your face as your spectators are in a trance of the beauty and realism of the art.

Blue has always been a pensive color for you. It represents the melancholy of sadness and at the same time freedom. Whenever your lover takes off his blindfold and lets you gaze into the depth of his beautiful ocean eyes, you find yourself stuck staring and completely mystified how Satoru's eyes could hold so much of the world beyond your reach.

"Is there a reason why your artworks emphasize the ocean and sky?" One of the curators asked.

You just smiled and casually answered, "There's just something about the sky and ocean that screams the idea of limitless, and the man in this painting made me feel that way every time I stare into his ocean eyes."

The exhibit was a success. All of your pieces were bought... You read over the list of the orders, making sure you got everything right.

The months it took you to finish all these big and small canvases, mixing the paint and taking the paintbrushes. You're delighted to know about the profit, I mean who wouldn't be? That's the payoff of your hard work. But somehow you can't help but feel empty...

Perhaps you're simply sentimental and value your works so much that it's sad to think tonight will also be the last night you can feel and gaze at them freely...

Particularly on your most favorite. Ocean Eyes... Satoru. You are not adamant about selling the painting. Until now, you're still torn if you'll accept the offer.

You fumbled in your pocket and read the message of the one who wants to buy the art.

Name your price...

"Baby!" A voice full of joviality echoed in the showroom. Satoru walks in with a wide smile on his face, holding a bouquet of... Snacks. Lollipops and cotton candy in a wrapper sticking out forming a bouquet.

The heaviness in your heart grew deeper. To be selfish even in just this one won't be that bad right? You wanna keep that artwork. Badly. You poured your heart and soul on that thing, and there's Satoru in it.

Call it possessiveness or whatever but the more you think about it, you can't bear thinking of any stranger eyeing Satoru.

"'Toru..." You opened your tired arms and Satoru knew the drill. Setting aside the bouquet, he opened his arms and envelope you in his familiar and comfortable embrace. His strong arms hoisted your tired body and lift you to sit on the nearby table. Instinctively, your arms snaked around his waist and buried your face into the crook of your boyfriend's neck, taking in the woody musk and his natural cool masculine scent that immediately calms you down.

"There, there. Was anyone mean to my Baby?" He cooed and cup your cheeks in his large palms. "Why are you pouting? Are you hungry?" Insensitive he is at many things but Satoru can pride himself in being observant, especially with you.

"I don't pout when I'm hungry." You scoffed at his stupid guess.

"I beg your pardon?" Satoru rolls his eyes at your remark. He knows how cranky you are when your tummy is empty. He hums and with his thumb and forefinger pinch and squish your cheeks. "Yes you are, my little brat."

He kneaded and squish the apple of your cheeks, amused at how soft and adorable you can get, so much that he wanna bites you!

"'Shaoru nooo! Swaph!" Your words became muffled as you tried breaking free from his fingers but Satoru has another thing in mind.

"What's wrong? I'm not letting go until you tell me." He stuck his tongue childishly and kept a firm hold on your cheeks. Stretching and kneading your cheeks like a mochi until they are now like the cheeks of a blushing maiden.

"That's my pretty girl right there."

"I'm not pretty anymore! It hurts!" You accused with tearful eyes, cupping your aching cheeks

Satoru just chuckled and gently cupped your cheeks over your hands, delicately brushing the underside of your eyes.

"What's wrong Baby? It's either you tell me or gonna tell me?"

Where is the justice in those options? Your shoulders slumped and motioned him to hug you.

"I don't wanna sell the painting I have with you..." Came out like a whisper as you bury your head into his chest.

"Well, you don't have to." He sighed, stroking your head.

"But I need the money." Yeah... you need it. Rents to pay, bills to be due... This is not a fairy tale where it's a happy ever after when you pursue what your heart is passionate about you got to put your effort and sacrifices to make it work.

"You have me." Satoru comically points out. Your hand weakly punches him and Satoru groans in amusement. Too bad he didn't bring his black card with him today. But you're not that kind of woman. "You know what Baby, I can model for you again. I know you can make better ones. You're a great artist, believe in that."

The next day you watch your artworks being carefully moved out of the showroom to be shipped and delivered to their distinctive new owners.

"And that's it?" you asked Ruka, your assistant, the two of you glanced in the showroom with nothing more left.

"I already listed everything Y/n-san, you can check about the sales and expenses." After you two settled everything you're finally done for today.

After much deliberation last night with Satoru, you came to the conclusion that it's okay to sell it. Satoru believed you can do better and supported your decision as well. The price, however? Satoru suggested at least a million.

Name your price... The buyer said and Satoru took that to heart talking about the market value of his face and etc.

¥2,500,000.00

Sold... You were secretly hoping the buyer would back off but it was a piece of cake and the payment was wired into your account without hassle.

Time to start a new project, it seems. You opened the door to your home. Plopping yourself on the sofa to soak in the much-needed thinking time. Still a bit sad about the painting but you understand it's for the best at this time.

"Hey, you're home! How was it?" Satoru sauntered into the living room, fresh out of the shower. The idiot dropped himself on top of your resting body, basically crushing you with his weight,

"Done, tired..."

"I cleaned your art room." He whispers and kisses the back of your neck. "Praise me, quick!"

You weakly chuckled at his lame attempt of childish way to grab your attention. But hey it works... pretty effective too.

"Thank you 'Toru, you're the best." You reach out and brought the back of his palm to your lips, kissing it with heartfelt thanks.

Satoru's lips stretch at those words. Yes, he is. He comes down of your body and lifts you up in his arms. "I'll show you how a good boyfriend I've been."

"I'm tiredddddd!" You whined but wraps your arms around his neck, letting him carry you like a princess across the room.

"I knew you were sneaking behind my back at midnights to come down here and paint." Satoru starts and your spine stiffened. You knew how much of a light sleeper he is put you thought he never noticed it. "I also know your arms go numb and those stiff necks after painting for hours. How sore do you get after working." He asks you to open the doorknob to your art room and he pushes it with his foot.

"So I hope you won't make me sleep on the sofa for doing this to you." He walks in and turns to the right.

A painting hung on the wall, right exactly where you hung it after you completed painting the canvas.

You don't know how to express the emotions when you saw the painting right in front of you. A silent whimper and whine left your constricted throat as you bury your face in your hands and hide in Satoru's neck.

"Why did you do this to me?" You sniffled between muffled sobs and small laughs. "You're bad." What sane boyfriend would make his lady agonize over her being sold work only to buy it behind her back and present it as a gift? "Ahhhh..." You cried and breathe in but the smile on your lips is palpable, glaring at Satoru with indicting eyes and yet you cannot hide the happiness bubbling inside you..

Satoru laughs, he sets you down and pried your hands away from your face.

"Hey, why are you crying?" He tried to suppress his laughs as he watches your watering eyes leak down tears on your cheeks. You're pouting and crying but your eyes swim in delight. "You like it?" Satoru gathers the beads of moisture rolling down your face with his thumb. Wiping your tears away, knowing that deep in his heart you may be crying because of him, but he can mend and make it up to you more than you can imagine.

You nod while laughing in your sobs. "'Toru! You don't make your girlfriend cry overnight and make her cry again in daylight." You held his wrist and feel the edges of his fingertips wipe away the last of your tears. "Why? You're so bad." You pouted and look at him for answers.

"Why?" Satoru chuckled and wipe the tears away so you can see him clearer. "Coz you're the only person allowed to admire my body... The only person I want to look at with my ocean eyes..."

—GreyCaelum

PLAGIARISM IS A CRIME

Check out the Masterlist for more

All rights and credits of the Jujutsu Kaisen character(s) mentioned images(s) and songs(s) used belongs to their respective owner(s)

General Series Taglist: @ice-icebaby @aeanya

#[gentle affection collections] #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru imagines #jujutsu kaisen imagines #gojo satoru #jjk fluff #gojo satoru fanfic #gojo kouki #jujutsu kaisen #grey says #greycaelum

[mermaid-trash]

It’s me again 😜 but like, imagine riddlers gf is really girly (wears short floral dresses, paint’s her nails, wears Mary Janes yadda yadda) and she likes to go to Ed’s day job to drop off his lunch (and bc she loves seeing his lil face)

And everyone at his office is like “Weird guy has a gf🤨 and she’s cute😦”

And Ed’s secretly like “yah back off bitches their mine 😤 “

This is too adorable, I just had to whip something up real quick 🥺💚

Wc: 913

Part 2

"Hey Ed," Craig, Edward's least favourite coworker, called in a mocking tone from the desk beside his. "your girlfriend's here!"

Edward's head shot up from the paperwork in front of him, his eyes searching for you immediately.

You were navigating your way through the office towards him, clutching a brown paper bag; you brought him his lunch almost every day, always his favourite order from his favourite cafe. The kindness in the action nearly brought him to tears every time you left the office.

Some of the more irritating men he worked with tried to tease Edward for it, calling him whipped and the like, but he didn't feel ashamed. He knew that they were probably just jealous of him. He would be jealous of himself, after all.

"Hi baby," you cooed as you reached his desk, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead before perching yourself on the edge of the desk. You placed the paper bag on the desk in front of him and smiled. Your smile never failed to make his heart race.

He looked you over quickly. The hem of your dress had risen up your legs when you had sat down, revealing more of your soft thighs to him. Your hair looked soft, like you had just washed it this morning. You wore a necklace that he had bought you for Valentine's Day, a small silver chain with a pale green stone resting delicately against your chest. Your nails were freshly painted a soft lilac, and your makeup was soft and natural. You were just so…pretty. He often wondered what you were doing here with him. Or here in Gotham at all. Gotham didn't deserve an angel like you gracing its streets.

"Hi," he replied breathlessly, staring up at you with hearts in his eyes.

"How's work been so far?" You asked, brushing your fingers delicately through his hair, smoothing it down where he had run a frustrated hand through it one too many times. He loved that you always touched him so gently, with so much love. You always told him, "you deserve love, Eddie". You were so kind, so perfect.

"Mm…fine," he hummed, eyes fluttering closed as your hand moved to cup his cheek tenderly. You ran your thumb across his temple, as if you could feel the migraine he had coming on. "Boring."

"I know sweetie, that's why I came by to brighten your day," he opened his eyes to see you smiling down at him, your eyes full of warmth that made his heart soar. You grabbed his hand suddenly, lacing your fingers together with his.

"C'mon, this is your lunch break, let's go someplace quieter," you hopped off his desk and pulled on his hand until he rolled his eyes and stood. He didn't resist very much, of course.

He picked up the lunch you had delivered for him and followed you as you led him out of the office. He didn't even care that a couple of people were staring at you both as you passed.

—----------------

You had led him down the hallway to an empty break room, where you sat together at a small metal table.

Edward ate his lunch quietly while you told him about some TV show you had been watching this morning. He was only half listening as he was more focused on watching you speak.

You gestured wildly with your hands, fidgeted with your hair and the hem of your skirt, and your face was just so expressive. He often found himself just watching your face while you were speaking to him. He hoped you didn't notice. (You did.)

He suddenly realised you were looking at him questioningly. What had he missed?

"Hm? What?" He stammered quickly, and you laughed softly. So pretty, like a windchime in a gentle breeze.

"I was just wondering if you were working late tonight?" You asked, and Edward understood the innuendo. He thought for a second before answering quietly.

"I can take the night off." The Riddler's business could wait for the night.

You beamed at him.

"Good. There's a new movie I've been wanting to watch with you," you said, and you were off again, talking about the movie, and Edward stopped listening again.

You were just so pretty. So pure and delicate in your floral dresses and knee highs and knitted pastel cardigans, your strawberry lipgloss smiles. And you truly cared about him, you had shown him that consistently over the last few months. He was even starting to believe it.

"Anyway, you should probably get back to work," you were saying. Edward looked at the clock. You had been in the break room for half an hour, and he did indeed have to go back to work, but he didn't want to let you go.

You both stood, and Edward hooked an arm around your waist and pulled you to him. You gasped slightly; Eddie wasn't usually one to initiate contact like this. He pressed a lingering kiss to your head as you wrapped your arms around him and held him tight.

"Thank you…" he mumbled against your hair. The smell of your shampoo felt like home to him.

"For what?" You ask, confused.

"Visiting me…you always make things…better." He explained. You giggled and pulled back slightly to look him in the eye.

"It's okay, I like visiting you, and I get lonely during the day sometimes," you said softly. "You always make things better for me, too."

#the riddler x reader #edward nashton x reader #dano!riddler x reader #riddler x reader #paul dano x reader

[waywardsummoner46]

Welcome Home, Sister Part Eight

Summary: A failed negotiation leads to brutal battle between Castiel and Gabriel. There can only be one victor and the loser is rendered near death, leaving you in a never ending pit of sadness and despair.

Word Count: 2193

Warnings: Vivid description of a mutilated corpse, consistent graphic imagery, swearing, violence, description of a panic attack, description of internal organs.

Beta read by the wonderful @lle-xxi thank you so much!

Previous Chapter, Next Chapter

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Never had you been more afraid of Castiel as you were now.

Gabe announced his presence - and consequently, yours - only a few moments ago but that was enough to render your hopeful spirits into ones of pure fear.

Castiel’s face was absolutely murderous, head tilted down, eyes blazing with unfiltered grace and his wings were arched as high as they could go and cast a shadow upon you both, intent on instilling fear.

The logical part of your brain supplied that he’d never hurt you because despite the situation he was still Cas. Gabriel being an archangel also supplied you with comfort as you knew he’d never intentionally hurt his own brother and could (hopefully) disarm the situation before it escalated to the unimaginable.

There was also the bit where you were technically an archangel too but there’s no need to dwell on that.

The other, more human part of your brain couldn’t look past the threatening might of the angel in front of you and was extremely troubled by the rage that seemingly focused on you. Your eyes widened when you realized his eyes were indeed solely focused on you, ethereal power staring right into your eyes to which you quickly averted them.

Gabriel seemed completely unfazed by Castiel’s hostility and donned a lazy and unbothered facade, casually leaning on an invisible wall and ridding his nails of any dirt. “Ya know Cassie, if you really thought I’d let you get (Y/N)’s grace here then you are sorely mistaken, broski,” he said as though he wasn’t being threatened by the other angel.

Castiel growled - full-on growled - at Gabriel and wrenched his eyes away from you to smother Gabe with his gaze instead. “I do not answer to a traitor of our Father. My faith is with God and the archangels and therefore-”

“Therefore you have to listen to them because they’re your superior yadda yadda yadda. Yeah, we get it, bud. Stop with the boring monologue,” Gabriel interrupted and met Castiel’s eyes with an equal sense of threat, a stark contrast to his relaxed demeanor.

You gulped and blinked away the tears that had formed in your eyes. Slowly, you reached out to touch Gabe’s elbow and when you did he raised an eyebrow and turned his head in your direction, still looking at Castiel. After a deep breath, you quietly said, “Gabe, I don’t think aggravating him is the best idea.” His eyes quickly darted to you and softened for a split second but as soon as his eyes locked back with Castiel’s, something completely instinctive clouded his rationality.

Castiel sensed that something deadly was about to partake and adjusted his stance into one of preparation. Your eyes widened and you desperately tried to get Gabriel’s attention back onto you. You sensed something ancient corresponding between the two and something told you that you should either flee or prevent it before something catastrophic happened.

That something ancient was the dynamic of a lesser angel directly challenging an archangel. It was a promise that guaranteed intense battle and imminent death for the lesser angel who, in this case, was Castiel.

You remained oblivious to the details of this millenia-old challenge but anyone could see the violence brewing inside both vessels. Desperately your mind tried to come up with ways to prevent the oncoming conflict before it even began, swarming itself with stupid and useless ways of diversion until it settled upon something you were familiar with. Having done it countless times when your brothers were arguing, you decided to jump right in the middle of it and divert the target of their frustrations onto you.

Practically leaping into the middle you sarcastically waved your hands at them both and took a bow, taking a moment to compose your breathing and curse yourself about what the actual hell you were doing. When you straightened back up you spoke in a posh accent. “Ladies, ladies, there is no need for violence! I’m sure we can settle whatever conflict that’s dangerously brewing within you both as eloquently and as elegantly as people of our status are capable of?” Towards the end of your speech, you phrased it as more of a question as the severity of their determination to fight finally hit you. “Oh for shit’s sake guys. Can’t we please just talk? Please? For little old me-ah!”

Two pairs of gigantic wings swarmed your vision and you were blown away by the force of wind they were producing. Your body flew through the air and you desperately tried to grasp onto anything that would give you purchase. You fell to the ground abruptly and was hit by an immediate, intense pain spreading like wildfire on your sides. Looking with wide, teary eyes you gasped for breath and looked back at Cas and Gabe.

A violent sob tore through you at the sight.

Both angels were in the air, blades in hand and grace radiating off of them in a powerful light. They illuminated the night sky and had it been any other situation you would’ve found the spectacle to be beautiful.

It looked as though they’d bounced off of each other because there was a great distance between them that was rapidly closing. Gabriel flew directly at Castiel without hesitation and ducked left at the last second, slashing his side and tearing his trenchcoat open. Your eyes instantly noticed the blood seeping from the wound in steady streams and you swallowed a scream.

Castiel hissed in pain and turned to face Gabriel, already having calculated his attack, and stabbed Gabriel directly in the ribs, just below his heart. Gabriel staggered back and fell to the ground, hands hovering over the gushing wound but making no move to heal it.

That time you did scream. The sound was so intense both angels paused at the blood-curdling scream that ripped from your mouth for all of a second before returning their focus to each other.

Nothing good came of you sitting there, weeping at the sight of some of the closest people in your life butchering each other. You braced yourself and tried to stand up but were stopped by hands on your wrists. Your head twisted to see who was holding you but when you saw nothing your brows furrowed in confusion. Continuing to writhe and struggle in the unrelenting grip didn’t do anything and only when a chilling whisper reached your ears did you freeze. “Let it happen.”

The feeling of those hands left and, shaking yourself out of your reverie, you attempted to stand again but was eternally frustrated when your hands were anchored to the floor by an undetectable force. You let out a litany of unpleasant words at the invisible force when your head was wrenched back in the direction of the fight.

Pure blue fire lit up the ebony night and the stars were incomparable to its beauty.

Countless flames floated and flew in the air as lazily as they pleased.

Your attention was on that same fire consuming the wings of each angel. Their wings blocked your vision of the fight and you grew increasingly anxious. “Gabe! Cas! Please stop! This is insane!” You yelled at the top of your voice, it cracking in places.

The wings span and flew in every direction, battering and ramming into each other. Feathers were being used as an army of knives and the flames intent on burning the vessel beyond repair.

The unbearable tension continued, coupled with your consistent, broken pleas for them to stop. It continued with ungodly screams of pain and anger echoing in the empty desert, the clashing of blades and haunting sounds of burning skin absolutely deafening.

Then it stopped.

The night was pitch black again and you rapidly tried to pinpoint where they were when a dark figure dropped to the floor like a comet leaving sand spraying everywhere and an unsettling silence to consume the area. Your laboured breathing was the only thing to be heard in the night.

Your eyes were glued to the corpse and with reluctance (and shock) you hesitantly approached it, already dreading what you’d see.

You took step after step in the sand heading towards whichever angel it was and when you arrived at the body, your breathing sped up and tears once again consumed your vision.

Castiel’s body, looking so peaceful now, was lying unconscious in front of you. His head had suffered from the edge of Gabriel’s blade and a massive cut dominated the entirety of his forehead. The damage the blade had inflicted on his side earlier had ripped open even further, revealing the edge of his ribcage and some of his intestines. Blood dominated his entire body, no other colour apart from the same haunting crimson.

Struggling desperately to hold it together, you clenched your jaw and reached a violently shaking hand up to his jaw, cradling it in a way only a sibling could. In the same way, your lips were trembling from the force of your tears and your eyes were barely open with the weight of them gathered in your eyes.

“Gabe! Gabriel! Gabe please! Help me!” You managed through your onslaught of tears and shuddering body.

An entirely new set of tears dropped down your face when Gabriel didn’t answer. “Gabe! Gabe!” You shouted again.

Your thumb was shakily rubbing against Castiel’s cheek and you were muttering words of prayer, to who you didn’t know but you needed to reassure yourself that someone, somewhere would help you.

Castiel groaned underneath you and you adjusted your position so that his head was in your lap. Daring to hope for something good, you asked, “Cas?” His eyes fluttered open but closed again, stayed closed. You prayed for them to open for just a second more, “Cas? Come on, please. Stay with me, I can’t lose you too.”

They didn’t open. Didn’t even twitch.

When you accepted that maybe the worst case scenario was playing out in front of you, you let out a killer scream but something else was unleashed out of you as well. Blue energy swarmed your vision and curled in on itself, rolling in an endless ball of energy before being unleashed on your surroundings.

The once golden sand was now the deepest onyx and flickers of a sapphire flame were dotted around the place.

You gasped for breath and stared lifelessly into the void of the desert, accepting of… of… You couldn’t believe he was dead. He wasn’t, not like this, not now. And yet when you looked down at his mauled body and lifeless corpse you couldn’t deny that you felt like a part of you was empty.

Oh God! Is Gabe dead too? No, no he can’t be! You couldn’t live with your brothers being gone and now them too. Your breathing turned into desperate gasps of breath and you vision became dizzy.

You sweaty palms twisted and gripped Castiel’s drenched trench coat with intense desperation for anything to ground you. You buried your head in the crook of his neck, searching for the comfort he used to be able to give you but not finding it there.

Your head was full of what ifs.

What if he’s dead? What if Gabe is dead? What if I never get to see my brothers again?

What if I’m alone… forever?

You’d almost succumbed to the overwhelming thoughts swarming your brain when a blinding light dominated your vision. A hand raced up to shade your eyes and you waited with laboured breathing for it to diminish. When it did, you practically sobbed with relief.

Gabriel stood in all his glory, clothes torn and wings drooping with a sad smile of relief plastered on his face. That vanished and was replaced by one of guilt and horror when he took in Castiel’s form in your lap.

He rushed to kneel beside you and started chanting in Enochian, rubbing his hands together. You started to say something but thought better of it when his hands began to emit a pale blue light. He began repeating certain words and when he was satisfied with the power he held in his hands, he slowly moved them up and down Castiel’s body, healing the damage he had mistakenly caused.

The flesh of Jimmy’s body began stitching itself up, slowly but surely, as though the gaping wound was as simple as the zip on a coat. The blood stopped flowing, as though the skin worked as a dam that stopped it all instantly. The blood on his skin started evaporating and floating up into the sky. You looked on, mesmerised and when the process was complete, a tired looking Gabe meets your gaze with soft eyes and an equally soft smile.

He seemed on the brink of unconsciousness but he ushered you up silently and braced his battered wings for flight. His arms reached down to pick Castiel up delicately and as he straightened his wings and took off in a powerful flutter, you allowed a small smile to grace itself onto your lips as you followed him, wings fluttering behind your back unknowingly.

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Tag List~

@kickingitwithkirk

@nerdettezebracorn333

@spnfamily2005

@starstruck-loner

@dark-night-sky-99

@yer-a-wizerd-hrry-blog

A/N: Finally! The long awaited next chapter to this series here on my blog. Thank you for sticking with me and waiting patiently for this part, I hope it was worth the wait and that you’re all doing amazing! Let me know what you think :)

#supernatural series #supernatural x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #michael!dean #michael!dean x reader #lucifer!sam #sam x reader #sam winchester x reader #lucifer!sam x reader #Sam Winchester #spn #supernatural

[that-bi-bitch-writes]

P S Y C H (ch.1)

I hate definition intros but it has to be done: The word "PSYCH" is commonly used online and in conversation as a slang term to indicate that something that has just been said or typed was intended as a prank on the recipient or a joke.

Also short for Psychic

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Say what you want about organized religion, but you can’t deny that it is one of the most dangerous weapons on the planet. For centuries people have developed weapons and fought wars in the name of their beliefs. They’ve conquered lands and assimilated nations. Give the people superpowers and there’s no way people don’t die on a daily basis. Unless you give them lame ass powers and call them quirks. God’s funny like that. Most people get run of the mill things like the ability to draw small objects close to them. That way there’s a power imbalance in the world. It’s less chaos if only a select few get the good abilities. Less people question God’s authority that way. Those who get the awesome superpowers are seen as blessed, divine. Honored.  

[Mo.Name] [L.Name] was not blessed. She was liked by God at best. Being an empath, her quirk was not something to marvel at. If she worked hard to develop it, she could use her quirk offensively and defensively or even professionally but she would never be someone who was in charge of maintaining the world order. 

As she grew older she would become disillusioned with God and the blessed individuals that policed over the nations. They called themselves heroes, and a few people were but everything about hero society just didn’t sit well with her. She became a teacher instead and worked with kids with special needs. When they had trouble expressing themselves she could use her quirk to get a feel for what they needed in the moment or she could project enough calmness that they could pull themselves together and communicate without throwing a fit. 

She had a kid at a young age. 30 years old. Not too young and not too old. But by the time she was 35 she was a single mother. Her kid was the best. He didn’t cry too often and he learned how to speak very young. He soaked up information like a sponge and he didn’t develop a flashy quirk like the heroes she felt mild contempt for. Her baby was ignored by God.

Psych.

“No one is born equal. Yadda yadda yadda- How long has he been planning this monologue? No seriously it’s been playing in his head since the day (not really) we first met and I’m kind of bored of it now”

Izuku Midoriya was not a late bloomer. He never got his quirk, he has the extra toe joint, and he was bullied for being powerless. A Deku. [Name] [L.Name] WAS a late bloomer. He got teased a little, picked on. Sometimes people even gave him pitying looks. But it all ended  when he turned about six. There’s that old saying: two roads diverged in a yellow wood. Well one of those roads is for those scorned, and the other for those who who were touched by fire yet never burned. The sinner and the saint. What a traveller wouldn’t know is, that at some point, the roads converge. How else are they supposed to get to the same destination?

Wonder, outsiders..who is on which road? What makes the sinner a sinner and not a saint?

“Using your quirk in public is illegal”

“And minding your own business is free” [Name] bit back. What’s a little telekinesis gonna do? Cause mass destruction? Widespread panic? He just didn’t want to touch the handle on the door. Public spaces are very unsanitary... it’s not like his arms are too sore to do any sort of lifting. Nope. Not at all.

[Name] had unfortunately spent the entire weekend doing his least favorite activity. Physical exercise. Of course with a quirk like his he’d rarely ever need physical strength, but that’s exactly what everyone else would think. And [Name] is the type of kid that wants you to doubt him so he can feel the rush of proving you wrong. It’s a warped mindset but when no one ever expects anything from you, it’s kind of a thrill to see the surprised looks on their faces. A psychic with impressive physical strength would be the same as someone 5’6 (167.6 cm) dominating a sport made for tall people. Like basketball. Or volleyball.

Anyway, [Name] was in the sportswear store, a place he’d rather not be caught dead in, trying to get support for his wrists. Most of his quirk usage was through precise hand movements, a slight flick of the wrist could easily send someone flying. His hands, and by extension his wrists were very important. A punch thrown wrong during training could fracture that oh so important wrist, hence the whole idea of getting wrist wraps. 

For once [Name] was actually being proactive and he was very proud of himself for thinking of the idea in the first place. His eyes glowed golden as he reached his hand out to grab the wraps floating down from the top shelf. The UA exams were in about a week and a half and he had no idea what to expect. So he would train for everything they could throw at him. Even if it meant he had to go back to throwing punches at an oversized bag of sand.

[Name] used his telekinesis so often the drawback was nearly negligible. But if he did overuse it, the damage was a headache that could range from minor inconveniences like losing your chapstick, to a grenade going off in an enclosed space. The big ones weren’t usually the problem. The problem would be somewhere in the middle, because it would cause him to lose control of his telepathy, and once the headache combined with the voices of everyone in a 50 meter vicinity his brain would get seriously overwhelmed. Ultimately he’d be passed out on the ground within 5 minutes. 

For the first year and a half of middle school three times a week [Name] would have fighting training along with weight training, alternating days so that he’d have a break in between each session. This was all pretty much to catch up with his rapidly developing quirk. [Name]’s body wasn’t prepared for the use of his quirk. He grew to the age of 6 doing things normally until his untapped power literally exploded out of him. Talk about damage control. For quirk training he usually offered to help his neighbor who ran a junkyard by lifting cars and other heavy things telekinetically. An unofficial part of the training regime, [Name] would also read other people’s thoughts all day everyday. He said it was to get used to hearing others’ voices in his head. But that was only a half truth. [Name] was just extremely nosy, but he went about it in a casual way. He probably should apologize for the invasion of privacy but he loved every minute of it. Besides, listening to the spirits of others could be considered a god-honored practice.

On the day of the entrance exams [Name] regretted everything. He’d decided to become a hero for fun, less than two weeks prior (the whole reason he went to the sportswear store and started working out again), and by the grace of god he was regretting it. Not because he was nervous he’d fail, at least he wasn’t before he got there. It was just SO loud. He’d gotten better at controlling his quirk since he began using telepathy to eavesdrop but the last time he was in a room full of this many people was the middle school entrance ceremony (which he skipped halfway through because of a headache. By the way how could so many kids sitting in silence be so loud). It made sense, he was not used to having to deal with the noise of people muttering, thinking, PANICKING. And now that his quirk is stronger than what it was before everything felt ten times worse. [Name] leaned forward and tapped the green haired boy sitting in front of him muttering. Not only could he hear the boy’s thoughts going a mile a minute but his mouth was too. The kid whipped around eyes wide and shook nervously. [Name] was about to ask him to quiet down but got confused when he made sense of the kid’s thoughts. 

The kid was obviously a fanboy muttering about Present Mic who was getting on [Name]’s nerves a little with his exorbitant amount of energy. Before [Name] could say anything the ash-blonde near the fanboy spoke up.

“He’s probably telling you to shaddup”

The green haired boy opened his mouth to apologize and then realized he would be making more noise and quickly shut it before nodding profusely. [Name] was tired of referring to them by their hair colors and may have invaded the fanboy’s head for some background information on the two and got more than he bargained for. The fanboy whose name was apparently Izuku, was not only sitting next to Bakugou, his childhood bully, but just this morning he had gained an immense amount of power, officially becoming All Might’s successor. Oh look, two of them would be taking the exam in the same area. Things at UA were gonna get interesting.

#bnha x male reader #mha x male #male reader #male reader insert #x male reader #m!reader #m!reader insert #x m!reader #bnha #mha #that bi bitch writes #that-bi-bitch-writes #psych

[stronghours]

SUNSHINE IN THE SKY REPRISE

And it came to pass, a few weeks after she and Jules made a bad decision on his thrifted futon, that they met again during 4th of July merrymaking. 

Lux toddled in grey lake water among Ava, Claire, and Archie (Celeste down and out with summer flu). Lux couldn’t swim, a fact disclosed in private to Ava, which Ava hadn’t kept to herself, and the group formed a stooped, anxious ring around her doggy-paddling. She was forced, among the smell of hot dogs in the safe green grass hundreds of yards beyond and the ominous cloud cover above, to make sure only her ass whomped her protectors’ knees when the waves tried to boil her body up and away. She’d made a mistake, and her only wardrobe protection beyond her suit itself and her spandex underthing was a hastily added solid color sarong, which while dry didn’t match, and while wet, just looked lousy and modest. But she couldn’t be parted with it and had made up a past bout of minor skin cancer, a pin-mole insidiously located on her protected inner thigh, the paranoia of which haunted her still. Even Ava dropped her chin for the C-word.

Now she suggested Lux float on her back and allow her perception of the water to form fingers in the magic slot located on her lower back, and soon she’d be floating like crazy among the wacky kids and her hot workmates and her boss and all their invisible pubes. A wave slapped dirty fingers up Lux’s nose.

“It’s kind of like learning a language,” Archie contributed. “Got to learn it when you’re young. Looks like your parents fucking doomed you.”

“My pap pap slam-dunked me in our above-ground when I was five,” said Claire, who floated tummy-down in frog position by exerting no effort Lux could observe. “I bobbed right back up, but like, what if I hadn’t?”

Lux, six feet tall, decided to use it to her advantage and planted her knees in the sandbar. She could just about do it and keep her eyes and forehead in periscope position.

“Reuben and I are thinking of installing an above-ground,” said Ava, and seeing Lux shrink, rose to her feet and splashed water across her dewy collarbone. Lux pushed every single one of them out of her mind and stared between the chops out into the open sea to make-believe Michigan somewhere on the other side. A rhythmic slap approached from the left and the white bow of a lifeguard’s canoe sailed past their collected heads.

“Hey now,” scolded the familiar voice behind the sunglasses, “only three hot bitches are allowed in the water at a time. Think of the community.”

Ava sloshed around at the familiarity, but everybody else had already noticed it was, absurdly, Jules, and sent up a bunch of soggy greetings, all except Lux who rose into a semi-crouch in the drifting seabed out of surprise, and Ava, who let them all perform verbal recognition on her behalf and only spared a nod.

Jules looked very high school, very lanky on the bobbing bench, with the oars braced under his tanned arms and his cute red tank top cinched under his fanny pack. He rode the up-down of the surf the same way he did most things, with enough bored grace to suggest he’d learned quite enough and had more interesting things to do. Lux had recently learned this conceit of his could be bypassed, and she was glad he kept the sunglasses on when he looked her over.

“What’s up Cathy,” he said, with the same Sophomore carelessness, and she plunged her head under an oncoming wave, the pressure preferable to the dawning knowledge that now, he had information he could disclose, and he’d had it for weeks.

She rose again, squinting. She couldn’t tell if he had caught on.

“What?” he asked. “What did I do?”

“You got another job, Jules?” Ava surged forward, displaced Lux. “Roscoe doesn’t give you enough to do, on top of commissions?”

“Give me another commission and you’ll find out.” He drew the left oar’s pole hard under his titty to keep the nose of the canoe from slicing into their crescent. The mechanism bucked like a horse and the wind snatched the ugly white hat off his head and toward an oblivion of preteens due north. Claire yelped and threw herself into the water, rippled away to go fetch it. “You ever been in the cellar underneath Rawhide, Ava? That’s like, thrice-darkness. I was gonna kill myself.”

“I’ve never been in a situation that required me to be in the cellar underneath Rawhide.” Prim Ava glanced pityingly at Lux, who allowed wave after wave to pummel her head in her effort to stay low. “Poor baby. She can’t swim.”

“Throw her off the pier,” Jules suggested.

“It worked for Claire’s pap pap,” Archie said, and braced an annoying hand on the back of Lux’s neck. “Sorry babe, looks like you’re going down.”

Lux threw herself underwater before Archie could push her into the drink. Beneath the top swell she had enough time to touch her palms to the sand and try to dig her hands where she’d braced her knees, but she was blind, and the divots were washed away and the grains were swept off and replaced swept off and replaced, and she panicked when the water tugged the sarong’s knot. She resurfaced from the green and grey, coughing and yanking the weedy fabric around her legs. Ava, shining and petite against the sky, so securely tucked to smoothness, had finished with Jules herself and was high stepping back to shore.

“…I’m just saying, you should definitely try it out –” Archie had spoken in the interim. Jules was nodding. He’d shoved the sunglasses up and over his curly head and while his gaze was trained forward to take in the gamboling bathers, Lux could feel him keeping her in the corner of his eye.

 -

She remembered being in good if overenergetic spirits. She recalled a hot yellow sun. She wore her lavender halter with the powder-blue culottes, her hair freshly hennaed from the night before and trustily bunned. She traveled from a three-hour duo with Ava regarding some mind-numbing bouts of predicament ropework that left her guiltily bored of the client and his ballerina snobbishness, but pleased with her improving knots, and with the fact she could at least trick Ava into thinking she was a viable rope top. She’d exited the bus prematurely and entered the sidewalk throng to burn through her constipated spirits, past a raucous patio partition of a dippy sport’s bar and collided with Jules himself, exiting.

It was like striking a human-size grasshopper. He recoiled, elbows up, and almost upset a busboy’s tray. She reared at his excess, ready to dive into the full indulgence of her insult. In the past year after the Annelise Petro incident she’d only seen him at a distance. Their last words, exchanged in close quarters within Jules’s car more than twelve months ago, had not been civil. He was much tanner than she remembered of him in previous summers. He’d filled out in the chest and shoulders. For a second, she could glimpse he’d gained some weird physical vitality – but as she observed, the color drained from his face. His shoulders slumped. He looked sick as a dog. She’d thought he was drunk.

She grabbed him by the shoulders and steered his head away from her. “Do not,” she ordered, “Do not fucking puke on me.”

He pulled himself straight but didn’t dislodge from her grip. “Don’t say anything,” he hissed, dirt-sober, and before she could make him clarify, a middle-aged couple loomed over his shoulders. The woman, a full six inches shorter than both Lux and Jules (it was just then Lux realized she and Jules were precisely the same height) sparkled nervously, trussed in Cubs blues.

“Oh Jules,” she said, “Who’s this?”

She was blond and ferrety, but in the man, Lux could see a sour and fleshy shadow of Jules’s own face and bearing. He looked at her with the same stern contemplation Jules had leveled on her in the past, and Jules presently, dead in the eyes, curled in on himself like a shrimp.

She’d inexplicably exited her rancorous ditch and stumbled over Jules in the no-man’s land of Blood Relatives. She wanted to, against all rational thought, shove him behind her back and put her arms out.

Instead, she reached a hand to the man (dad? Oh boy, what fun) and chirped, “Hi, I’m Catherine!”

And to the woman (mother? God in heaven), “don’t we just all love Jules!”

The woman shriveled with feeling that hardly looked like relief. The man gravely shook Lux’s hand, and she was pleased with his grip’s condescending pressure. Her body moved far ahead of her brain. She could see herself at distance, popping one toe behind her planted heel, one hip cocked, tits pushed out, but no further than her glowing smile. “And how do you two know each other,” the man said, said, explicitly did not ask. Neither man nor woman introduced themselves.

Jules, white-lipped, opened his mouth but Lux flowed over him. “2007,” she answered, “Leidermeister Playhouse, down in, uh, are you from around here? No? Well, Tinley-ish. Way down there. Spring musical. I was on playbill. And Jules was doing costumes for Pippin.”

For the first time, Jules treated her to the sweet sight of his smug, sick face struck totally dumb.

“Theater!” The woman bubbled. She put her hand on her companion’s meaty forearm, placating.

But the man was not letting her go without a fight. “Theater,” he said. “And what part did you play.”

She treated him to her glowing smile first (cracking, a little). If Jules had learned his own abysmal manners from these creeps, then he’d somehow made improvements on his own time.

“The Mother,” she improvised. “Of course.”

“Stepmother,” Jules piped up, at last.

It was all yadda-yadda to Lux, but the man finally checked the neon dial of his watch, gripped the woman by the elbow, said they would have to start taking pains for a cab if they wanted to catch the game in time. “Sure,” Jules said, though his permission hadn’t been asked, his advice unsought. “You’re not far away.”

“You call her and say you saw us, sir,” the man said. “She’ll expect it.”

Jules was too busy accepting limp patty-pats from the woman, who shot Lux a tragic grin before she scampered up the sidewalk, followed by the broad back of her presumed husband. No proper hug, no I-Love-You, no masculine head smacks or back whacks or take-care-of-yourself-you-hear pronouncements. They just walked away. Her own parents would be appalled.

The life was coming back to Jules’s face, but he was still doubled over, as if from a cramp. “Jiminy Christmas,” he uttered, and she wanted, in a surge, nothing more than to pinch his cheeks and trap his head in her armpit and noogie him to death and bust his fluff. Instead, she assisted him away from the crowd, and before long they strolled down a quiet residential street, arm in arm. She decided to give him five whole minutes to recover from the encounter, but he did it in two.

“Ledermeister,” he said to her, appalled.

“Leider,” she corrected.

“You nutty bitch,” he dared, but there was no gas behind it.

“It’s like you think I’m some kind of pervert or something,” she said, and before she could help it, she started to nag. “What did you think I was going to say? Jules makes rubber sex suits with built-in condoms? I saw him in street clothes in a high-etiquette dungeon fingering my boss’s twenty-one-year-old latex bottom?” She felt him up a little in her haste, accidentally, and he squeaked. “Who actually has something to lose here?” She asked. “Who’s the fucking dominatrix here?”

“You don’t like me,” Jules said, coolly. “I had no idea what you would say.”

He sounded terribly calm. The sidewalk was dappled in shadows of maple leaves and, boxed in by reasonable townhouses on both sides, she was inclined to stay calm as well, and in her calm, she found a strange truth.

“I like you just fine,” she said.

“Oh.”  

She liked him just fine. She liked him more than she liked Ava.

They walked.

“God, it’s fucking hot,” she said. It would be more comfortable not to have their arms around the other, but she didn’t unlatch.

“I moved to this neighborhood a couple weeks ago,” he said. “We’re not too far. I’ve got a window unit.”

A window unit meant he’d accumulated an actual window; a net gain from what she remembered of the dismal basement unit she’d ducked inside three times over their three year acquaintance, along with a damp cement strip notating the kitchen and two hoary pipes jutting six inches from the ceiling where tawny water dripped into provided buckets and Jules himself, barefoot, crisscross applesauce on a carpet square stringing the hundredth of ten-thousand waiting bugle beads with one or two local drag queens, staring open mouthed at a small, shit television propped up on a pile of clean laundry encased in a garbage bag, and onscreen a shoulder-padded daytime soap actress made lines like “there’s nothing to worry about Blake – do you really think I’d expose the Nazi treasure to outsiders?”

“Yeah, let’s,” she said.

He’d found a squat, orangey building with collapsed flower beds out front and only the faintest smell of weed in the halls. She noted, vain, that he opened the doors for her and motioned her up the stairs first and it wasn’t until she’d reached the top landing of the third floor, and he was sorting out keys that she felt the pluck of that old sexy situation, which was Going Inside a Boy’s Apartment, something she hadn’t done since college, and even at that time, something that usually happened under the close watch of protective friends. She couldn’t eye him either, to see which way his intentions were shifting – he was already eying her – but then he let her inside and the feeling was wiped out by absurd, maternal relief.

“Oh, thank God,” she blurted out. “This is so much better.”

The place still smelled like paint and floor wax, and she walked about at her leisure, touching the walls, and flapping her arms, knowing she wasn’t going to crash into a spiderweb or trod on mummified centipedes. The only furniture yet was a pulled-out futon (he was a bedmaker, who knew) and the walls had been built out to delineate a kitchen. She lifted the back of her shirt to the air conditioner.

“I thought you were an idiot for accepting that place, before,” she told him, regarding the old basement. “Or you’d picked it to antagonize people on purpose.”

“Give me a break! I was broke. I was nineteen.”

He shed one flip-flop on his way to the kitchen. She watched it prone on the floor while she calculated.

“No, no,” she reminded him. “When we first met, Ava said you were twenty. We were in a bar. She made you duck under the table when the bouncer made rounds. You were illegal.”

“Nuh-uh,” he said, unevenly thwap-thwapping back to her. He handed her a beer. “I was here a whole year before you showed up. I came before you.”

He sat on the edge of the futon, and she considered that perspective as he scratched the back of his shin with his bare foot. He had long, narrow feet, and when he was looking at things that weren’t people looking back at him, his eyes tended to glaze over. He was looking at the blank wall.

“Hold up,” she said. “How old are you now?”

“Old enough for you to sit next to me,” he replied.

It didn’t mean anything, coming from him. She left her beer on the windowsill and sat next to him. He’d have to get a nicer bed at some point, she thought, bouncing up and down a little, and wondered if, all along, his manners and his living situation pissed her off so much not because, as she initially believed, they were representations of his obnoxious personality, but because she had been frightened that he was going to get hurt and clearly no one else around was going to warn him otherwise.

“You must have left your parents pretty quick,” she said.

“That was my aunt and uncle, just now.”

“Were they more fun when you were growing up?”

“My grandma raised me,” he said. “For eight years. Then we swapped.”

She unfastened her sandal straps and tried to dream up a guess about him that could possibly be correct, but she had the feeling if she said raised in a house? He’d go no, in Mr. Toad’s canary-colored caravan, and the woodland squirrels taught me how to sew, and I lost my virginity to Morlocks. She wondered if she was the first girl he’d ever brought up here. She wondered if his aunt and uncle already knew he was gay. She wondered if he was gay. And in her wonderings, she missed, at first, his growing impatience beside her. He touched her hand; she accidentally flipped her right sandal underneath the futon.

“Crap,” she said.

He rolled his eyes and slid to the floor, slipped between her legs, and with one cheek pressed to her thigh he rooted one armed underneath the springs and came out with the sandal, which he deliberately tossed several feet away. He came up on his knees, face lifted to hers, and she had to spread her own knees to accommodate him. His stern little expression was very cute, and she was warm with pleasant condescension, something sorely missing from her and Ava’s ropework that afternoon. She was tired of art, she decided, ignoring Jules’ cold hands creeping up the back her shirt, and she was tired of fantasy and she was sick of endurance feats physical and mental, and she was tired of her own cowardly communication, so much so the tiny bubble of unearned pride she felt for Jules’s ability to maneuver himself into the positions he required ballooned, out of control, into an old familiar cocoon where she couldn’t hurt him and he couldn’t hurt her.

“Nobody knows,” he told her, perhaps feeling it too. “But I can be a good boy.”

Jiminy Christmas, indeed. But he couldn’t have her for cheap, and he clawed her spine too confidently. She put her palm to his left cheek, let her thumbnail scrape over a pale divot where it looked like the nap of a paint scraper had teased out a pill of his flesh, years ago.

“Listen,” she asked, and squeezed his ribs with her knees. “If you had met me while I was with relatives, and I looked scared about it, what would you have done?”

His fixed gaze skittered to the side, over the wall, across the floor, and while he didn’t retreat, he only spoke up when his face reached a zenith of clumsy guilt. “I would have fucked around with you first,” he admitted. “Only a little.”

“I thought so,” she said, and smacked him a nasty one across the face.

With no furniture around, the crack resonated. Jules took it open-eyed. He didn’t whine or argue and only clenched his jaw a couple seconds after, when the real pain hit. He faced her again, glowing and pink, his left eye watering. She couldn’t help it. She grabbed his head and squeezed and clawed and palpated, yanked his lamby hair, perfect for yanking, and beat his butt with her heels. His head thrashed and his hands flapped around behind her back. She seized one and forced it down on the blanket and let the other undo her halter knot while she bridled him with her free thumb. His back molars rose on the edges in sharp ridges, and she whirled her wrist under his chin until she could see him swallow from the inside. The whites of his eyes showed.

“Good boy my ass,” she said, to herself, but he heard and appeared wounded. “Okay, okay,” she conceded. She wiped her thumb on his face, forgave him silently, and even her playful meanness disintegrated. He crawled over her lap and rubbed his red-hot face in her shoulder, gnawed painlessly on her clavicle. His shorts stuck out in front.

She knew a hundred ways of positioning and a hundred more roleplay scenarios he’d probably accept without suspecting she used them not to her pleasure, but to protect her modesty. She was sick of it all, hadn’t fucked or been fucked properly since she’d been his age, and was horny enough to maim. She took him again by the shorthairs along the nape of his toasted neck, and when he sighed down her back, she pressed his hand to her groin.

“Feel,” she ordered.

He felt dopily, paused, and resumed. Squeezed. Offered no comment.

“Tell me what that is,” she said.

He had delicate ways when he had enough patience to reveal them. Without asking permission he slipped a hand down her waistband, far between her legs, far too quickly for her to chase him off, and by the time she felt him properly, he held her so the head nestled in the heel of his hand, wedged against the meat of his thumb. He felt her up against the underside vein of his silky wrist.

“That’s the cock that’s gonna fuck me,” he answered, correctly.

 -

She had condoms in her purse. He had Vaseline in a bric-a-brac moving tub besides the futon. He rolled onto his narrow tummy, and she flipped him onto his back again so fast he nearly rolled off the mattress. She wished, as she watched him raise a knee and finger himself, that she’d brought her toolkit with her from the club where she kept her nitrile gloves and her fancy salves and her more mobile toys. Jules laid himself out on the futon like somebody else would on a beach, languid and comfortable and she pressed one of his nipples with impatience. She suspected he’d be chatty, but he didn’t speak at all during the preliminaries. He had more body hair than she would have expected, but not enough to grab, and a severe bathing suit tan line that reminded her of Ava’s jabs about the minor gossip between him and Roscoe. She wondered if some queen paid him to lay out on a patio somewhere, if that kind of arrangement still happened, and she wondered if he could let go of the sniping and the attitude long enough to show that hypothetical crowd what he was showing her now – that he was, actually, a very good boy.

When he was ready for her, the very good boy reached out with his arms (and made gimme-gimme clutches with his hands). She obligingly sank on top of him, then, quicker than she intended, into him, guided by his hooked shin and a decisive hand on her ass. She clawed his scalp and arched, involuntarily driving herself forward. A telltale sensation like he’d dumped a bucket of his own blood over her head soaked her from head to toe, and for a hot second she thought it was too late – then he jerked one her nipples until she shrieked and came back to him, stunned. 

You’ve got more than that in you, she heard him say, through the haze in her brain, and in between two blinks he swapped out the sadist faunlet for, once again, being her very good boy, and he undid her bun with one hand and guided her head so he could kiss her mouth and calm her down. She saw from above his legs lock around the small of her back. She was shocked she could get hard enough to effectively penetrate, a shock that blissfully vaporized as she rocked inside him.

His own cock, which they mutually ignored, was restrained by her soft stomach. Her breasts ached, pressed against his chest, and she had to break free from his clasp to prop herself on her forearms. He followed her, licked her lips until she gave up and sank back down. The tip of his nose was cold against her cheek. She could feel his lashes and the curve of his eyeball roam around in the socket. He was a ferocious and intent kisser, not nearly so languid now, and every goosebump outside his skin and strand of muscle beneath rose to her, encased her in his prickles. His focus made her quite aware of a separation between her hips (melted, as far as she was concerned) and her brain, electric-bright now, entertaining Jules by turns as a barbed, poisonous plant, as a nuzzling, brainless creature, as a mean bottom slut who clawed her bottom and held her hair in a knot in his fist, who maybe needed to be exercised as a handler would a spirited pony, in order to nurture his kindness, improve his manners, and keep his juices fresh – and she giggled involuntarily, a tight muscle in her back relaxed, and she came inside a boy for the first time.

She either made an unacceptable noise, or a had been making noises all along. A downstairs neighbor ratta-tat-tatted their ceiling, Jules’s floor. Practical as a fillet knife, Jules pushed her out of his ass, swung one leg wide, slammed his heel rudely against the floorboards, uttered “fuck off, asshole” then rolled back to her again and rubbed his face between her breasts. She cuddled him a couple tender seconds, which he tolerated, before scuttling backward and regarding her from a lucid distance as she disposed the condom.

“Come back here, she said. He looked like a praying mantis.

First, he stuck his legs off the thin mattress and with one judicious sweep of his torso, seemed to crack every bone in his body. Then he crawled over and allowed himself to be held.

“Oh,” she noticed. “You didn’t come.” His dick was still hard, and when he laid his back flat against her hip, it bobbed due west of his belly button.

“Relax, it doesn’t always happen for me.”

She ignored him and let her ego propel her forward. He reclined on her like she was a chaise and breathed through his nose.

“You know what Ava calls you?” She asked, jerking him onward and upward, hopefully.

“I’m a community opportunist,” he answered smugly. “Plus, Roscoe’s houseboy.”

Two out of two, verbatim. She drew her nails up and down his stomach and he twitched, fought against curling up. “Houseboy,” he repeated, hissed. “The last houseboy passed away in the fucking nineties. They peeled him down with the wallpaper.” She felt, through his spine, how he tried and failed to work up a temper. “Then they tatted his chalk outline above some burlesque artist’s John Willie tramp stamp. Mistress Avalon sure is concerned with faggot business.”

“Your boys don’t make you come?” She asked, a hill over him now, and above arguing. He sparred solely with himself.

“What boys? These guys – big guys –”

She went back for more Vaseline, not great for this kind of thing, but she was getting the idea Jules had a sensible nursery spirit and rarely abused himself. He didn’t appear to know much about his body and froze like a striker frame when she rolled the tip of him in her palm for more than fifteen seconds.

“– They think your asshole is your only sex organ,” he continued. “They hate themselves for loving twinks. And then they give you the reach around and if you aren’t wet like pussy then oh-h-h-h my god, it’s like the fucking sky is falling –”

She sat up, and his feet paddled the blanket to stay in contact. He reached behind her and grabbed her hair again but didn’t pull. He turned his face into her neck, and he shook all over.

“Being a slut is really hard,” he said, woefully, failing to hide, for a millisecond, the ghost of what might have been a sweet kid. Or it was her imagination. Either way, she made him come all over himself. It didn’t seem to register to him until the drops hit his chest. He looked down at his sad, wet dick and then back up at her, so testily she laughed in his face. He was smudged pink all over from her lipstick, and she pinched his springy cheeks.

“I’m a cradle-robber,” she declared.

“Okay, Methuselah,” he said, unimpressed, and darted away into the dirty ivory bathroom before she could slap his ass.

He recovered rapidly. In the sunny room things took a slumber party turn. He fetched her abandoned beer, dug out makeup wipes he inexplicably possessed, and repaired the damage to her makeup. He berated her when she couldn’t stop giggling.

“I was kind of wondering…” he began.

He paused. Sex had made him tactful.

“Go on,” she allowed.

“I was wondering if I’d ever figure out why you bothered being a dominatrix.” He used the point of his little finger to clear wet black scuzz from the corner of her eye. She hardly felt it. “Ava’s got her thing about being top dog. Claire’s a sadist. And somebody needs to get around to neutering Archie before he starts spraying the furniture. You, a mystery.”

“You think about me!” She preened and wiggled.

“You go on.”

“I like,” she confided, “to strap muscle hunks to the pommel horse and tickle them until they scream.”

“Gee whiz.”

“I like straitjackets, but I don’t like rope,” she continued. “And I like floggers, but not single-tail whips. And I like human furniture, but not human ashtrays.”

“The Marquis de Lux over here.”

He’d reached around and started French-braiding her hair. She put her ear to his chest and found his mousey heart.

“My mom and dad were angels,” she continued. “And my sisters were angels and my aunts and uncles and my grandparents. They were angels from the start. So was I. I liked it. Doctors like it too. When a kid is angelic, and very, very, very, very good, and says the right things, and rolls over. They give you what you need.” She thought that over. “They decide to give you what you need,” she clarified. “I was rolling over constantly. I didn’t know how to stop. It freaked me out.”

Jules’s heart answered wug-wug-wug. He sat in her lap and tried to get her braid to stay fixed in a twist. “See, I’m the opposite,” he said. “I’m a huge cunt, but I’m always looking for an excuse to be nice.”

Her hair unwound down her back. He clamped her bobby pins between his teeth, to deliberately make the job harder, then, looking down in their laps, spit them on the floor. And as quickly as she decided she needed to find her clothes and depart, having revealed too much, she stayed the entire night.

 -

On the lifeguard pavilions, the green flags were lowered, and yellow flags were handed up.

“Archie,” said Jules, from the safety of the canoe, “Head on back to dry land. No! no,” he called when Archie took Lux’s elbow. “Cathy and I need to talk really quick.”

“It’s not safe,” Archie said.

“I’m Red Cross certified,” Jules said, arms outspread up the oars as far as they could go. “I’m a beautiful heroine, waiting to happen. Also, I’m in fucking charge.”

“Go away, Archie,” Lux agreed, and Archie slopped to the shore, his broad back damp red in the sun’s undergrowth. Dark clouds approached from the west.

“Actually, that’s my boss.” Jules pointed to the sand straight ahead, where a bronzed ingenue, her thigh muscles sticking out like bread loaves, appeared to be watching the duo intently.

“You’ll get in trouble,” Lux cautioned.

“She wants to ride me hard and put me away wet, I think I can get away with it. I feel like you must have,” he added, pointedly. “She’s nineteen.”

It was hard to glare when wet, and it was hard to talk with Jules high and dry. Lux was clammy and clingy, and she couldn’t understand why he sniped at her. Then he crouched down, chest to knees, under pretext of scraping the oars straight down his gunwales and snapped, with pure, guileless annoyance: “Why are you pissed off? I’m the one who should be mad.”

That was too much to bear. “Jules –”

“I showed you my hole and said call me.” He straightened, the little snot, sincerity evaporated. “And you didn’t call me. Now I feel cheap.”

“Jules,” she said, sticking to her own path. “They don’t know.”

“Of course, they don’t know!” He said, clueless, if technically correct. “I didn’t think you’d spread it around to that crowd.”

“Shut up, Jules,” she tried again, and when his mouth opened automatically, she really blew. “Shut the fuck up!”

He shut the fuck up.

“They don’t know. They don’t know.”

She refused to say anymore. She wasn’t in the mood to roll over. Funny, how fucking a guy in the ass could spackle over a few of the gaping holes in her dignity. Patiently, she watched Jules rock to-and-fro, his face oscillating between his premature certainty and the vanishing tail of what she was trying to explain. Then he exclaimed, “huh!” and raised his face to the heavens.

Whistles sounded north and south, and one of his canoe companions raced twenty yards past, churning the creaming waves to reach the point to disembark. Jules ignored it all.

“Oh.” He started, blank-faced. “There’s bossola.”

He waved to the girl on the beach, who was really putting her back into her whistle. “Jesus, baby,” he said just as abruptly to Lux, who had been forced to retreat a few feet to find higher ground. “Now I’m really starting to worry.”

It was either of their guesses, as to what situation he was talking about. Lux wasn’t sure herself, and doubted he knew. His confusion reminded her less of him now, more of him the morning after, when she’d woken up, found him sitting bolt upright, staring at the walls of his clean, sunny studio. He’d turned to her bleary face, and with no confidence whatsoever, asked, Is it really so much better? 

“You want to climb up?” He asked now. “I’ll tell boss you have a cramp.”

“No, I can make it by myself.” She strolled backwards, ass out of the water, and twisted the sarong in front.

“I told Roscoe I fucked a girl for the first time,” he called to her, his eyes cast demurely downward. “You should have seen the sweat roll down his back.”

“I’ll call you,” she promised.

“Yeah, you better,” he advised, and shielded his face against the bursting spray. “Before someone else does. Ladies love the canoe.”

One perky heave-ho, and he displaced bow and stern, fixed his little craft perpendicular to the beach, and cast off toward the pier.

On the beach, Archie and Claire scuttled in the sand, packing their bags, and shaking out their towels. Claire held Jules’s rogue, soaked hat. “I was going to swim back over, but she yanked me out,” she explained, and pointed out Jules’s bossola, who had, watching Lux emerge from the dirty waters, eyed her face, eyed her cleavage, and continued stalking down the shore. She had an ass that needed to be seen to be believed. Lux hoped Jules wouldn’t tease her too much. She might call him sooner, to demand that exclusively. Possibilities, vistas, scenarios, she thought of all these and wrapped her towel around her waist, and she faced the dreary city skyline and she dreamed, and the full force of her imagination asserted itself.

“I’ll give it to him when I see him next.” 

Domme Lux took property of the hat.

Ava, ever watchful, caressed their folded umbrella. “I thought you and Jules didn’t get along,” she said. Deliberately did not ask. Lux, in that moment, didn’t care. It wasn’t her job to teach Ava manners.

“I like him just fine,” she said.

#SAFEWORLD #intimacies; ambiguities; a twunk in a boat #beautiful friendships have been sprung for less #isn't particularly relevant but this takes place in 2009

[feysooah]

HIHI ! 

I go by Fany & she/her -- it’s been a looong time since I rped so honestly pretty excited to be here and get this muse on the road :> no lie it’ll probably take me a bit to adjust and get in the groove of things so forgive my extra slowness but I’d love to plot n chat with all of you peeps like actually please lets !! do have a profile page up you’re free to check ( still being worked on shh ), and a rules page that’s really just more an info dump about rping with this mun & muse and some stuff about me in general if you’re curious ye

don’t have any plots up for grabs sadly, yet, but brainstorming is much welcome

here’s some tidbits about muse that might be helpful in the meanwhile tho ;

to start off, where she actually comes from;

From where her lineage diverged the Gwan bloodline has notoriously been known as very powerful divination magick practitioners within the Kyegeum house

alongside being super cordial with other houses and often the other genera as well, but generally aloof in matters that did not strictly concern them. this extended to the normal world and society as well

this was especially true for her grandpa, Gwan Youngchul

who ended up being turned in a surprise attack from a werewolf when the man had been out with his familiar companion -- Seok -- who despite best efforts could not save the witch from this sudden fate, could not stop their treasured bond severing

and despite managing to keep Youngchul alive through the whole ordeal, it would not take long ( if anything, suspiciously quick ) for a certain group of hunters to get whiff of the circumstance and swiftly rid off the ex-witch

Perhaps one bright side to look at was that he was able to communicate last wishes, some of which had already been written on letters hidden for the chance of an unlucky situation such as the one they were currently in arising. one of the wishes being a plea to protect his only daughter Jiyeong

At a tender age of seventeen Jiyeong took the news with surprising grace, not to say she wasn’t devastated and cried but what seemed to be request of her father to bond with his familiar was accepted after a moment of thinking it over, and bonding ritual decided to take place within the week

Jiyeong’s mother had been the one to mainly oversee her training once abilities started manifesting, a Kyegeum witch herself, with very different abilities compared to her husband

It was perhaps no surprise then that Jiyeong became very adamant not long after father’s death to focus studies and abilities on what her father had been so revered for; divination

something his older sister, Jiyeong’s aunt, was known for as well and gladly helped the girl with alongside taking the widowed family under her wing and protection

Jiyong followed after her father’s footsteps in many other things, most notably making friends and upholding favorable relations to the other houses, other genera as well

was endlessly fond of nature magic too, had an abundance of flowers and plants in every nook and cranny, a beautiful garden she tended to with care

many would even say she was touched by the sun itself, vibrant and warm soul she was, nurturing not with only plants but people themselves

eventually met a man who slowly swept Jiyeong off her feet, and not but a few years later they had a child, naming her Sooah. my muse. we’ll get to her in a bit I promise ._.

the man aka Dad is a human, just plain ole’ human. orphaned at a young age so while they wouldn’t know for certain if he has any sliver of witchy magic in him it’s unlikely

insists he fell in love with Jiyong at first sight pretty much. which is frankly understandable she was such a lovely person ;u;

was surprisingly chill about all the, well, witch stuff and whatnot, very curious too but also did want her to be careful and if possible not be that involved with that world

for about next 10 years things went on fairly normally, ya know, living the happy family life, going to work, mingling with the magical side of society

then she started getting sick every so often, out of the blue, however nothing even remotely seeming serious. though it was odd for a witch to be affected with flu so often

she didn’t think it was serious itself, and had a habit of hiding it in the beginning too when it wasn’t even noticeable

until it got to the point it simply could not be ignored, could not be just a passing small thing, could not be cured by any means she knew

and the next thing anyone else knew she was gone. almost like someone had reached and snuffed out her flame, just like that

where in the story we get to Sooah, so;

her early life wasn’t that special in honesty, if you don’t count all the stories her mother told about the secret magical world she too would be part of one day, and the lineage she was to inherit, abilities she would discover, all to be learned together

she had been a deviously curious child, daydreaming every other moment and next begging to see if even take part in what her mother was doing with her own magick

Sooah was quite interested in the guy sometimes accompanying her too, a friendly face she’d grown to know as Seok who she had learned eventually was mom’s bonded familiar, a fact she was entirely too excited about. but who also was before bonded to her grandpa that the girl never got to meet herself

would not fail to mention to him many times how she was going to one day find a familiar to bond with too, someone who was fun and kind and wanted to go on adventures and they would be the bestests of friends ever. and definitely cooler than him

she was always eager to understand and practice the power inside her in general, which she was starting to more and more by the days, before the sudden passing of her mother

it broke her :<

dad too, for a while he was nothing but basically a walking shell. she’s sure neither of them really truly recovered

backtracking just a lil because one very, very important notion was the familiar was of course bound to die soon along with the mom, Sooah was well aware of the fact by then and while she was stricken by grief at the time she was dedicated to finding him, no real plan in mind but urgent to know he was okay, like it would somehow make the situation any better

she did end up meeting him, understandably shaken himself but apparently already accepted own fate-- which at the moment did not sit well with her at all and Sooah, not even yet 14 years old, decided she was not going to let him just wither away and die alone how horrible would that be, how sad for that to be the end when her mom had exuded everything opposite, she was not going to let that happen no matter what

which meant the only thing she could actually do was to bond with Seok and by sheer force of will and maybe some tears - definitely some tears - did manage to convince for him to agree to it

a whole mess

she doesn’t regret it one bit, absolutely refuses to, yet does occasionally wonder if it was the right thing to do or even fair to him

but ultimately she’s glad he is in her life, aiding in any matter she may require, definitely now seen as a big brother she never had-- if she’s not too busy calling him grandpa bc seriously he’s old as all fuck. it still surprises her from time to time

( okay but it is hilarious to think Seok going from being as old as he was, looking about 40 to then having a 14 year old’s body lmaoo )

bless the grandma tho she was really a rock in this emotional time, even though she was dealing with the loss of her daughter, after having lost her husband so early in their lives too !

she kinda took over seeing to Sooah’s teaching and helping in any other way as well, more than welcoming to having her stay over for however long she needed or wanted to

she’s still thankfully alive and has a good relationship with both Sooah and Seok ;u;

Dad on the other hand.

they have both moved out of the house the family used to occupy with mom, into their own places

also have a somewhat strained relationship nowadays, more to do with his insistence on getting her to quit all the witch stuff cause it’s dangerous yadda yadda and she’s obviously not going to do that

not to say she’s not paranoid herself, and knowing how both her mom and grandpa died barely halfway into their lives even more so

it’s not only made her fearful of same fate but made her swear to stay away from any sort of divination magic if she can help it, somehow convinced that to be a factor in all of it

does have randomly prophetic dreams though, but nothing that has been major or necessarily that important so she’s.. okay with that. kinda. does keep a dream journal just in case

It’s coming up 10 years after the mom’s death, so I’m sure there’s been some rumors or other witches wondering if the Gwan family was just cursed or something, probably mostly from older and the more traditional types. doesn’t help Soaah’s dad being a plain human. or that she’s not sure if that might just actually be the case oof

as thus she’s definitely a lot more withdrawn when it comes to the other houses, or even Kyegeum themselves, doesn’t exactly feel like part of the community if you will

but is friendly to everyone and usually can be outwardly seen as having nothing weird or unusual going on beyond what you’d expect of a typical witch in this day and age

designs and sometimes makes jewelry for The Gem Lab actually, or if an individual knows to ask her personally Sooah does take custom work too ! and yes they all have very carefully picked gems or crystals, often imbued with enchantments of basic protection or if one wants something very specific she can probably do it

is kinda rich?? like grandpa was very up in there and left part of his inheritance to the mom, who of course left part of hers to Sooah. who doesn’t really like using that money as it is so it’s just sitting in a whole separate account. probably partly also because she’s not exactly the best when it comes to handling finances so. yeah.

uhh

this is so long already god I’m not gonna get into her personality or any of that now, yall can figure it out along the way or read up what I have on her page -- which isn’t much yet but it is something !! I’m def figuring her out myself too as I go haha

so ay if you wanna plot drop by my ims please ;; I do have a discord if you feel that’s easier too just ask for it !

also go show some love to Seok  ouo

#( ;―intro ) #( ;―lore ) #( ;―ooc ) #lies down- there we go #so I ramble hello guess some things haven't changed #psa: some things have been revised cause I'm a dumdum. nothing too big or what directly relates to muse so no worries!

[lindwur-fr]

Lore writing tips from a writer~

Credentials: I’ve been writing nearly my whole life and took a few Advanced English and Creative Writing courses and currently have three novels I’m aiming to get published this year

(You only have to read the bold highlights if you’re in a rush!)

LET’S PUT THIS BELOW THE CUT cuz it may get long

A few tips to get Lore off the ground when you start out, eh? People may find lore intimidating to get into, so break everything up into manageable chunks. If you have a long history/archive of Lore, make a page for it that breaks up the arcs for easy access. You can write all you want, but if people don’t know where to start, then it’s all for naught

When you write, don’t assume that people know the characters. When you introduce them for the first time, give us a slight breakdown on them. It doesn’t matter if the other characters in the story don’t know them, the reader has to know them if they’re going to be important. Give more than a passing description if they’re going to be speaking a lot. For example, I’ll use Rubrik and introduce him in two ways: One quickly, one how I would do it if it was my own material and novel.

The deep blue Skydancer entered the room, looking about the crowd. He elegantly stepped down onto the main floor, his head tilted backwards as he carried an air of authority about him. This was Rubrik- the Clan’s leader.

Not bad, right? It’s not! But we can make it better with a few little touches

The deep blue Skydancer entered the room, looking about the crowd with the  trained grace that comes with being a Clan’s leader. He stepped elegantly down the stairs, his long, limber body seemingly untouched by his advanced age. The only indication he was the eldest of the Clan were the silver-tipped feathers on the crest of his head. He kept his snout tilted up slightly, carrying an air of authority about him as he strode to the main floor. Everyone knew who this dragon was. He was the Clan’s founder and current leader, Rubrik.

A bit wordier, but it gives a lot more information about this character! You know he’s older, but still spry and able-bodied. He’s graceful, he’s respected, and authoritative. People respect him, but don’t fear him. He’s well-known. All this without saying his name til the very last word! Both examples here work to introduce a character, but one of them gives a bigger breadth of knowledge and better conveys what this dude’s about.

When writing, if you use drafts or even just go back and re-read later, don’t be afraid to regurgitate as many words as you want the first go around. So long as you clean it up afterwards, of course. When you write, the words coming out of your brain are in the moment and will always hold a lot of impact the sooner you get them down on the page. Why do this? It’s because your brain is more involved in thinking up details the first time you play out a scene. Don’t let these details go, because brains tend to forget things. Write a lot if you can, and then clean up afterwards. No shame in over-describing anything in a first draft, because that’s what I like to call the scene in its PUREST form.

If you have trouble thinking up a lore plot, sit back and deconstruct all your dragons and think hard about who they are. There’s no shame in not having a grand, Tolkienesque storyline to tell about your dragons. Every Odyssey needs a laid back coffee shop story to be its foil. Every Noir needs a romance. Every Sci-fi needs a Fantasy. Never be afraid to tell people your stories.

Now to touch on a final point that may spark some controversy- and that is writing about touchy topics that reflect real life problems. This can be things like sexual abuse, physical abuse, manipulation, domestic violence et cetera

When you write about things like this, do it respectfully and with the proper mindset. Any form of abuse or manipulation are inherently bad and shouldn’t be presented as good or beneficial in writing. If your main character does any of this, write them knowing that they are doing something bad. They may not know its bad, but it should be conveyed to the reader that what they’re doing is bad.

With topics that could reach out of their fictional world and upset real life people, convey VERY CLEARLY how you stand on the topic at hand. Yadda yadda “Fiction isn’t reality” but some elements in Fiction ARE reality. That’s a very important distinction. Just because something happens in a Fictional setting, that doesn’t mean it won’t resonate with someone in real life who has gone through a similar event in some way.

And of course, to go along and wrap up this point: If you don’t feel like you can handle writing such a topic, don’t. Nobody’s forcing you to write something you feel like you don’t have the experience, mindset, knowledge, or willpower to write.

Now you may have the question “How do I write about a scary topic when people may have an issue with it? How can people write about war and nobody has an issue with it, but people write about sexual violence or abuse and suddenly everyone has an issue with it?”

I’ll keep this short, but it’s what I personally call the “Disassociation of Absurdity”. Every event that can be written about falls somewhere on a scale of absurdity. The more unlikely it is for a reader to personally experience a written topic, the less likely it is people will be bothered by it.

Racism, sexism, gender inequality, homophobia- all these things are experienced on a daily basis by people. Writing about it must be done with grace, and understanding that these things are very real and inherently bad. Be sure to make this clear!

War, while common in many places in the world, isn’t common in the Western part of the world. We’ve not had a war on our soil in hundreds of years. It’s a bit more common to see grand-scale fantasy wars play out in Western media and writing. So it falls pretty far from reality on the Absurdity scale for us. But it can hit close to home for people who have experienced war in some form or another. Though rare, it could happen. But it’s pretty indisputable that war is bad.

Now for a truly “Absurd” situation to be written about that is seen as catastrophic, maybe the planet starts falling apart. It’s scary, but I highly doubt that anyone would be truly upset by the premise. Nobody’s ever seen a planet falling apart before

Aaanywho, that’s my Lore Writing/Writing Tips in General, hope y’all enjoy~

#writing tips #Flight Rising #fr #Lore tips

[frailesea]

okay but basically ig here’s gonna be this little unofficial blurb on the lore that I’VE settled on for the world/verse/idk its sumn inspired by blessed messiah and the tower of ai?? ( bc i added the miku role as a muse and her names miyu ) since idk how long this is gonna get, i’m just throwing in a read more to be safe. but yea!! i’ll make an official post that’s all pretty.. one day but not right now so SAJHDKLDSA

so basically the brief bg behind the world is that humans searched for things that were beyond the boundaries god set and basically made him salty sooooooo he started making the world really crappy and probably not a great place to live BUT there’s this tower. and it has these 9 “blessings” which were really curses and i think they’re modeled after natural disasters or wtvr. one day, a messiah and the people who came with them went to the tower and begged for forgiveness for mankind. after that, they lit the tower up which has the flame lifespan for the world?? and every 15 years, a messiah comes to either endure those challenges alone or they come with other people. you can split the curses up between 9 people since there’s nine, or you can endure it alone. basically, the lifespan of the world is connected to the messiah once they light the tower and accept the will of god ig?? but yea thats kinda the general background behind the main story WHICCCHHHHH

there’s the village of youth. it has 10 kids, and they grew up helping one another and being kinda all each other had ( idk where their parents are or where any adults are i’m assuming they jus ded.. or not there? ). “in sickness and in health, we share joy and pain” was the big thing that they’d always say to one another, like we have each other through good and bad ( i’m not really gonna settle with specific details of these people because i’m kinda hoping people would make a verse and take up one of the 9 roles from the other 9 villagers other than miyu so theyre just gonna be.... there for now SDAHJADS ). but okay so miyu is the seamstress in the village and they all have a close bond yadda yadda yadda ADSHJDS but THEN there’s a messenger from a faraway kingdom and they come with a letter that says miyu’s the messiah from the prophecy and that she has to go and light that bitch up to save the world. she accepts that, and all her friends from the village of youth come with her. she doesn’t know that the blessings are supposed to be curses, but all of her friends do. they come with her to split them up between the 9 of them, so that she wouldn’t have to endure the pain.

so yea insert soft hardworking journey montage with upbeat soft adventure music and clips of them setting up camp during their journey and climbing up to get to the tower.

all that soft shit stops now tho GASDHJKLSAD so they get in. the first blessing is the blooming wave, and miyu walks in the room the blessing is held. like wow she’s really bout light this bitch up HUH..... and then when shes reaching out to touch the blessing, the [insert chief of the village] puts it hand on hers. miyu: him: miyu: him: ........YEET BITCH *PUSH* so yea he takes the first blessing which miyu didn’t expect at all like she was fucking shook bro. and so then what happens is that her friends get all hostile and turn on each other and they each take the blessings one by one while miyu’s bouta CRY like who tf are yall bitches i trusted yall??????????? but yea the last blessing’s taken and shes like wow..... i have no sauce no paper no clout NO JUICE what am i gonna DO and she walks to the top of the tower........... to see the altar and the 9 statues she’s realizing that her friends weren’t being greedy and wanted the blessings to themselves.............................. they knew about the blessings that were actually pretty much tests?? from god to determine if the messiah would be worthy enough to light the tower. so they went and took them bitches so miyu wouldn’t have to suffer through each other the tests when she saved the world.

so yea. her friends wanted to protect her and put themselves through hell and died so they could help her bring order back to the world. which it kinda references in the song that the flames are lit by the ghosts/spirit/wtvr of her friends and she’s able to accept the will of god to bring back order in the world. WHICH AFTER THAT PART, it’s kinda all up to interpretation what happens to her but.. in all honesty, i’m pretty sure she got fucked up from grief and never got over her friends’ deaths ( which i will have a meta specifically for that bc thats... its deep bro.. :pensive: 1 like = 1 prayer for miyu ).

( but i’m probably gonna have miyu return to her village alone.. or travel... or sumn idk what her grief’s gonna allow her to deal with wow )

the “blessings” in order, what they are, and who took them in the song: blooming wave / drowning in a body of water? ( village chief ), fire banquet / surrounded by fire and burning? ( female swordsman ), graceful sunlight / basically drought ig? ( older baker sibling ), peaceful darkness / mental deterioration in darkness like losing ur mind ( younger baker sibling ), trembling ground / rock slide maybe? earthquake? ( monk ), the rumble of thunder / repeatedly struck by lightning? ( poet ), rondo of whirlwind / being torn by the wind ( dancer ), garden of silver snow / frozen like frozen down to her soul? ( older shepherd sibling ), fetal movement of magma / lava like do i need to say more? ( younger shepherd sibling ).

#❪ ❁｡ ：ooc. ❫ — ° ≡ worldbuilt lore. #so yea #:ppp #heres my note post for that world SDGHJDSASDA #❪ ❁｡ ：aoi miyu. ❫ — ° ≡ meta lore. #❪ ❁｡ ：aoi miyu. ❫ — ° ≡ original route. #so who ........ who yall .. SADGHJSADK #this post literally took 5 brain cells and i have like 1 left wow..

[roaringwingstofly]

jojo x voltron? sign me tf up! since we heard the news of space dad, how about some hc’s for shiro x stardust crusaders? (minus joseph and iggy for obv reasons) like general cute stuff, how stands would react, yadda yadda. oh and eoh canon too since you seem to know it! (and I don’t want you getting hate: we jojo fans gotta stick together! it’s so weird coming from a fandom so accepting and chill like jojo into a vat of toxic ooze like the voltron fandom @n@)

I apologize for the really late reply, but I’m a bit busy due to my internship and I also got really carried away writing this.  orz

Oh man, I definitely agree that it’s so jarring comparing the Jojo fandom to the Voltron one (as Jojo was also the last fandom I came from and am still part of).  That saying so, yes! Give Shiro all the love! (≧▽≦)

WARNING: Extremely long and spoilers for Voltron and Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure below the cut.

Magician’s Sky (Shiro x Mohammed Avdol + Magician’s Red)

Team Dad™ couple.  

Would’ve met from both knowing Jotaro.  

Definitely hit it off since they’re both quite similar, personality-wise: serious, responsible, overall righteous, and possessing a strong sense of duty and loyalty.  But both can definitely be jovial.

Though Avdol is more in-tune with his emotions and is better at sharing how he feels. 

Everlasting patience between the two.

Avdol would’ve been a bit hesitant with the idea of a romantic relationship with Shiro, at first, since there’s a significant age gap (about 10 years).

Shiro understands but reassures him that he doesn’t mind the age gap at all.

Avdol feels more comfortable being addressed by his surname as his first name is a bit of a mouthful, and he doesn’t like being called “Mo”.

Shiro does call him “Mohammed” at times but only when they’re alone.

Shiro would’ve been a bit surprised upon learning that Avdol’s a fortune teller and owns a humble little shop.  He even has some chickens out in the back!

You bet Avdol would’ve told Shiro his fortune.  Also the other Paladins.  

Allura, Lance, Coran, and Romelle would be fascinated and would constantly ask him for fortunes - even for every little thing like what fruit is better to eat.  Shiro would have to gently tell them to let Avdol breathe.

As Avdol’s hobby is collecting old books, particularly history, mythology, and culture, he has a big collection of them in his shop.  Being a person who loves to read, Shiro gets quite eager at seeing this collection of old texts.  They tend to read together and can get into pretty absorbed discussions and debates on certain topics.

Expect home dates where the two just snuggle on a couch or in front of a fire (courtesy of Magician’s Red) eagerly reading and looking at these old texts with a spot of tea, debating, discussing, and wondering about various untold mysteries in history.  

Expect to find them sleeping with a book on their laps and lying against each other.

Whenever Shiro’s PTSD kicks in, Avdol will reach for his normal hand and gently squeeze it.  

If Shiro is having a nightmare, Avdol will gently call his name and carefully nudge him.

Avdol would’ve prepared a water pitcher nearby before they went to bed.  He gives Shiro a glass before allowing him to share what he wants to do next.

Results in either a warm embrace, tea, or just lying on Avdol’s shoulder.

Avdol rarely lets his hair down but when he does? Shiro likes running his (normal) hand through it.

When first learning of Magician’s Red, Shiro almost had a heart attack upon seeing flames bursting everywhere.

Is just…amazed? Avdol can control flames and can use them to make ropes, too? How is that even possible…?!

However, Shiro does start to feel a bit insecure as Avdol is pretty much just…light.  He’s warm, kind, strong, and his Stand represents heat and light.  

Shiro feels that he’s something dark; Sendak’s words of being a Galra tool and them being not so different from each other haunting him.

Avdol will reassure him that he isn’t darkness.  Holds him quite close as Magician’s Red warms him, too.

“It’s the reason you use your abilities, not the ability itself, that makes you a good or bad person.”

During really intimate private times, they’ll trace each other’s scars.  

Shiro has to tell the other Paladins that they can’t constantly ask Magician’s Red to heat things up.

“No, Lance, for the last time - you can’t ask Avdol to use Magician’s Red to heat up popcorn.”

Due to Magician’s Red, Avdol is quite warm to touch.  Shiro finds that he doesn’t need a blanket if Avdol wraps his arms around him.

Avdol likes giving massages, so he’ll give Shiro one even if he didn’t ask for it.  

The first time, Shiro was highly startled and almost punched him out of reflex, believing he was an enemy.  He immediately apologized afterward and enjoyed a really well-done massage.

Avdol would warn beforehand by having Magician’s Red give a low warbling coo.

Magician’s Red is quite doting.  He’ll preen at Shiro’s hair affectionately and sometimes a bit fussily.

Likes playing with the hair floof, in particular.

Though he’s the most mature out of the Stands, Magician’s Red isn’t above showing off.  He’ll puff up his feathers and flex in front of Shiro along with producing pretty flames and shapes out of the flames in a sort of fire dance.

Definitely not unlike a male bird attracting his mate.

“Dance, fire, dance!”

When Shiro gives Magician’s Red affection, the mature Stand sheds his maturity and almost seems like a smitten high-schooler.

Despite his appearance, Magician’s Red has a chirping birdsong voice.  Will definitely sing Shiro to sleep to soothe him.  Especially after a nightmare.

Both would definitely want to start a family together after marriage.  Perhaps after a year.

Sky Hierophant (Shiro x Noriaki Kakyoin + Hierophant Green)

Knew each other since high school.

Kakyoin was Shiro’s senpai and the two got along really well.  Primarily connected through their shared love of seeking knowledge.

Shiro found Kakyoin just…beautiful? How he walked, talked, and conducted himself…just everything about him.  

He seemed to be the epitome of elegance and grace.   

The fact that he’s also an honours-student and highly artistic? To Shiro, Kakyoin just seemed like he walked out of a dream.

Kakyoin initially didn’t want to be too close to Shiro, being rather introverted, but found he couldn’t help it.  This space-loving kouhai really intrigued him with his passionate dreams and solid determination.

Also helps that Shiro makes him feel at ease.

Even when they were in a relationship, they wouldn’t be addressing each other by their first names for a while.

Kakyoin would be the first to address Shiro as “Takashi”.

Then Shiro calls him “Noriaki” and “Nori”.

Shiro was weirded out when he first saw Kakyoin eat cherries.

He’s still pretty weirded out but after a while…it’s kind of hilariously cute?

Though Kakyoin might be a bit self-conscious that Shiro chuckles at seeing him do it.  He’ll ease out when Shiro assures him he just thinks it’s cute.

“Rerorerorerorerorerorero.”

Shiro was a bit surprised upon learning that Kakyoin liked playing video games but is happy to play with him.  Things can get really competitive between them.

They’d communicate more frequently in Japanese as Kakyoin is more comfortable speaking in it compared to English.  

As an adult, I can see Kakyoin learning English so he can communicate in it, but prefers speaking in Japanese to Shiro.

They both have fun little in-jokes and teases in their native tongue, too.

They both chuckle at seeing the other Paladins and Polnareff looking extremely confused.

Both are quite doting and caring in the relationship.

Space Dad and Cherry Mom.

Though Kakyoin would secretly trip anyone who refers to him as a mother.

Due to a low immune system, Kakyoin knows a lot about taking care of someone when they’re sick, so if Shiro starts feeling under, he’ll immediately look after him.

Would gently scold him if Shiro insisted on going on instead of resting.

Of course, when Kakyoin starts sneezing and feeling under? Shiro will immediately tend to him.

Both aren’t really big on physical affection, but Shiro’s probably the one to try and initiate it.  Kakyoin may stiffen at first but he starts to loosen up and begins to get used to it.

He even starts enjoying and craving for it.

Both are also quite shy at the start of the relationship.  But things start picking up after the initial awkwardness.

Kakyoin doesn’t like disrobing or showing his body in front of Shiro due to the large stomach scar he got from DIO.  Shiro is just shocked and silently shaking in anger that someone would hurt Kakyoin like this.

The feeling is mutual on Kakyoin’s end as well - he won’t ever forgive the person who harmed Shiro and caused him such pain.

Quite frankly, he’ll take pleasure tearing them limb from limb.

At times, Kakyoin may sketch Shiro but only when he’s not looking.

Shiro would probably blush at discovering Kakyoin has not one but a stack of sketchbooks; the pages filled with drawings of him.

Kakyoin would get a little embarrassed at being discovered but smooths it out.

Despite his proper and polite appearance, Kakyoin is quite the tease.  He does like poking at and teasing Shiro a few times but knows the limit.

Kakyoin definitely likes to run his hand through Shiro’s hair floof.  Shiro can only run his hand through Kakyoin’s hair noodle in private.

When Shiro has a PTSD moment, Kakyoin will call him and ask if he’s alright before holding his arm and stroking his back.  He’ll make some tea afterward as well.

When Shiro has nightmares, Kakyoin will shake him gently and softly call his name.

If Shiro attacks in reflex, Kakyoin will use Hierophant Green’s tendrils to divert Shiro’s aim.

Shiro would feel horrible for attacking him but Kakyoin reassures him that he hadn’t hurt him at all and that it’s fine.

Will make him tea and lie on his shoulder, rubbing circles on his back.

Shiro would’ve been really shocked at seeing Hierophant Green at first, mistaking him for a really freaky looking alien and almost attacking him, as a result.

Immediately apologizes to Kakyoin for the mistake.

Despite his strange appearance, Hierophant Green is a calm Stand and would be quite gentle to Shiro.  After the initial shock, Shiro would be intrigued and fascinated with Hierophant Green: his structure, his powers…everything.

He even starts to find him quite beautiful, too.  

Hierophant Green likes to make little emeralds and give them to Shiro as gifts during random times.  Shiro making his bed or having breakfast? He’ll find a pretty little emerald nearby.

There are times Hierophant Green may also tease Shiro by sliding or slithering a tendril on his shoulder, nape, or under his shirt.  

Needless to say, both Stand and user get amused at hearing the Shiro squeak.

Though they do want to start a family together, Kakyoin isn’t in a rush for children.  It’s not that he doesn’t like them, it’s just that he wants to take things one at a time.

Black Chariot (Shiro x Jean-Pierre Polnareff + Silver Chariot)

Introduced through Jotaro.

The two would be in quite a bromance before having a relationship.  

It’s to the point that people wonder whether or not the two really are dating or are just in a really intense bromance.  

Are they or are they not?

They are.

Shiro would call him “Polnareff” and “Pol” at first but eventually calls him “Jean” when they’ve been together for a long time.

Polnareff is stunned at first when Shiro calls him by his first name but glows so much at hearing it.

As Polnareff’s hobby is playing any kind of sports, the two are pretty athletic and work out a whole lot.  Expect a lot of gym dates, or dates that happen at the park or involving physical fitness (like rock climbing, for instance).

Expect things to get really competitive between them, too.

Also, expect Polnareff to show-off in front of Shiro.

Would sometimes end in the Frenchman getting hurt (usually in a slapstick way).  Shiro would, of course, tend to him while sighing with amusement.  

“Don’t you dare say ‘I told you so’! Just don’t!”

If Shiro is stressed out or the atmosphere is tense and heavy, Polnareff will always try to find a way to lighten the mood from cracking jokes to just being a physically comforting presence.

Being very extroverted, Polnareff has no problems expressing his feelings of rage and sadness.  He’s like an open book, so Shiro knows how to deal with him.  Shiro also admires the fact that he can be so compassionate.

There are times that Shiro doesn’t want to express how he really feels, and while Polnareff gives him space when he requests it, the Frenchman gets frustrated at himself for being unable to help him in some way.

Polnareff is definitely more affectionate in the relationship.  Though if Shiro initiates physical contact? The Frenchman would be a blushey yet giddy mess.

Shiro wonders how Polnareff could even get his hair up in that style.  Polnareff takes great pride in his hair.

Polnareff likes that their hair colours match now, and likes to flick at the hair floof.

Shiro pokes back at Polnareff’s hair.

Definitely the least serious out of the Stardust Crusaders, though Polnareff can be quite serious when needed.  Especially in dire situations and in regards to Shiro’s PTSD and nightmares.

When Shiro is having a PTSD episode, Polnareff will immediately hold him and say his name; reassuring him that he’s here and won’t let anything happen to him.

When Shiro has a nightmare, Polnareff will shake him awake and call his name.  Upon waking up, Polnareff will ask if he’s alright before taking him into an embrace.

Polnareff references pop culture things a lot.  Shiro’s reaction ranges from a raised eyebrow to a chuckle.

Would sweet-talk in French to Shiro, relishing at his blushes or confused looks.

Shiro bites back however when he sweet-talks back in Japanese.

R.I.P., Jean-Pierre Polnareff.

If not blushing, Polnareff would try and get Jotaro or Kakyoin to translate for him.

Despite his manliness, Polnareff is quite the romantic and is a sucker for fairy-tales with knights in them.  He likes to see himself as a gentleman and a knight-in-shining armour.  Shiro thinks that’s really adorable and sometimes indulges him when they’re in private.

“I vow to be your knight if you become my king.”

“I’m pretty sure, I’m the knight here, Jean.  Well…ex-knight…”

“What’s with that sad face? You’re still wonderful, mon cher!”

Shiro was surprised at seeing Silver Chariot when he first came out, mistaking him for an actual knight in shining armour or someone from the Coalition.

Knowing about Polnareff’s Stand, Shiro finds it hilariously ironic how Polnareff’s favourite colour is gold.

Unlike his user, Silver Chariot is actually quite shy and is very cautious and wary around Shiro.  Shiro is a little confused and a bit saddened and worried at the idea that Polnareff’s Stand might not like him.

Polnareff reassures him that that’s not the reason why his Stand is acting that way.

It’s not that Silver Chariot doesn’t love Shiro and doesn’t want to be around or physically close to him, he definitely does! It’s just that Silver Chariot is aware that his body structure isn’t soft: he’s wearing armour, and he has spikes all over himself.  He doesn’t want to accidentally hurt or stab Shiro.

Poor Silver Chariot is also insecure about the fact that he’s more metallic and robotic: he may never be as intimate to Shiro compared to humanoid Stands like Star Platinum and Magician’s Red.

Upon hearing this, Shiro would raise up his prosthetic and reassure Silver Chariot that he won’t hurt him and that he likes him as he is.  Polnareff is touched at this lovely moment.

Still, poor Silver Chariot is quite shy.  Even if Shiro just simply holds his hand? The Stand will get really embarrassed.

When Shiro actually kissed Silver Chariot? Even if it was just a simple peck, poor Silver Chariot just completely loses his nerve and immediately vanishes.  Polnareff can’t even call him out for a little while.

Shiro feels like he really screwed up big time but Polnareff reassures him that he didn’t.  Poor old Silver Chariot’s just really shy.

When Shiro nuzzles or cuddles against Silver Chariot’s chest, the Stand will exclaim, “Pami!” 

Polnareff is not above using Silver Chariot to show-off or try and impress Shiro.  Though initially embarrassed, Silver Chariot will really get into it, too: relishing at the awed and proud looks Shiro gives him from whatever he’s doing.

Both definitely want to have a family together as soon as they get married.

Black Star (Shiro x Jotaro Kujo + Star Platinum)

Known each other since high school.  

Grouchy senpai and wanko kouhai when they were teenagers.

The Dad couple as adults. 

Shiro was a bit intimidated by Jotaro at first due to his huge height and build.  

He then looked up to and admired him due to how he didn’t care about what others thought of him and he did what he wanted.  

Jotaro, however, hated being referred to as “senpai” due to all his fangirls and just not liking formalities.  

“Jotaro-senpai…!”

“Don’t call me that, dumbass!”

At present, Shiro sometimes jokingly refers to Jotaro as “senpai” .  Jotaro still doesn’t like being referred to as one but instead sighs at it, “Good grief…”

From the get-go, they’d be addressing each other by their first names.  Namely, because teenage Jotaro hated formalities.

Jotaro was at first annoyed with seeing this wide-eyed kouhai look at him and follow him around (as they walked the same path home)…but, he had to admit: he wasn’t as annoying as everyone else.

There were a few dog jokes when Jotaro learns Takashi is nicknamed Shiro in the Garrison.  

Though Jotaro rarely makes such jokes when they’re both adults.  Only when they’re in private. 

Though he wouldn’t admit it as a teenager, Jotaro always respected and admired Shiro’s eagerness for knowledge along with his knowledge and passion for space.

He understands it quite well; likening Shiro’s love for space to his own love for the ocean.

He listens pretty closely during their stargazing though he denies it.

Jotaro was pretty tsundere-ish when he was a teenager because he was going through an “edgy!1!” phase.  As an adult, he does display some tsun behaviour towards Shiro but it’s lessened substantially due to maturity.  He’s still far from being dere-dere, though he’s trying to not be as much of an emotionless fencepost.

Shiro, however, understands his reluctance of not wishing to share how he truly feels and is extremely patient with him.

Definitely the least willing to show physical affection.  Shiro’s the one who initiates.  Jotaro stiffens a few times at first but loosens afterwards.

He finds that he even likes some of it.

Won’t go rigid when they’ve been together for a good while.

Jotaro’s the type of person who may say something callous or blunt but his actions denote his true feelings.  

The type to call his mother a bitch but will go to the other side of the world to fight an immortal, power-hungry, time-stopping vampire to save her.  This is pretty much why Shiro didn’t take his rudeness to heart when they were younger.  

Now? Shiro sees that despite his aloofness and bluntness, Jotaro’s much gentler than he seems.

“Good grief, why’re you still moping around here for? It’s pitiful.  Didn’t you say your dream was to go into space?” 

There was a time when they didn’t see each other again until they were adults.  Needless to say, both were stunned at seeing the other again.

Shiro matured substantially and he’s far less of a wide-eyed “wanko kouhai” from what Jotaro remembered. 

He’s no longer “cute” but handsome.

Meanwhile, Shiro’s quite astonished at seeing Jotaro not only no longer swear, but wearing white, no longer snapping and being way less temperamental, and also being a Ph.D. in marine biology.

He just seemed to grow even handsomer than before.

Shiro would be shocked at hearing that Jotaro not only married before but also has a child.  He really didn’t expect Jotaro to marry young and have a kid already.

They would go steady in their relationship.

Due to his divorce, Jotaro is still a bit wary of showing his feelings.  He’s trying hard to open up to Shiro but it’s so difficult opening your heart again.  

Shiro is extremely patient and quite understanding; willing to give Jotaro space and provide a listening ear if needed.

Jotaro feels guilt not only from his last divorce not working, blaming himself for it, but also guilt at not being able to share how he feels to Shio. 

Initially afraid that Jolyne might hate him, Shiro gets relieved and delighted at seeing that she accepts him.  Jolyne would call Shiro “Takashi”.

“I have a mommy and two daddies!” 

If there’s something that Shiro really doesn’t like about Jotaro, it’s his smoking habit.

Though Jotaro doesn’t do it often as an adult (only when really stressed), Shiro would still tell him it’s not good for him.  He tried to hide the packet once but Jotaro easily finds it.

When Shiro has a PTSD episode, Jotaro simply has to slip his hand into his and give it a tight squeeze.  He’ll then say his name quite lowly yet clearly.  If there’s something in the room triggering the PTSD, Jotaro will sneak Shiro out of there by using Star Platinum’s: The World.

When having a nightmare, Jotaro will say his name, voice low and clear again.

He won’t resort to physicalities until after he’s called Shiro four times.

When Shiro wakes up, Jotaro will let him breathe before placing his head on his shoulder.

Shiro has thought of marriage more than Jotaro.  Again, this is due to Jotaro having actually been through a marriage already and it not working out.  Shiro tries not to mention it as he doesn’t want Jotaro to feel uncomfortable though Jotaro doesn’t really mind hearing about it.  It’s just that he’s not ready.

Though Jotaro speaks English well, he and Shiro communicate in Japanese.  Shiro tends to respond in Japanese only when they’re alone or they want to make some remarks that they don’t want the other Paladins to hear.  

Like with the Kakyoin, Shiro can’t help but chuckle at the confusion on some of the Paladins’ and Polnareff’s faces when he and Jotaro have a few in-jokes together.

The first time he saw Star Platinum, Shiro was in awe at seeing this warrior fly out and emit a violet aura.

Whereas Jotaro is guarded with his emotions, Star Platinum? He’s all of Jotaro’s feelings he doesn’t want to express.

As a result, Star Platinum is far more expressive and open with his emotions.  

If Jotaro is happy? Star Platinum will have big, dopey grins.  If Jotaro is sad? Star Platinum would look really mopey and be drooping down while he’s floating around.

Shiro is highly amused at this but finds Star Platinum adorable despite being a blue punchy ghost.

Unlike his user, Star Platinum is really affectionate and into physical contact.  He will hold Shiro all the time, drape and peek over his shoulders, carry him up…he’s really just this big blue puppy.

Star Platinum loves to hug.  And being a really strong Stand, Jotaro watches closely, afraid that Star Platinum can get carried away and that he could actually hurt Shiro.

If he does, Star Platinum sulks and will feel really guilty.  Jotaro also feels quite guilty and would check up on Shiro.

Shiro insists he’s alright and plays it off by making a light-hearted remark on how Star Platinum’s just so strong.

Jotaro gets highly embarrassed by his Stand at times since Star Platinum does and expresses all the romantic feelings he has towards Shiro.

Would stare at Shiro with a lovey-dovey expression.

Shiro’s a little embarrassed as well but thinks it’s so cute.

Would tease Jotaro a little about it.

Star Platinum also leaves a bunch of little gifts for Shiro behind like shells, leaves, pretty little rocks…anything he thinks that Shiro would like.

Shiro has a whole collection of little trinkets collected by Star Platinum on his desk.

This Stand definitely will steal kisses.  Star Platinum will kiss Shiro randomly or out of the blue, much to his surprise.

If Jotaro deprives or denies Star Platinum from affection for Shiro for too long, the next time the two kiss, the Stand will immediately appear between them to steal the kiss.

Shiro is pretty amazed with Star Platinum’s rapid-fire punching and how powerful each blow is.  He’s even more impressed at hearing that the Stand has a time-stopping ability, The World.

But upon hearing that it actually takes a toll on Jotaro’s heart when he uses it, Shiro tries to make sure the situation doesn’t call for use of The World.

Even if the situation does call for it, he tells Jotaro not to stretch his limit.

Jotaro sighs at how Shiro is being a bit protective but secretly appreciates the concern.

Though marriage isn’t something that will come soon, it’s definitely some time in the future.  The two are already in a family with Jolyne so really, it’s just that final step before they really walk through life together as a wedded couple.

These were a hell of a lot of fun to write, and though I really love one of these cross-ships, I’m really liking the idea of the other ones.  So, thank you so much for this request, Anon! 

- Saging

#shiro #voltron shiro #takashi shirogane #voltron #jojo's bizarre adventure #jjba #stardust crusaders #vld shiro #vld #voltron legendary defenders #jjba part 3 #voltron crossover #jojo crossover #jojo's bizarre crossover #crossover #crossover ship #shirogane takashi #takashi 'shiro' shirogane #muhammad avdol #avdol #mohammed avdol #magician's red #magician's sky #noriaki kakyoin #kakyoin #hierophant green #sky hierophant #jean pierre polnareff #jean-pierre polnareff #polnareff

[whoacanada]

NHL!Bitty, Part XII -  ‘A Stanley Cup Wedding’

The Schooners win game seven and dethrone the defending champion Falconers to claim Seattle’s first national title. 

Eric was definitely not expecting Jack to propose immediately after losing.

(A rework of the ‘Game 7 PVD vs SEA’ prompt that totally retcons some NHL!Bitty stuff, so timeline-wise: the Falconers took the cup Eric’s second year with the Schooners. The Schooners win the following season.)

NHL!Bitty Masterpost

Game Seven. Third period. Eric’s running on adrenaline, blue Gatorade, and rage.

Jack and the rest of the Falconers first line are racing to catch up, but Eric is ‘criminally fast’ (thank you ESPN for the lovely descriptor), and it’s almost too easy to whip the puck to Carter and wait for the siren.

Snowy can’t stop it. The Schooners will win in regulation. 

For a brief, terrifying moment, Eric sees Morin’s breakaway as the death knell of his relationship. He has flashes of Freshman year and he thinks ‘Jack is going to hate me’.

Eric closes his eyes and waits.

The siren blares and someone slams into his side, but he only has a moment to rally before he’s hit by a wall of sound that vibrates the ice beneath his skates and reverbs in his chest. The whole arena must be shaking because he’s never heard anything like this before.

Except that’s not quite true, because he was there last year in Providence, it’s just that the sound wasn’t directed at him.

It’s Seattle’s first championship.

Eric forces open his eyes and can’t see much beyond the mob of teammates that have surrounded him, but there’s someone else. A body in Falconer’s blue that’s mushed up against Eric and screaming as loudly as any of his teammates.

“Mon Petit Lapin est un Champion!” Jack shouts, right in his ear, before pressing a sloppy kiss against Eric’s cheek, the affectionate gesture hidden in the safety of the huddle.

So much for Jack being upset.

When the mob starts to break down Cricket notices Jack among their ranks and grabs his jersey to pull him away from Eric. 

“Zimmermann! Get back to your own team!” 

“Mon dieu, t'es beau,” Jack continues talking, refusing to break eye contact even as Bay shoves him back to wrap Eric in a hug of his own.

“Ouais, il est,” Bitty says back, though Jack can’t hear him, skating back to console the Falconers after the loss. “I am. Oh, my god, I am. We won.”

“We won!” Cricket echoes, and the team roars. 

They line up to shake hands and when Jack reaches Eric he says, “I can’t think of anyone who deserves it more than you.”

Eric doesn’t have time to respond before he’s being coaxed along and Tater slaps his hand so hard Eric thinks he might have broken something.

The next few minutes are a blur of screaming, sweaty hugs, candid photos, posed photos, interviews, and distantly he can see his parents with the Zimmermanns behind the glass, waving and waiting to be escorted to the ice. Behind them, Eric can just make out the small hoard of Samwell alums dressed in custom red ‘Bittlemann’ and ‘Zimbits’ jerseys, though Shitty appears to have shed most of his clothing at this point. 

Eric slips away from another reporter and, overwhelmed, can’t quite figure out what to do now. He wants his parents. He wants Jack. He wants to lift the fucking Stanley Cup.

They’re rolling out the carpet for the cup presentation and someone is tugging at his arm. Someone that stinks a lot like --

“Jack!” He spins and hugs his boyfriend before remembering there are cameras and pushing away quickly.

“It’s okay,” Jack assures him, pulling him back into a tight hold. “I’m gonna propose,” he huffs against Eric’s sweaty hair, “right here.”

“What? Now?” Eric asks, not sure if its the exhaustion or just generic shock. “I mean, are you going to come out?”

“Right now,” Jack nods, pulling back with a goofy grin. “But only if you want to.”

The music is deafening and out of the corner of his eye, Eric can see Cricket grinning like a loon before a swarm of reporters and several cameras. They’re bringing out the cup, and Eric doesn’t exactly care because Jack’s going to come out. And he just proposed that he is planning to propose?

Maybe he has a concussion. Maybe he’s not thinking clearly because is what universe does Jack lose the Stanley Cup, come out, and propose to Eric at the same time?

“But you lost,” Eric says gently, afraid Jack’s about to realize he’s made a mistake. 

“And you won,” Jack counters, just as gently, cupping Bitty’s face. “And you have no idea how proud I am. Six years ago you’d pass out if you got hit. Tonight you ran me into the boards twice!”

“Cause you were being an asshole, Sweetpea,” Eric defends, fighting the warmth rising in his cheeks.

“And it was great, but you know who helped you through that? I did,” Jack grins. “Checked you so many times you forgot you hated me. So, it’s a bit like I won too, you know? I got to see the man I love, the man I want to spend the rest of my life with, fearless.”

Oh. That’s. 

Eric grabs a handful of Jack’s jersey and pulls him down into a kiss, heedless of the flashing lights and screaming spectators. When they separate Jack’s expression is dazed.

“So you’ll marry me?” Jack cradles Eric’s sweaty face and peppers kisses across his cheek. “Please say yes. Make it official.”

Eric grins and tucks his face against Jack’s neck, “Yes, I will marry you.”

They’d discussed it before, in the same half-measures and what-ifs that always circled conversations about their relationship and Jack’s eventual coming out. 

Somewhere between the playoffs and this moment, Jack must have made peace with his demons because he’s here now, declaring his love on the biggest stage he could possibly find. It’s only by the grace of the hockey gods that no reporters have managed to stick a microphone between them yet. 

Then Eric blinks, noticing Sorenson’s blond head in the crowd, and he has a bold, terrible, horrible, wonderful idea.

“Sorenson is ordained,” Eric says, just loud enough for Jack to hear. “Our family and friends are here. What about right now?” 

“Right now?” Jack stares at Eric and grins like he hasn’t just lost Game 7 of the finals. Like Eric isn’t about to hoist the cup. Like they didn’t just out themselves on national television.

“That’s crazy,” he breathes, pulling Eric into another kiss. “Let’s do it.”

Something bubbles up in Eric’s stomach. Butterflies? Adrenaline? Sheer joy? Perhaps all of the above?

Carter swings by with a stack of hats and shoves one on Eric’s head so the brim knocks against Jack’s nose. “Stop macking on your man and come lift the fucking cup!”

Jack laughs and shoves the cap out of his face. “Carter, we’re getting married. Right now. Grab Sorenson.”

Morin freezes. “No shit? Can I be his best man?”

“Sure, just get Andrew before it’s too late. We have to kiss when Bits lifts the cup.”

Morin retreats and Jack takes Eric’s face in his hands again. 

“You sure this is what you want, Bits?” Jack asks, brow furrowed slightly. “I’m all for it, but if we wait for everyone to get over here we’ll be swarmed. We have to do this right now.”

Eric pulls Jack’s hands down into his own and smiles up at his fiancé (fiancé!). “I’m okay with that if you are.”

Sorenson skates over with Bay and Morin, interrupting the moment. “What’s this about you getting married?”

“You’re still ordained, right? We want you to marry us.” Eric explains. “Like right now.”

Sorenson looks at Morin. “Is this legit?”

“Why would we lie about this?” Bay shoves Sorenson’s shoulder. “C’mon, you in or out?”

“What, now? I mean, yeah, I can, but shit, Bittle, you’re putting me on the spot, you have vows? Rings?” Eric shakes his head and Jack must mirror the action because Andrew just groans and rips off his hat. “Fuck guys, fine. I’ve never done a gay wedding, but okay.”

He motions for them to scoot closer. “Uh, dearly beloved --”

Eric sees an NBC reporter hovering nearby and snaps his fingers to interrupt. “No time, skip to the end.”

“Bridezilla over here -- do you, Eric Bittle, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband to have and to hold in sickness and in health yadda yadda yadda?”

“I do,” Eric says, taking Jack’s hand and squeezing tight.

“And do you, Jack Zimmermann, take Eric Bittle to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“Definitely,” Jack breathes, smiling so hard Eric thinks his chapped lips might split. 

“Then by the power vested in me by the Universal Life Church, you fuckers are married.” Andrew waves his arms half-heartedly. “But not totally. You still need paperwork, and Morin and Bay are your witnesses.”

“Sick!” Bay high-fives Morin.

Eric tugs the sleeve of Jack’s jersey. “Hey, we still need to kiss.”

“Not yet,” Jack warns. “We should both be touching the cup when we share our first kiss as a married couple.”

A few short years ago, Eric would have laughed outright at Jack’s superstitions. But now? 

“Lord Stanley will bless the union, and the league will fear our power,” Eric jokes, only half-kidding when Jack’s smile turns just a little self-indulgent. 

“Bittle!” Someone yells, and Jack shoos him away.

“Go be with your team!”

“I think I’d rather be with my husband,” Eric says, and Jack flushes pink before Eric looses sight again, Carter dragging him bodily back to the reporters and the cup. He blinks and he’s standing beside his captain while the world narrows to the trophy held above his head.

“Congratulations, kid,” Cricket grins, handing the cup to Eric. “You’ve earned this.”

Eric grips the metal tight and feels the weight of it for the first time. Not just the 35 pounds of silver and nickel, but the weight of a legacy far bigger than any one player. 

He stops fighting the urge to be presentable, lifts the cup high and screams, forcing every painful moment in his entire life out into one throat-shredding cry. 

For every church lady who looked down her nose at him and talked to Mama about ‘camps’, for every relative who described his love of figure skating as ‘faggy’, for the classmates who wouldn’t sit next to him and the junior varsity football players that actually tried to kill him . . .

For every person that every tried to make him think he was less than. 

Fuck you.

His cheeks are wet, the crowd is going nuts, and his parents are crying. 

Bob has an arm around his father’s shoulder and Coach is crying.

He needs to pass the cup on, but he’s not ready yet. He scans quickly for Jack’s name from the previous year, and when he finds it he brings the cup to his lips, pressing firmly enough he’s sure ‘ZIMMERMANN’ can be read plain-as-day on his lips.

‘Thank you for giving me this,’ Eric thinks, blocking out everything else for just a moment. ‘And thank you for giving us Jack.’ 

He blinks against the lights and finds Jack in the crowd, beaming beside his parents. 

It’s time. 

Eric makes a b-line to his family (His family!) and stops short of Jack. 

“Hey,” he says, suddenly hoarse with the realization that this is his husband. He’s married (kinda), he’s holding the Stanley Cup in front of everyone he’s ever cared about, and Jack Zimmermann’s ass will forever belong to Eric Richard Bittle.

“Hey, Bits,” Jack replies, barely audibly over Shitty, Lardo, Ransom, and Holster chanting ‘Bittle, Bittle, Bittle.’ Eric motions up with his chin and Jack reaches up to cover Eric’s fingers with his own until the cup’s weight is split between them. 

By now word has spread and every camera in the arena is trained on them, but he tunes out the crowd, his teammates, the reporters, his friends, his parents and his in-laws, and he leans in to capture Jack’s lips.

It’s not their first kiss, but it might as well be.

#NHL!Bitty #zimbits #check please #omgcp #jack zimmermann #eric bittle #NHL Bitty #my stuff #part twelve #fic #guys this is like my favorite one so far #just so you know <3

[liamakorn]

Never Tell Them

Pairing: Crowley x OC (female)

Word Count: 7474

Warnings: Stockholm Syndrom to the max, babes, omfg. Angst. Fluff. Profanity. Mentions of abuse, mentions of rape. be careful if that triggers you, friend. Ummm, Crowley might be a bit out of character???  I really bumped up the romance, okay, I just really miss my king X’3 ALSO THIS IS TOTALLY OUT OF SYN WITH THE ACTUAL TIMELINE,OKAY. IT’S ALL OVER THE PLACE, i’M SRY ^w^

Summary: Okay, so. I suck at summaries, but here I go. There’s a new supernatural weapon of mass destruction in town. Sam and Dean wanna get rid of it. Crowley wants to use it (also Heaven rlly wants it too but, that isn’t really mentioned in the story, just fyi). Crowley gets his demons to kidnap OC (Elizabeth Carter), long time friend of the Winchester. He thinks she has it, she does not, obvi. Alot of torture, all for nothing. Or so they thought, but LO AND BEHOLD, LOVE HAS BLOSSOMED in a very not healthy way, like seriously, you are being tortured, girl, I know Mark Sheppard is super sexy, but lock it up. 

Anyway. Hopefully, you enjoy this little blob I made. It’s really fucking sappy, I laughed, I cried, I threw up in my mouth a little. (I also hella miss Meg, btw. She deserved better, ChuckDammit. :<)

“So.”

 There came that voice again. A dreadful, nerve fraying-ly sexy voice laced with a false courtesy that continued to push each and every one of her buttons. It always started like this. He’d waltz in, crisp black suit adorning his figure, polite smile on his face, and ask the same, boring ass questions.

 “How are you this fine evening?”

 Slowly, she let her auburn gaze drift up to meet his dark one. A tired smirk lifted the corners of her chapped lips, voice rough and crackly.

“Better, now you’re here.”

 An almost amused chuckle slipped from the man, clicking his tongue sarcastically.

“Flattery, my dear Elizabeth, will get you everywhere.”

 Demeanor the epitome of calm, he brought a chair in front of her, flipping it to sit backwards in an infuriatingly casual way. Elizabeth’s gaze hardened, smirk slipping from her features.

“What d’you want, Crowley?”

 He huffed, leaning his chin in his hand with a bored expression.

“You know what I want. Where’s the box?”

 The blonde rolled her eyes, shifting in her seat as much she could with the chains and rope holding her still. They didn’t play with this whole interrogation thing, did they?

 Her voice came out exasperated and patronizing when she next spoke.

“For the last time, you stupid, insolent prick, I don't, nor have I EVER, known where that god forsaken box is. Why don't you go torture someone with actual information for a change?”

 Of course, the box being referred to was none other than Pandora’s very own. See, while most of the terrible things inside had already escaped, there were still millions of monstrous beasts waiting to be unleashed. Anyone with that kind of power could easily overrule Heaven, Hell, or even Purgatory. It had become the job of the Winchester boys to find it, and seal it away for good, before anything remotely supernatural could get their hands on it.

 Problem? Crowley, the self proclaimed King of Hell, wanted the box. Bad. And he was willing to do whatever it took to achieve his goal. Including, kidnapping the Winchesters’ best friend, and hunting partner; Elizabeth Carter.

 Another problem? She didn’t know jack.

 Crowley sighed yet again, looking like he wanted to be anywhere apart from there. Scooting his chair closer, he was within reaching distance, a knife suddenly in his hand. His accent, previously soft and lilting, took on a hard edge, brandishing the weapon close to her face.

“Listen here, pet. I have no time for your games. This is very serious, quite life and death. So I’d appreciate a little less attitude. Understand?”

 Liz raised an eyebrow, not remotely fazed by this poorly guised threat. She leaned forward, lips practically brushing his.

“I. Don't. Know. Shit. You’d think you’d take the hint by now.”

 Growling, the Demon King slashed the blade against her cheek, blood flowing from the wound down the side of her face. She barely flinched, licking her smirking lips as some of the liquid landed in the area. Crowley stood, storming away from the platinum blonde in frustration. However, what she said next brought both confusion and curiosity to his mind.

 “You do know what’ll happen if you get the box, right?”

______________________________________________________________

Slowly, ever so slowly, he pivoted, narrowing his eyes at the petite girl. In many ways, she could be considered beautiful. Even in those ratty conditions, it was visible. Light, almost white hair, now hanging in knotted, greasy clumps. Large orangey, yellowy, light brown eyes that shifted with a fire, bags clinging for dear life beneath them. A curvy, yet lean figure, with bones peaking beneath the skin due to lack of proper food. Still, she held that spark, that drive. To be perfectly honest, it fascinated him. To have spent weeks, almost a month in hell, enduring torture and rigorous interrogation,  and still maintain a sense of humor? It was a very rare sight, indeed. But of course, he forced himself to ignore her beauty. Tore his gaze away from her full lips, focused in on those burning eyes as her statement drew him in.

 A questioning quirk in his brow, Crowley graced her with a sickeningly sweet smile.

“By all means. Do enlighten me.”

 He wasn’t sure whether her proud smirk turned him on or pissed him off. It could really go either way. He decided for the latter at the girl’s condescending tone.

 “Once you have it, it’ll be the perfect opportunity for Lucifer’s return. You’re lovely hag mother will steal it, right under your nose, and use it to gain Satan’s favour once more. Then the Apocalypse, yadda yadda, you know the drill. Humans die, no more deals, sad Crowley has no more fwiends.”

 A mix between a smile and a pout formed on her lips. He would’ve been angry if she didn’t have such a good point. Crowley fought to keep an even tone.

“Now, kitten, you know me. I would never let that happen.”

 The giggle that escaped Elizabeth’s mouth was maybe the most irritatingly lovely thing he’d ever heard.

“Aww, look at you. So sure of yourself. So confident.”

 Elizabeth bit her bottom lip, sending a flirty wink his way.

“I like arrogance in a man.”

 The sarcasm was grating on Crowley’s nerves more and more as time went on. It frustrated him to no end, in more ways than one. So, he decided, he’d switch tactics.

 A small smirk on his face, a click...click… followed the demon’s black dress shoes, echoing around the dungeon as he slowly made his way towards the bound woman. Taking his time, Crowley kneeled down, squatting in front of her to achieve eye level. The smallest quirk of his lips revealed his satisfaction as she jumped, the King’s fingertips just grazing her thigh. Of course, the skin on skin contact allowed him to feel her heartbeat as well as hear it -it had been racing since he’d entered the room, and only accelerated at the touch.

 Hm. Interesting development.

 Focusing his gaze unto hers, Crowley allowed himself a moment to examine her. Well. More like ogle. Though she might’ve thinned a bit since her arrival, the minor malnutrition had done nothing to diminish her figure. In fact, at least in his opinion, the lack of muscle definition only accentuated her curves, gave a more...feminine appeal to her look. Her hips stood out most to him. Wide, sloping into an amazingly thin waist, achieving an effortless hourglass shape. And in those booty shorts? He had a difficult time staying professional, if he was absolutely honest. Which he never was.

 He only allowed himself a few seconds before focusing back on task. It was enough, though.

 “You’re drooling, Majesty.”

 Crowley raised his brows, feigning shock for a moment before digging his thumb into a relatively fresh wound on the inside of her leg. Biting his lip, he watched as she gripped the arms of her chair, trying to contain a scream. Emphasis on try. Crowley was reluctant to admit the...effect it had on him, but hey. He was just a boy, sitting in front of a girl, trying not to cum in his pants as she cried out in pain.

 Leaning forward, he was genuinely surprised at her sudden smile, observing in fascination as Liz actually pressed her thigh closer to his hand. That, mixed with the fire dancing behind that auburn gaze, was quite easily the most erotic thing he’d ever been witness to.

 “You’ll have to try harder than that, hot stuff.”

 Slowly, almost gently, he removed his thumb from the wound, sucking the blood from the digit with an audible sigh. Goddammit...it was delicious. He’d never been one of those demons, but fuck, if all blood tasted like that, he might have to try. After a series of very R rated thoughts, all compressed in a single moment, Crowley ran a finger down Elizabeth’s cheek, tangling the same hand in her matted hair and tugging sharply as he stood, keeping her eyes on him. He didn't fail to notice the way her thighs clenched, lips parting as a sharp gasp filled her lungs. A low chuckle escaped his chest.

 “Ooh. Kinky.”

 Using slow, deliberate movements, Crowley leaned forward, his lips brushing hers for the second time in the past five minutes. He’d be lying to say his face didn’t tingle while this close to the honorary Winchester. It amused him greatly when her body, almost unconsciously, leaned up toward his, seeking friction on her otherwise neglected lips.

 He wasn't stupid. She was a hunter. A bloody good one, at that. A natural actress. This could be a very clever ploy to get him off his guard. That, or, she was just very horny. Either way, he scolded himself, it doesn’t matter. This is an interrogation. Are you gonna torture her, or flirt her to death? This is business.

 Of course it was. Just business. Just. Business. He knew that. Still. It took a few repetitions for his breathing to calm.

 Just breezing by her lips and cheek, Crowley pressed his mouth just below her ear, murmuring in the most rumbling, sensual voice he could manage:

 “It doesn’t have to be like this, Elizabeth. Just give me the box, and then...we can start the real fun, hm?”

 Pulling away the tiniest bit, the demon caught her gaze, faces inches from each other. Suddenly her lips quirked. A rattle of chains was all he heard before his knife was out of his hand and being swung at his neck. Somehow, his guard had faltered, allowing the girl to slip her bonds, if only by one arm.

 Thankfully, she was slow. Tired. It was easy to grip her wrist and slam it to the chair, practically snapping the bones in the process. Not so easy to stop imagining slamming her hands to the wall, ravaging her mouth and claiming her as his own. He practically groaned aloud at the cruelty in her eyes. That anger. Oh, the hate sex they could have…

 Quickly, he wrapped the chains back around her arm, making sure to fasten the bonds extra tight. Squatting in front of her yet again, Crowley tutted, lightly tapping his fingers against her thigh.

“Now, now, darling. That wasn’t very nice, was it? Do it again, and I’ll have to punish you.”

 A curt laugh.

“Nobody likes a tease, Crowley.”

 Smile matching hers, the demon king stood, making his way towards the door with a sigh.

“Well, dear, when you’re ready to talk, just scream my name. Lord knows I’ll enjoy it.”

 Then, with a final wink, he was gone, leaving Elizabeth in the darkness once more.

 ~~~~~~~~

 The next time Crowley visited Elizabeth, maybe two weeks later, she seemed infinitely more tired. She barely managed to lift her gaze, that fire dimmed to mere embers. Her light hair fell in matted clumps, greasy and untamed. Her skin was marred with bruises and fresh wounds. Her clothes, mere torn rags by that point, hung off her frame, bones straining from underneath her flesh.  From his vantage point, Crowley could make out deep scratches in the wooden arms of her chair, nails ripped back from their beds. Still, she managed a half-assed smirk, voice shaky and rough.

 “Long time, no see, lover. Didja miss me?”

 The King almost growled, a sickened twist in his stomach rattling him as he witnessed the damage done to his girl prisoner. He could barely manage a disinterested tone.

“Whatever happened to you, darling? You seemed much more lively last time I checked on you.”

 Her attempted laugh made him flinch.

“Well, darling, some of your dogs took it upon themselves to get some info outta me.”

 She gave the tiniest tilt of her head, smirk widening.

“There was a very pretty one yesterday. I think she liked me. The determination in her eyes, so desperate to please.”

 She gave a sarcastic shiver.

“Gave me chills.”

 A snarl found itself on Crowley’s lips. He couldn’t quite place the discomfort in his gut. Why did the thought of other hands touching the girl make him want to crush every bone in that demon’s body?

“And who would these demons be, if you don't mind me asking? I want names, kitten.”

 Elizabeth’s eyes scanned the ceiling, over-dramatizing her thought process.

“Good thing you’re puppies are so chatty. Let’s see here...Jasper. Kenny. Elijah. Aaaannnddd…..Regina.”

 Rejoining her hard gaze to his own, the petite woman was about to continue when a sudden coughing fit overtook her, small spatterings of blood covering her bare legs. Without thinking about it, Crowley snapped in a glass of water, perching on the arm of her chair before holding it up to the girl’s lips gingerly.

 His voice was much too soft for his liking as he murmured,

“Drink up, darling.”

 Taking a slow gulp of the cool beverage, Elizabeth gave him a strange look, exhaling shakily.

“....thank you.”

 Crowley almost smiled. Almost. He caught himself, quickly resuming his uncaring attitude before she could notice.

“Yes, well. Can’t have you dying on us now, can we? Not when there’s still information to be had.”

 Snapping his fingers, the water was gone, smirk set like stone on his lips. The demon didn't miss the subtle fall of Elizabeth’s face, almost as if she was...disappointed. Trying, and failing, not to read too far into that, Crowley stood; not before turning and asking the same question as always, though, this time much gentler.

 “Where’s the box, Elizabeth?”

 A tired shrug was all he got. Sighing, yet again, the Demon King left the small dungeon, determined on finding and setting an example of those wretched pigs who dared interrogate his prisoner.

 “Food will be sent down in a small while, kitten. I expect you to eat every last bite. Lord knows you need the strength.”

 He could’ve sworn he heard her sigh in relief.

 ~~~~~~~

 It wasn’t more than a few days before Crowley went to see Elizabeth again. Then again, a week after that. Barely even a full 24 hours the next time. Each visit, he was pleased to see that she got a tad better since the one prior. He’d made an effort to keep his demons away, sending food and water down more frequently. He also made an effort to ignore the whispers of the kingdom, gossip being spread of her ‘special treatment’ and how maybe the King was a bit too fond of Miss Carter. Whatever. It was nonsense, anyway. Peasant talk. She wasn��t getting any special treatment. This was merely a tactic. To keep her alive. To make her comfortable. To get the information.

 It was like a mantra in his head. Almost as if he was convincing himself.

 As he crossed the guarded threshold, Elizabeth’s eyes darted up, a surprisingly genuine smile lighting her face. Though her voice was still hard and throaty, sarcasm oozing from her words, there was something about that innate reaction that tugged Crowley’s blackened heartstrings. He almost felt...guilty for holding her there, wrapped in chains, treated like a prisoner.

 She is a prisoner, dumbass.

 “Howdy, Growley. How’s my royal pain in the ass this fine evening?”

 She paused, an almost Cas like expression crossing her face.

“Or is it day? I can't really tell down here, it’s all so boring.”

 Crowley bit his lip to contain a grin, secretly relishing the nickname. It was moments like these, where the banter and bickering seemed almost friendly, that really messed with his head. He shouldn’t want to laugh at her jokes. He shouldn't want to stare into her eyes, mesmerized by the flames flickering in their auburn depths. Her laugh shouldn't make his heart pound like it did, her smile shouldn't give him that fuzzy feeling in his stomach. Disgusting. He was the King of goddamned Hell, he shouldn't be getting goddamned butterflies for this measly human.

 And, yet, there he was.

 Again, Crowley swung a chair around, leaning with the back of it facing Elizabeth. He could tell the nonchalance bothered her. That’s probably why he did it.

 “Lizzy. Dear. All I need is a simple answer. Then you will be free to go wherever you choose. Paris, maybe. Italy. New York. Hell, back to Moose and Squirrel if that’s what you really want. It’s not difficult. Just tell me. Where. Is. The box?”

 The heaviest possible sigh escaped her chest, then, almost as if these repetitions annoyed her. To be fair, they most likely did. That was sort of the point. Leaning as close to the demon as her chains would let her, Elizabeth startled him with the desperation in her tone, features soft for the first time he’d seen.

“Crowley. I really, truly have no idea where Pandora’s Box is. If I did, I would’ve told you ages ago. Even if it brought the Apocalypse. To be honest, I don't give a crap about the world. Humanity can burn for all I care. But I don't. Know.”

 For a few seconds, there was silence. Crowley had multitudes of reasons not to believe her. After all. Hunter. Manipulator. Lying was kind of her forte. However, looking into her eyes, he couldn't help but want to trust her words. To unlock those restraints and set her free. But one thing still nagged at him.

 Slowly, almost cautiously, the King stood from his perch, stepping around his chair to stand before the girl. Sometimes, he could forget how small she was. With a mouth like that, it was easy to neglect how truly fragile a human soul could be, even one as tough as hers. But now, he could see something; lurking in the back of her mind, standing just beyond the shadows.

 He crouched before her, reminiscent of their previous meetings, a curious, wondering look upon his rugged face.

“Though I must admit, I am under every inclination to believe you… I am curious…”

 He braced his hands on either side of her, thumbs grazing her outer thighs as he angled himself even closer, as if the proximity would easier reveal her secrets.

“...What makes you so keen on world destruction? As a member of the human race, you’d think you would be quite object to the idea of world wide extinction.”

 As quick as it appeared, the softness subsided, gaze hardened like glass against his own dark one. When no answer came, a short chuckle emitted from the demon, smirk wide and amused.

“Ooh, sore subject, I see? Well, obviously something happened along the way to taint your view of your own species. Tell me,”

 A growl seeped from the back of Elizabeth’s throat, but still he pressed on, determined to figure her out.

“Tell me, how old were you? You know, when you lost faith in humanity. 14? 20? Was it a boyfriend? A sister?”

 Silence was his only answer, much to his dismay. Contrary to his flippant tone, Crowley was genuinely curious. However, it was obvious she was adverse to the subject, to say the least. So, hopping up, back on his feet, Crowley dared a bold move; he lightly tucked a loose strand of hair back behind Elizabeth’s ear, not missing the subtle flutter her eyes gave. Curiously, her gaze remained on the floor, as if...ashamed. Of what, Crowley couldn't be sure. At least, not for a few moments.

 As he turned to leave, hand almost on the door, she piped up, tone low and murmuring, as if speaking too loud would be blasphemy.

 “Seven.”

 He stopped dead in his tracks, fingers frozen mid air as her answer washed over him.

“....I’m sorry?”

 Her voice was shaky again, but for a much different reason than before.

“You asked when I lost faith. I was seven.”

 Pivoting on the balls of his feet, Crowley’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. How could you come to such a cynical conclusion at seven bloody years old???

 He was almost afraid to ask. But, apparently, he didn't have to. All through her speech, Elizabeth’s eyes remained cast on the floor, voice quiet, almost fearful of what saying this truth aloud could mean.

 “It was February. A few days before my birthday. For some reason it had snowed during the day, I remember because I’d spent the entirety making snowmen. After every one, I prayed to a different angel, wishing to be taken far, far away...For social services to bring me to some orphanage, or to be kidnapped or something. I wasn’t sure exactly where I wanted to go, but...but, yeah. A few days before my birthday. It was nighttime, and all the people had gone to bed. Which meant it was time for the gross smelling amber stuff to come out. I know what it was now, but then?”

 She gave a sad huff of a laugh.

“I was so naive. I thought it was a...a potion that made you angry. And violent. I thought it was evil. Some form of witchcraft, or something...Which is why I never made a sound as I waited for the nightly visit from my father.”

 The way Elizabeth spit the word out, as if it tasted bad on her tongue, made Crowley’s gut twist. He wanted to ask her to stop. He knew where this was going.

 Instead, he sat back down, eyes trained on her face even as hers remained downcast.

“Any minute, he would walk through the door, and...and...but then, there was yelling. The sound of glass breaking, a loud thump. Two gunshots. For a moment, I-

 Her lip quivered, causing her to pause. Quickly, she regained her composure, even as her voice trembled with unshed tears. She seemed to be looking everywhere but at Crowley.

“For a moment, I hoped that maybe he’d offed himself. That he had shot the nanny, or the dog, and then himself. I prayed to every angel I could name that I was finally free. Or that someone had broken in. Had killed them all. That I was ne-ext.”

 For the first time, Liz’ eyes drifted towards his, that fire he so loved snuffed by the memories.

“I was seven. And I hoped beyond hope that I was alone. Seven years old, and praying for death.”

 Her gaze dropped yet again, mind caught up in the past.

“But my prayers went unanswered. My door slammed open, and there he was. Brandishing a still smoking shotgun as he glared at me with such hatred. Such anger. His own child, and he hated her guts.”

 Suddenly, her tone evened, the thickness gone in a matter of moments. The next sentences were uttered in an almost terrifying monotone.

“He grabbed me by the hair, dragged me through the house, and tossed me outside without a second thought. Didn't bother with a coat. Or food. Just tossed me out like the trash I was. Didn’t spare a second when I screamed, tears freezing on my cheeks as I saw my mother, half her face missing and splattered on the wall. Maybe that was why I didn’t jump, or scream, when I heard a third gunshot. Why I didn't run for help. Why I didn’t pray. No angel had answered my calls. Nobody had saved me. I couldn’t rely on anyone. I didn’t just lose faith in my father, or in humanity. I lost faith in Heaven. In God. If he truly existed, if his angels were so good and just, they wouldn’t have left me alone. Left me to suffer, to die.”

 A single tear slipped past her cheek, even as her beautiful face remained stoic and expressionless. Gradually, she glanced up, a new fire lit in her gaze, this one angry and vengeful, like a witch’s pyre.

“Is that what you wanted, Crowley? My sob story?”

 For the first time in his entire existence, Crowley was speechless. What could he have said? There were no words to describe what he was feeling, no words to make it better. This was a very old, very infected wound, and there was nothing he could do to fix it.

 It wasn't until he was stood before her that he realized he’d been unconsciously walking, reaching for her restraints without having to think about it. Elizabeth’s face contorted in confusion as the shackles were removed, chains and rope untangled to let her loose. Without a word, Crowley snapped his fingers, transporting them outside some rusty old bunker.

 Crowley couldn’t even force himself to look at her, afraid she’d see the emotion in his eyes, the anger burning in his chest as he thought of what’d happened to her.

 “You’re free to go.”

 The shock on her face was evident, auburn eyes wide, jaw slack.

“W-what?”

 It took every ounce of self control he had not to kiss that dumbstruck look off her face.

“You don’t know where the box is. There’s no point in torturing you for info you don't have. I will just have to find some other way. In the meantime, you’re free. To go. This,”

 The King gestured widely, focusing on the abandoned warehouse to keep from meeting her gaze.

“This, is the Winchester’s ‘secret hideout’. They’ll patch you up, keep you safe, all that jazz. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have very pressing matters to attend to. Tell Moose and Squirrel I said hello.”  

 Then, without giving her a chance to speak, Crowley snapped his fingers, returning to his throne with the biggest only a slight urge to return and snuggle kiss her senseless.

______________________________________________________________

What. In. The. FUCK. Just. Happened???

 That was all Elizabeth could think for a solid five minutes, staring at the spot Crowley had been just moments before. It wasn't until the cold set in that she remembered, hey, she was kinda bleeding out all over the place. As quick as she could, the blonde limped towards the warehouse looking building, rapping as steadily as possible on the metal door. An iron slot was pulled back, eyes she knew all too well peeking out before widening almost comically, fumbling to yank to entrance open with a gasp.

“Elizabeth?!”

 She tried for a reassuring smirk, only succeeding a grimace as she stumbled forward into Sam’s arms. Head against his chest, she could feel his heart quicken as he took in the blood, quickly lifting her and kicking the door closed as he rushed towards what looked like a library.

“DEAN! DEAN, C’MERE, IT’S LIZ!!!”

 It wasn’t ten seconds later the man in question stumbled into the room, almost tripping in his haste. A short growl left his throat at the sight of her, not hesitating as he helped get the matted rags that used to be her clothes out of the way, while Sam searched for a first aid kit.

 Elizabeth scoffed at the worried glances the older Winchester kept giving her, the sound forced and laced with pain.

“Don't worry about me, Thumper, I’ll be fine. Just need to rest up a few hours.”

 Sam rolled his eyes, making his way over to investigate the wounds.

“I just need to rest up a few hours,” He mocked her, raising the pitch of his voice an octave to do so.

“There’s only serious damage done to my torso and limbs, it’s no biggie!”

 Elizabeth deadpanned, ignoring the snickers coming from Dean.

“Are ya done, Sasquatch? Im kinda busy bleeding out here.”

 There was no playfulness in Sam’s face as he cleaned up around the wounds, clenching his jaw every time she winced. It was silent for practically half an hour as they stitched her up, disinfecting as they went along. Finally, almost finished, Dean piped up.

“So, where were you, anyway? One day you just up and vanished! No note, all your stuff where you left it. I mean, we checked everywhere. Nobody had seen or heard from you in weeks!”

 A soft sigh escaped the petite girl, glancing between the boys thoughtfully.

“...honestly?”

 They nodded. Elizabeth took a deep breath.

“Hell.”

 The word resonated in the room, shock clearly painted on the faces of her ‘brothers’. It took a few seconds for them to find any words, even more to put them in a sensible order.

“Wait, wait...Hell?! You were in Hell?!?!”

 She gave a small nod.

“Yeppers. I was on a supply run, when demons cornered me. I wasn't fast enough, and they got the upper hand. Apparently, Mr. Crowley is very interested in a case of ours, and thought I had answers. Which obviously...I didn't.”

 At the mention of the demon, Dean’s jaw clenched, fists gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turned white. Even Sam, the usually calm one, seemed pissed, flipping his knife back and forth in his hands agitatedly.

 Attempting to sit up, Elizabeth winced, landing back on the table with a thud. After a few moments of tense silence, she spoke.

“...he wants the box.”

 Dean groaned and rolled his eyes, heaving a long sigh that slurred into the beginning of his sentence.

“Uuugghh, of course he does.”

 Sam’s eyes furrowed, glancing over her wounded figure thoughtfully.

“Wait a minute...you’re pretty beat up.”

 A bitch face.

“Oh really? Thanks for lettin’ me know, Sasquatch, I hadn’t noticed.”

 He rolled his eyes.

“No, I mean: You couldn’t walk more than five feet on your own. How in the hell did you escape...well...Hell??”

 Elizabeth opened her mouth. Closed it again. Began to talk, stopped.

 After a few seconds of thinking, she spoke again, quieter this time.

“He...he let me go.”

 The room went dead silent, both pairs of eyes trained on her face. Dean was the first to recover.

“He what?! Sorry, I thought you said he let you go.”

 “....he did.”

 Sam crossed his arms, while Dean threw his arms up in the air, looking the epitome of exasperated.

“W-why?! Why would he just let his hostage go, it doesn’t make sense! I mean, unless-”

 The older brother suddenly stopped talking, causing Liz to glance up at him. His eyes told a story of possible betrayal. She didn't even need to hear him say it.

“Liz, did yo-”

 “What? Dean, no. I would never!”

 He held his hands by his face in a defensive manner.

“Liz, if you made a deal-”

 Suddenly, she was angry. Angry at Dean for insinuating that, angry at Sam for just standing by and letting him, angry at Crowley for confusing her so much. Even those old, vengeful thoughts rammed their way into her skull, reverberating in her chest. She was angry at Heaven, and Hell, and everything in between. So pissed, she couldn’t even breathe.

 “How could you even-”

 And then, just as suddenly. She wasn’t. As Elizabeth thought about it, she hadn’t been angry in a long, long time. When she first started hunting, when she first met the boys and John, she was so vengeful. She was furious, at everything and anything. Every monster was her dad, every victim her mom. It faded ever so slightly over time, so gradual she hadn't noticed. Until she met Castiel. And Balthazar. And Gabriel. And suddenly, she was mad again. This time at Heaven, at all the angels in the sky who had heard her. Heard her cry, heard her pray, and did nothing.

 But then....that faded, too. All the hatred she had felt, all that rage, melted into...fatigue.Routine. Elizabeth tried so hard to be angry at Dean, to will up a comeback, to start screaming. But....she couldn’t.

 It was almost like they could sense her mood swing, could see the defeat in her eyes. Something more than if she’d made a deal, or bribed Crowley somehow. Sam straightened, going to stop her as she gripped the table for leverage, heaving herself to her feet. He reached, fingers brushing her arms.

“Liz, no, you’re gonna tear your stitches-”

 “Don’t touch me!” She spat, stumbling to her feet.

 Sam retreated as if he’d been burned. Which he might as well have. She’d never snapped at him. Ever. Not in the 19 years she’d known him. Even Dean seemed rattled, regret filling his gaze at what he’d said, how little he seemed to trust her. That’s not how he meant to come off. It didn’t matter to her. She wasn’t looking. Instead, Liz limped her way down the hallway, slowly but surely moving towards one of the empty rooms she’d noticed while being stitched up. Neither stopped her as she slammed the door.

 ~~~~~~

 She didn’t speak for weeks. Didn’t leave her room. Sam brought food, left it at the door. She wouldn’t take it if he was there. She’d never tell them why she did it. That being in a small space, alone, was comforting. That while she’d been tortured, those hours by herself had been a blessing, that she’d trained her mind to think “alone=alive”. That every small noise outside her door caused her to flinch, anticipating a demon to come back and carve into her again. She would never tell them about the nightmares. How she woke up at 3 in the morning, every morning, breathing heavy with tears running down her face, skin sticky with sweat. She’d never mention these things, not even when she finally walked into the kitchen one morning, eyes downcast, shoulders slumped. Eating the breakfast Sam placed in front of her without a word. Reading quietly in the library. Staying there for hours, staring at the same pages, the same words.

 She wouldn’t tell them when she slipped from the Bunker, to an old abandoned shrine a few miles away. She wouldn’t tell them how she’d easily broken in. She wouldn’t tell them when she spotted what they’d been looking for for months.

 She wouldn’t tell them that she’d found Pandora’s box.

______________________________________________________________

As he appeared, Crowley furrowed his brow, confused. Looking her over, up and down, he almost didn’t recognize the ravishing woman in front of him. It’d been so long since he saw her actually healthy, he’d nearly forgotten how breathtaking she could be.

 Elizabeth stood before the King, no long malnourished, yet not muscly as he expected. A loose pair of jeans adorned her long legs, paired with a stretched out shirt and boots. The tank top formed beautifully around her curves, cleavage ever present above the collar. Her hair looked soft, almost white curls falling elegantly around her shoulders. But it was her eyes that caught his attention. That fire, the blaze of justice and strength that he so loved, seemed...dull. Fake. Like she was trying so hard to seem alright, but she wasn't. It shouldn’t have hurt him like it did.

 That’s when he noticed where they were. A crossroads. But nobody else was there.

 He smirked, trying to put off his growing dread.

“Well, don't you look lovely, darling. Can't say I’m not happy to see you...but where could my client have gone? Don’t tell me you scared them off.”

 “...you’re lookin’ at her.”

 He almost winced.

 Keeping up the whole ‘asshole king’ schtick, Crowley sighed, giving a pleasant smile.

“Come on, darling. Really? After all that fighting, now you wanna deal? I don't give second chances.”

 Her smirk matched his own.

“You will if I have what you want.”

 “What could you possibly have that I-”

 He stopped. Tilted his head. Assessed her expression.

“....The box?”

 The smallest inclination of her head. A real, giddy smile lit up his face. Finally.

 But…

“Hold on...I thought you didn’t know where the bloody thing is?”

 Crowley sarcastically gasped, placing a hand over his heart.

“I’m hurt.”

 Elizabeth rolled her eyes, shaking her head with a miniscule smile. Suddenly, she placed her own hand on her chest, matching his tone almost...playfully. He could barely hear her over the pounding in his ears.

 “I would never lie to you, Growley. I had no idea where the box was, honestly.”

 She dropped the act, spreading her arms wide.

“But now, I do.”

 Again, he sighed, taking a few steps closer.

“And why, exactly, would I not just torture you for that information?”

 A smartass shrug.

“Didn’t work before.”

 “Yes, but, you didn’t have info then. Now, you do.” He murmured, mocking her words of before. She gave a fake pout, drawing Crowley’s attention to her full lips.

“Aww, your Majesty, I thought you loved polite conversation!”

 She suddenly gave a wicked smile.

“And I know you love to deal.”

 He couldn’t help but grin back.

“A woman after my own heart.”

 Again, the King took a step towards her, merely a foot across from the small woman. From here, he could perfectly see the different flecks of yellow and orange in her eyes, bringing such warmth and passion into the auburn depths. There was something different, though. Something that he couldn’t quite place, but seemed awfully familiar. Still, he ignored it, bouncing on the balls of his feet as if bothered by the chill, when in fact he couldn’t feel a thing.

“So.”

 Her gaze flicked to his, and it was only then he realized she was checking him out. Crowley smirked, winking playfully at the blonde. To his surprise, a soft blush dusted her cheeks. He forced himself to believe it was just the cold air.

 He continued, staring deep into her eyes.

“Where’s the box?”

 Elizabeth smirked, shrugging yet again.

“I can't tell you. Not until we deal. You get the box. I get what I’ve always wanted. I think it sounds pretty damn fair, don’t you?”

 He shrugged back, just to annoy her. He loved the frustrated gleam in her eye.

“Perfectly. So, what can I do for you, love, hm? Money, fame...a Lithuanian prostitute?”

 Slowly, in the seconds of silence that followed his statement, Elizabeth’s facade cracked, revealing the full expression he’d glimpsed minutes ago. That had seemed hauntingly familiar. He’d seen it when she was talking about her past. About being abused and raped and tossed away. It was pure defeat. Fatigue so deep, no amount of sleep could heal it.

 Her next words felt like he’d been stabbed in the lungs.

 “...kill me.”

______________________________________________________________

Elizabeth couldn’t read his face, which scared her more than anything. After her statement, his expression slackened, completely blank for the longest time. After what felt like an eternity of silence, he finally spoke, tone softer than she’d anticipated.

 “Why?”

 A sigh escaped her, eyes trained on the snow dusted dirt beneath her feet.

“Because I’m tired, Crowley. Tired of hunting. Tired of fighting. Tired of getting up every morning, dreading the day because it’ll just be more of the same. Going through the motions. Pretending to be there. Pretending to be angry, acting like I give a shit about what happens to the world.”

 She looked at him then, astonished by the emotion in his gaze. She decided she was imagining it. He didn’t care. He was curious. He didn’t care. He didn't care.

“I’m so tired. So please. Just kill me. Hellhounds, maybe, to seem like I put up a fight. Just...please.”

 Slowly, ever so slowly, Crowley moved towards her, now a mere inch away. She could touch him if she wanted. Which she definitely didn’t want. At all. She did.

 Then he pulled an angel blade from his jacket.

“Gladly.”

 She almost flinched. But then, her eyes shifted, catching the motion of his hand as he flipped it to face towards him, point pressed against his sternum.

“Right after I kill myself.”

 A gasp left her, hand grabbing the blade without her consent and dropping it to the ground. She stared at it, breathing hard as she realized what’d happened. How quick her reaction was. How strong the urge to protect him had been. How angry she was that he’d try and pull something like that.

 “No.”

 Feeling his fingertips on her chin, Elizabeth looked up, not even concealing the tears in her eyes. Crowley’s gaze was almost tender as he caught one beneath his thumb, wiping it away while maintaining eye contact. His next statement caught her completely off guard.

“Then don't ever, ask me to do that again. Understand?”

 Though his tone was gentle, it left no room for argument. She couldn’t even nod. Just stood, confused, unconsciously leaning into his hand.

 “...why?”

 She hated how weak she sounded in that moment. Voice shaky, thick with tears, breathing fast and short. He took a while thinking, grazing his thumb over her lips while doing so. Eventually, he spoke, though not about what she expected. Or wanted.

 “New deal.”

 Though kind of disappointed, she nodded anyway, curious as to what this entailed. He had a mischievous gleam in his eye, drawing the tiniest of smiles from the blonde. He seemed to have that effect.

“New deal is: You show me where the box is...and I take you away from this life.”

 Her smile grew, liking this deal already. A shaky laugh left her.

 “H-how?”

 “Simple, my dear. You could stop hunting. No more fighting, no more bruises. No more broken bones or broken hearts. You would live in luxury. Anything you could ever want...like a queen.”

 Her breath halted, eyes widening. She didn’t dare let herself hope, but...could he mean..

?

 Elizabeth’s voice was trembling with barely contained joy, expression melting into an impish grin. She hesitantly moved closer, their bodies almost pressed together by that point.

“And...w-whose queen would I be?”

 His smirk softened to a fond smile, searching her gaze apprehensively.

“Well...mine, hopefully.”

 She couldn’t help the face splitting smile that graced her lips, shocking even herself at the giggle that escaped her chest. She mischievously placing her arms on his shoulders as she pretended to think.

“Hmm...I dunno. Does Lucifer need a queen anytime soon?”

 “That’s not funny.”

Even as the words were said, Crowley had a million dollar grin on his face, as if he just won the lottery. Which, unbeknownst to her, was exactly how he felt.

 She still couldn’t believe how quickly he’d turned her mood around. Just an hour before, she was ready to die. Now? For the first time, in a long time, she was excited to live. Without pain. Without hunting.

 Hunting.

 Elizabeth grimaced, thinking of the Winchester boys. They were like her brothers, how could she just become the Queen of Hell, and not betray them? How could she hand over Pandora’s box, and allow Crowley to take over everything, and not hurt them in the process?

 “Moose and Squirrel will not be harmed, if that’s what you’re thinking. Earth, pretty much, I’ll leave alone. No need to mess with the livestock.”

 She gave a playful glare, only causing him to waggle his brows suggestively. After a few moments she couldn't help her laugh, leaning her forehead against his chest as her giggles faded. A soft sigh left the blonde as he wrapped his arms around her body, soft black material encasing her, trapping his body heat in to block the cold.

 “So.”

 His voice broke through her thoughts, causing her to look up into his dark eyes expectantly. He smirked and winked.

“Should we seal this deal, then?”

 Pretending to be exasperated, Elizabeth heavily sighed, acting annoyed before reaching up and crashing her lips to his in a passionate kiss.

 She would never tell the Winchesters how close she came to death. She would never mention how relieved she’d been when Crowley pulled out the blade. Or how scared when he turned it on himself. She’d never tell them how soft his lips had been as she kissed him, relishing the dig of his fingers at her hips as he groaned, the embrace long in the making. She’d never tell them about showing him the crypt where the box was hidden, protected from all eyes in Ancient Greek letters even time had forgotten about. She’d never tell them about the first night she spent in Crowley’s castle, falling asleep quickly. How, for the first time in weeks, she slept soundly, waking more rested than she’d ever been. She’d never tell them the feeling of opening her eyes to see Crowley staring back, not having had to sleep yet staying by her side anyway, just to make sure she was alright. She would never tell the boys the rush of relief and peace she felt that morning. How, for the first time in her life, she was home. Even in this weird, unlikely romance, she felt safe. Warm.

 She would never tell the Winchesters the story of her ascent to the throne, or of the love her and Crowley shared.

 And she would never tell Crowley that, in finding him, and the passion and dedication he showed her everyday, she’d found it. What she’d been missing her whole life.

She’d never tell anybody but Castiel. That, in finding her king;

 She’d found her faith.

(HUGS AND KISSES FOR ALL OKAY, LUV YA, BABES!!!! ~Ali)

#Supernatural #Crowley #My King #crowley x reader #crowley x oc #original #trigger warning: abuse #trigger warning: rape #My poor baby #Sappy af #all the fluff #hugs and kisses

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Soak Up the Sun, Cheryl Crows! Your HOROSCOPES Are Here!

https://fashion-trendin.com/soak-up-the-sun-cheryl-crows-your-horoscopes-are-here/

Soak Up the Sun, Cheryl Crows! Your HOROSCOPES Are Here!

If you read the headline: Wouldn’t The Cheryl Crows make for a great band?

These repel-o-scopes are accidentally long this go ’round — it’s probably because I missed you in July — so I’m going to make this intro short: Mercury and Mars are retrograde, but remember that it’s not even close to the end of the world. It’s a little annoying, yes, and things will move slowly, but that means you get to, too. Lazy Sunday/August.

Besides, everything will feel better after the lunar eclipse at the end of July. Bonnie Tyler did NOT like that one. It was not her kind of bright eyes. Oh good, I’m already not making sense. Aren’t you excited? There will be one more eclipse, on August 11th, but it’s related to the sun, and you’re gonna love it.

Take this time to look back, reflect and enjoy this beautiful month ahead. Susan Miller and the Astrology Zone band (my all-time favorite — I’d wear the tee to their concert) wrote all the real ‘scopes, I digested Susan’s summaries and below you have what we like to call in the biz: an exercise in free-writing while hungry.

Leo

HAPPY BIRTHDAY GOLDEN SKY CATS! Your mane is looking as big as ever and glorious under that birthday crown. Do you eat sparkling sardines as a treat for dinner? That sounds like something a lion might like, although I do admit that I sometimes forget you’re a human whose sign is a star cat — when I write these, I picture you as an actual star cat, which means your first thought at the mention of sardines could have been, “Gross!” But I don’t know, I know plenty of people who love them. I’ll tell you what! I kinda like cat breath!

With that as our segue, let’s head straight into your August Birthday Horoscope:

Your work schedule has become “erratic,” to borrow Susan’s apt word, and that might be bugging your friends/partner, but you are on the CUSP of professional greatness, so communicate with your person about what’s going on, offer a sardine (or don’t) and hang on. Exciting rides are always a little like, WHOA, did I just pee myself or what?

If you’re waiting for the fun rather than the messy part of said excitement, August 11th: The universe has got you.

“In term of romance,” writes Susan, “Venus will tour Libra from August 6 to September 9, a perfect place for Venus to be for you. This graceful planet will be in your short-distance travel sector, so taking weekend trips would be the perfect way to meet a new romantic interest, or to bond closer to the one you already love.” I also know you know this but when Venus is around, doing her thing, the universe is practically BEGGING you to buy yourself something special, shiny and new.

You also have Mars in Aquarius in lovely angle to Venus on August 7th, a very sexy day for you. This day, August 7th, deserves four stars.

And in the meantime, I got you a slice of cake with your name-as-a-paw-print on it.

Virgo

Virgo-go boots, you had a rough last month, according to Suz, but hopefully that pressure’s already lifting a bit thanks to the passing of the full moon lunar eclipse on July 27th. And honestly, doesn’t it feel nice to know like, “Oh, so THAT’s what that shit storm was about.”

Speaking of shit storm!

Some things will still be annoying, like you may not feel very well at the start of the month, and you can blame Uranus for that. (You know, there is a very funny poop joke in here, but if you’re seriously not feeling well where bowels are concerned then nothing is funny, I get that.)

August 11th is going to bring about another eclipse, but you’ll like this one. Susan thinks it will encourage you to turn off and recharge in private. Hmm…sounds a lot like blackout month, methinks.

Also, though this *sounds* like a bad thing if you’ve been following along way too closely to my Planet of Butt jokes: “Mars will still be at sharp angles to Uranus,” it actually means you’ll be…let’s call it aggressively encouraged by the planets to act on something that’s been bugging you. It will be cathartic, and though I don’t see how these things are connected, Susan also said, “A business partner, expert you hire or your spouse (any person you collaborate with one-on-one) can now be the source of remarkable inspiration and transformation for you.”

Last but not least, early September should be super romantic for you!!!

(Don’t forget romance applies to getting romantic with yourself, too!)

Libra

Okay Libra! So the end of July wasn’t THE MOST fun you’ve ever had emotionally. Fuck the end of that month! Let’s focus on early August, after the few days (namely, the first) that were still affected by the lunar eclipse.

I’m more excited to talk about the solar eclipse of August 11th instead. Way more fun and friendly. For example, Susan said that the “solar eclipse of August 11 will be supportive of you and open opportunities to make new friends.” See?!

Meanwhile, you’ve got Venus in your sign from August 6th to September 9th. “This is a lovely vibration that will jazz your social life beautifully.” I’ll say! Just be careful about how you pack it in your suitcase. You know TSA.

Mercury’s currently in retrograde, but you probably knew that. Don’t make any super important decisions until the end of August. Do, however, celebrate the golden triangle between the Sun, Saturn and Uranus. If that sounds like a metaphor for your hoo-ha, great, celebrate that too. The reason we’re celebrating is because everything you touch where home is concerned will, as per the name of the triangle, turn to gold. Susan brings up leprechauns at the end of your ‘scope, and that is all I have to say about that.

Scorpio

Hi bowl of Scorpi-o’s! Cool if I eat you with almond milk, or will you sting the crap out of my mouth if I don’t use cow milk? I’m not really supposed to drink milk (ironic or not given that I’m a Taurus?) but if you say so, then okay!

Important, straightforward and straight-from-the-mouth-of-Susan words first: “We are in eclipse season and two of the three are cutting across your tenth house of career and fourth house of home, suggesting changes are bubbling up in both areas.”

Okay next: On August 11th, thanks to the solar eclipse, you’re due for some sort of massive career/finance boost — but Mercury is in retrograde, so no signing new contracts until it’s over at the end of August, okay? (But also, don’t listen to me. Approach all contract decisions with your usual amount of caution and consideration, get a professional to help you get organized with your finances, yadda yadda YOU KNOW ALL THIS.)

Ugh I think because it’s summer all I want to do is talk about love so I’m really excited we got to this point, finallyyy: “The full moon of August 27 will sprinkle you in silvery, glittery dust by Cupid and his little fleet of angels.” Susan wrote that. She is a modern day celestial poet and we are not worthy.

Sagittarius

Sagittarius, Sagittarius on the floor! And she’s dancing like she’s never danced before!

Neigh, neigh, neigh, let’s talk about your horoscope. First of all, we had the eclipse on July 27th. If that week — or honestly, the whole month of July — felt like a damn doozy, well, now you know why. Blame the planets!

But don’t shit-talk them too much, because the planets also do you a whole lot of favors and alllll of us know what it’s like to shit talk a significant other to friends because we’re mad then have to backtrack later like, “No, no, I swear they’re great!” Besides, on August 11th, there will be a solar eclipse that kicks all sorts of exciting things and opportunities into high gear. For you, especially pertaining to home and career.

Don’t forget that amid all that, we’re still dealing with Mercury in retrograde again (it’s fine; everything is fine) and Mars — one of your ruling planets — is too. Just remember that a retrograde isn’t necessarily bad; good things from the past can come back, but it does mean things move sloooooooooowly, according to every train in New York and Susan.

I’m so sorry, it’s so hard to concentrate right now. I’m writing this in the same room as a television that’s playing Drunk History and it’s really distracting because I love Drunk History so much.

Hey! And guess what! You’re going to have a super romantic, lovey dovey, hubba hubba early August when “Venus will glide into Libra.” Please do still use a water-based lube even though Mars has no water on it! Or does it?

Capricorn

Hi baseball Capricorn how are YOU ah-doin?

You’ll be meditating on money this month according to Suz.

Lotttta money meditating. I’m just scrolling through your summary, honestly…okay and on August 11th, a solar eclipse! Hip, hip, horray! Why? Because solar eclipses bring about really cathartic and positive changes, and YES I know we’re in the midst of a Mercury mo-flipping retrograde, but just remember, though it gets a bad rep, Mercury in retrograde is not solely an annoying thing that messes with technology, etc. It gives you an excuse to go backward, and it makes retroactive reach-outs positive ones.

Okay, so what about you? Well, the eclipse on August 11th could bring you money. Good job manifesting that during your meditation. And the end of August, the 26th-ish, is a good time to get away. “Choose a place with thundering white surf or a placid translucent blue lake,” Susan said, super specifically. It’s also a time to let your creativity and love thrive. Thrive, I tell ya! Did I tell you that Drunk History is playing in the background and someone is hiccuping and it’s making it hard to focus? What else is new for me though, I suppose. This is how I thrive. I also stand by the fact that the best compliment I ever received in the comments of horoscopes was, “These sound drunker than usual.” You have no idea!

Aquarius

Aquarius, I sang “Sagittarius, Sagittarius” to the tune of “she’s a maniac, maniac” but now that I’m reading your name and its syllables I’m like waiiiit, “She’s Aquarius, Aquarius!” sounds good too. I guess you can both share songs. Like a mash-up.

Little bit about me right now, I took a 3 a.m. flight and am so confused about when I last brushed my teeth and believe me, I’d like to brush them right now but I have no idea where my toothbrush is.

ALRIGHT let’s talk Astro-facts:

Mars is in Aquarius and it’s also in retrograde. I know that word freaks everyone out, but you don’t have to worry. Besides, this one’s out of retrograde at the end of the month (maybe it’ll finally stop wearing those teeny tiny ’90s sunglasses then).

Dates for you to know, because what the heck am I even going on about: There’s a solar eclipse on the 11th that will bring you help from a collaborator, and know that a collaborator could be anyone from a work person to a life partner — and this help may lead to good things.

At the end of the month, you’ll be hyper-creative. On top of that, money is going to roll on in. If you like love, keep your eyes peeled on the 7th. “Venus and her lover, Mars,” and please note those are Susan’s words, not mine for once, are going to get it on (“get it on” are my words) which means that you’ll have a magical air about you that’s likely to lead you straight toward your soulmate. Holy shit, I hope it’s Chidi!

Pisces

Hi cherry Pisces, I’m gonna try to keep yours through Cancer’s ‘scopes short because you’re probably busy and I’ve got a hungry mouth to feed: mine. So what does your doodle butt need to know?

WEll! Capitalized with the W and the E just like that, thank you very much. And also, if you happen to have been reading along all the other signs above when I was talking about having Drunk History on in the background, you should know that I am horrible at multitasking, and even worse than that, I truly cannot write my own name with something playing in the background. Not even classical music. I don’t know how people do it. I’m telling you that because someone just threw up on the episode I’m watching, and then I almost threw up, and that really would have thrown me off schedule.

So let’s stay on it, shall we? We shall!

Because of the retrogrades, August will be slow. Use that as an excuse to take it slow, too, and also to check the more monotonous things off your list.

The solar eclipse of August 11th will bring about exciting career opportunities. Oo-ie! YOUR CAREER IS ON A ROCKET TO THE MOON AND BEYOND. FOR REAL. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO? WHY? THE UNIVERSE SAYS, “YOU TELL ME AND WE WILL MAKE IT HAPPEN!” Sometimes you need an all-caps moment.

Now, Mars is going to be in hard angle to Uranus (sounds like that planet needs to add more fiber to its diet!) which could cause a little discomfort (as one might imagine!), but it will also make you more creative, and in a twist I certainly didn’t see coming, it could mean that a friend will make you rich or something? I’m kinda skimming. But honestly, from the summary alone, it’s all great things!! Oh and by the end of the month, you might be famous. Just kidding about keeping it short!

Aries

Hello little house on the Aries! July was stressful so who needs to bring it up — the only reason I just did is because I think it’s nice to know you can point to the sky and be like, “The planets did it!” The great news is that August is amazing (does anyone watch The Kroll Show? I just said, “It’s ah-mayyyy-zeeeeng” in my head like Liz). (Yes those two links were meant to take you to the same place.)

There’s an eclipse in Leo on August 11th, which means romance, love, babies, partnership. Also speaking of love, have ye olde planet of surprise and butts, Uranus, receiving a beam from Saturn, and what that means for you is that any emotional life-related decision you make around this time will, per Suz, probably be “a solid one that will set up a firm foundation for years to come.”

It’s a time for friends, a time for snacks, a time for feeling like you’re finally taking a breather for once.

On the 17th and 18th, you’ll be feeling particularly creative, so put that to good use and break out the crayons. On the 19th, your career will get a necessary kick in the derriere, which bodes well for you.

Finally, the full moon of August 26th “will be a peach.” (Omg Susan is so cute sometimes.)  Kinda just had a weird creepy Nicolas Cage “peach for hours” flashback from Face Off, mentally blocking that, but what you can expect is an all-around brilliant end to August. Everything will be great, no exaggeration. So go out and celebrate for heaven’s sake, wear your favorite outfit!

Taurus

Mooooooooooooooo! Hello my fellow celestial cows. I’m super sleepy, so enjoy this ride we’re about to embark upon.

If I can be honest with you, when it comes to horoscopes, I’m not always what you might call a believer. I have fun with it, sure, and I blame the arrangement of the planets for a lot, but it’s always with a bit of a wink. And then inevitably, Susan Miller writes something that makes me think, “How’d she do that?” Exactly the same way that woman does it in the Mary Poppins advertisement on Taxi TV.

Susan said this: “As you enter August, you may be feeling uncharacteristically tense and high strung,” but then she says it’s going to wash away with the help of August. I swear to you that the moment August 1st pierced through the clouds I was like, “Ahhhhhh, relief.” And it’s not just because I had to pee the whole last day of July and kept avoiding it! It probably has almost everything to do with the lunar eclipse, if we’re being honest. Good thing that’s over — see ya! Wouldn’t want to be ya!

Now, sure, everyone could find a way to relate to this. But so?! Then that means Susan was right! Good thing I’ve gotten back into meditation for the millionth time. Let’s see if I do or don’t fall asleep.

Susan also thinks the 11th will be a little weird for us thanks to Mars, which I choose to ignore, but the solar eclipse on the same day will open up new paths anyway so eyes on the prize! This is a good one, I promise. You are the James Bond of your own life! Don’t forget to wear a seatbelt no matter how teeny the car! Jerry Seinfeld, I’m looking at you when you ask to borrow it for Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee. 

There’s a full moon in Pisces on August 26th that will receive “comforting vibes” from Saturn — someone put that on a made-for-Instagram poster — that will make us feel back in control. Our creativity will be through the roof, and you heard it from Susan first: In the final days of August, go ahead and play hooky from the office and soak up the summer sun! Pretty sure you can show your boss this horoscope as a doctor’s note.

Gemini

Gemin-hi!

To get right into it, August is kinda a no-contracts month for you if you can help it for a whole bunch of boring celestial reasons. If you can’t help it, read the fine print and do a handstand or something. Also, you’re mostly off the hook by the 27th.

Don’t make major life decisions because of me, please!

But I do invite you do to things liiiiiiike travel on the 11th because Susan says it will be a nice time, or appear on television because Susan also seems to think that might happen. If you’ve been thinking about taking some sort of classes, that might be nice? Also you will probably get a huge award on the 26th! What! Cool! Will you sign my baseball glove?

The middle to end of August is really career, career, career, but in a good way. You’re leading the charge, my high-powered puma. And oh cool, look at this! “If you need money to make your home-related project happen, the funds will appear if you look for them.” — Susan

And they said money doesn’t grow when you spray Febreze!

I can’t really recall what she said about romance or friendship, but given what she said about every other sign, the planets, though sleepy, are super, super primed to make the end of August feel like one giant slice of delicious, satisfying, happy-ass watermelon. Bite into it and let the juice drip down your chin. Oh, but careful of ants! They are so cute but their crawling gives me the heebie jeebies.

Cancer

Cancer I LITERALLY just ate a crab thumb! Thank you for your gift to the planet.

Let’s dive right into August 11th since you’ve made it this far, shall we? If you’ve been worried about money, thanks to the eclipse on this date, you no longer will be! So you’ve been spending a lot — who hasn’t? That’s okay! Summer’s always a little expensive. (You’re investing in memories!) You’re about to plant some sort of golden bean into a very fertile ground, if I am reading this horoscope correctly.

I also may not be but I’m the woman on the keys! YOU CAN’T STOP ME!

The 26th will be a really lucky day. The planets are doing all sorts of things that make this an ideal time to kinda do whatever you want if you need heart-stoppingly-wonderful results.

Work-wise, there may be delays, but it’s just because Mars has been retrograde since the 26th, so once that’s over on August 27th, you’ll begin to feel things spin back into action. You’ll really get going by September and/or October, so trick or treat, smell my feet, give me my SPF30 please because right now it’s summer and I don’t know about you but the sun outside is calling to me way more loudly than my laptop. But back to you: You’re working hard and around this time, finally, PEOPLE WILL NOTICE.

Romantically (I am so glad you asked), “this area may prove to be the best in your life,” wrote Suz. Mars is making you feel sexy, your partner is being a squishy angel, and Jupiter, one of my favorite planets for all its gift- and luck-giving, is doing the worm in your house of love, which means that you’re bound to meet someone special if you’re looking and haven’t already.

The end of August is going to be the best. Play hooky as often as you can. OH and I forgot to tell you! I love your dress!

Illustration by Cynthia Merhej.