#safe to say I never really stopped hating him but damn did I forget how fucked up the shit he said to jim was

[castiel-kline]

daily reminder that this is a toa merlin hate blog!!

#kitkat rambles #tales of arcadia #literally biting chomping killing rn #rewatching trollhunters is all well and good until I have to watch a house divided #and like. i hadn’t seen that episode in full in YEARS bc the bathtub scene emotionally scarred me when I was 15 #I’d watched the bathtub scene itself but not in the context of the ep with all of merlin’s manipulation #safe to say I never really stopped hating him but damn did I forget how fucked up the shit he said to jim was #and I am now filled with rage!! #and also guilt for being a wizards enjoyer lol #I don’t think it’s merlin apologism per se but it’s definitely Not as critical of merlin (and arthur) as it should be #anyway. brb killing that man #also I’m watching w my family and that was a ride bc my dad fucking fell ASLEEP before the bathtub scene #so we had to go through it once and then rewind it which just made the whole thing worse #so moral of the story I’m apparently not over emotional damage dealt out by a cartoon I watched in high school #and while I’m all for well rounded children’s media with dark themes I think dreamworks went a little too hard with this one #considering it effectively traumatized both 15 year old me and my 50something mom

[7ndipity]

You flinch during a fight

Ot7 x Reader

Summary: How they would react to you flinching during a fight/argument.

Warnings: angst obviously, slight implications of past trauma, not proofread

A/N:(damn, y'all really like angst, huh? Lol) Thanks to the lovely anon who sent this request, I hope you like them!

Masterlist

Requests are open

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Seokjin: Jin forgets just how big he is sometimes and how intimidating that can be. Which is why, when he swung around suddenly to say something and saw you take a small step back, he was confused for a moment before it hit him, and he froze. The room had fallen silent, both of you unsure of what to do or how to proceed. "I didn't mean to-" "I know." You stopped him before he could finish. "Cause you know I would never-" "I know, baby, it was just a reflex." You told him, knowing he would beat himself up over this if you didn't stop him. "Can we just say you won the fight and move on? He asked, making you grin as you wrapped your arms around his middle. "Sure."

Yoongi: It was a tiny movement, so small it would've easily been missed, had he not been looking at you when he slammed his hand down on the table in frustration, causing you to wince. Instantly, he felt every ounce of anger drain away, replaced with hollow shame. "Are you okay?" He asked quietly after a long pause, not meeting your eye. You nodded. "You just startled me." He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to calm his own nerves. "Can we not do this? I don't wanna fight, not like this." "Me neither." You agreed. You settled on just spending the evening together quietly, eventually talking through the original issue much more calmly.

Hobi: As loud as Hobi might be, he almost never raises his voice with you, which why it caught you so off guard and made you flinch. It was a purely instinctual response, but for Hobi, it made his heart absolutely shatter, eyes immediately glazing over with tears. He was supposed to be you safe place, your protector, how could he make you feel unsafe? As if you could read his mind, you were quick to try and reassure him. "Hobi, it's okay." "No, It's not, I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. I'm so sorry." You end up sitting together, comforting each other for a while.

Namjoon: He didn't even realize just how tightly wound you had both become during the argument until he slammed a cabinet door, making you jump. Glancing up to see you, clearly startled, his stubborn pride evaporated. "Lets not talk it about it anymore right now, we're not gonna solve anything while we're upset, okay?" He asked, keeping his tone soft in an attempt to soothe you. "Okay." You nodded. "Can I hug you?" He asked. Again, you nodded, letting him carefully tuck you into his chest. "I'm so sorry."

Jimin: He knows he can be intimidating when he's angry, but he never thought you would view him like that, until he saw you flinch back into the sofa cushions. His eyes got so big, before sinking down next to you on the couch. "Did... did I scare you?" He asked, barely able to speak above a whisper. "I don't know." You said, which he knew was your go-to response when you wanted to avoid the truth. Biting back a wave of emotion, he spoke, trying to keep his voice calm. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have lost my temper." "It's okay." You said. It wasn't, not to him, but he didn't want to push you further right now. Right now, he just wanted to make you feel better.

Taehyung: When he whipped around to face you, only to see you instinctively shrink back, he froze, hands falling ground his sides. "Babe." He said, voice small, wobbly. "I wouldn't... you know I wouldn't, right?" "I know, it was just a reflex." You said even more quietly, fiddling with your fingers which he knew was a sign of how stressed you actually were. Not knowing what else to do, he pulled you into a tight hug. "Please know that you're always safe with me."

Jungkook: He knew you hated loud noises, but in the heat of the moment, he couldn't help the the raise in his voice. As soon as he saw the tears in your eyes though, he panicked. "I'm sorry!" He apologized profusely, rushing over to hold you, maybe a little faster than he should've, but he couldn't help it, he couldn't stand the thought that he'd made you so upset. "Please don't yell." You sniffled. "I won't, I swear, I won't. I'm so sorry baby." Clings to you for the rest of the evening.

#bts scenarios #bts reaction #bts reactions #bts angst #bts x y/n #bts x reader #seokjin x y/n #seokjin x reader #yoongi x y/n #yoongi x reader #hoseok x reader #hoseok x y/n #namjoon x reader #namjoon x y/n #jimin x y/n #jimin x reader #taehyung x y/n #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #requests #bts requests #7ndipity

[pablitogavii]

Can you write a longer angsty story where Y/N runs away from a guy (who was aggressive/sexually inappropriate etc) and then Gavi jumps in being like “who did this to you”, “touch her and you die”

Y/N sobbing against his chest. Gavi getting angry and punching the guy.

Y/N being like “I’m okay” Gavi being overprotective and insisting that she stay at his place

Maybe with smut

Don't touch her

You knew Pablo since you were together in middle school. Then he left to play professionally but you kept being each other's favorite enemies. Somehow you could never see eye to eye.

Both of your families always talked about you two being together because of how much you "hate" on each other. Even Aurora always teases you about it.

You were right now in one of the most uncomfortable dates of your life. They guy was way too touchy and you wanted to leave asap.

"Wanna go over to my place guapa?" he smirked reaching his hand underneath the table to place it on your knee and you gulped sending the text to the first person on your list, and it just had to be Pablo.

You two were fighting last night about something again so he was on your speed dial always. Pablo received your location with an "sos" so he was already in the car on the way to you.

No matter the arguments and fights, there was no way Pablo wouldn't come when you called...likewise went for you being first there during his injury.

"Alright, let's go!" he said reaching your hand and walking out of the restaurant. You wanted to leave the place before telling him you're not up for it not knowing that was more dangerous.

"I'm a little tired, maybe next time" you say trying to move away but his grip tightened. Damn will that stupid Pablo come already!

"Let go of me ..." you say trying to pull away and he slammed you against the concrete wall and you hit your head feeling dizzy. His hand went on your throat and he left marks while kissing your skin making you sick!

"Please, stop ..." you were crying and suddenly someone pulled the guy off you tossing him to the floor and pulling you to his side.

"P..Pablo" you say drying your tears and he pulled you behind his back while the guy stood back up marching towards you two.

"Touch her ...and you die" Pablo was stern and cold and something in you warmed up at his words. It felt special to hear him protect you like this. You somehow always felt safe when he was there for you.

"Who are you, her bodyguard!?" guy said and you felt your cheeks flush.

"Who me!? Nah! You're crazy!" Pablo negated like always and you remembered why you guys hated each other so much. It was always hard to admit what you two felt for each other.

"So why are you here???" guy said and you wanted to know the answer to that question.

"Problem mio" Pablo simply said pulling you towards his car and the guy walked towards you trying to grab you resulting in Gavi punching you hard that his nose bled.

"Let's get you home nena..." he said after you were both in the car and you shook your head quickly. Last thing you wanted is to explain what happened to your parents. You just wanted to sleep and forget all about it.

"Vale, let's go to my house then huh?" he said and you nodded as he noticed you were still shaking up a little bit.

"You're safe now" he said reaching one of his hands to grab yours and you blush once again ...was Pablo really holding your hand and being gentle with you???

"I'm okay ..." you say sadly and he nodded continuing to hold your hand all the way to his house.

"Where are your parents?" you ask as you walked inside the gorgeous mansion at the edge of town.

"Back in Seville with Aurora. I'm alone for awhile" he explained as you walked to the living room and sat down quite sad and shy.

Pablo made you a cup of tea still keeping your favorite black one around, before sitting besides you and raising up your chin. This was all new and strange but you weren't complaining at the way Pablo was making you feel tonight.

"I shouldn't have went ..." you say feeling like all of this could have been prevented if you stayed at home.

"No, he shouldn't force you on anything you're not ready for ...it should have been enough to be in your company ..." Pablo was catching himself off guard not knowing why he cared all of the sudden.

"Um Pablo ...I'm a little tired" you say and he jumps helping you to the guest room before bringing you one of his shirts to change into for bed. It wasn't the first time he saw you in his clothes over the years, but tonight it felt strangely good.

"Um ...thank you for everything tonight" you spoke playing with the edges of his shirt that was falling to your knees and he smiled nodding his head and slowly getting closer. Your heart was being so strong against your chest ... what is this feeling!?

When you closed your eyes, you felt his hand touching your hair and he left a kiss on top of your head gently. It was more passion you felt when any other guy gave you a real kiss.

"I'm glad you're safe now, nena" was all he said before wishing you a goodnight and leaving to his own room.

For the next few hours, neither of you could sleep. You were both very much turned on and desperate for each other's company. It was you who slowly got to your feet and walked into his room first despite how nervous you were about it.

"Pablo? Are you sleeping?" you ask and before you could finish the sentence he was already sitting up and smiling towards you.

"No, can't ...you?" he said and you shook your head while pouting. Despite wanting Pablo, you were also a little shaken up after tonights events.

"Well, come here and we'll watch something together?" he said and you smile getting underneath the covers and he scrolls through the channels until you chose a very much romantic movie to watch.

"These are corny!" he complained for the fifth time and you giggled turning your attention away from the TV and looking into his eyes instead without another word.

"Why? Because they're romantic? Or because you wish they were real?" you came closer biting your lip while looking into his and he took the signal smirking and snaking his arm around your waist.

"You mean real like this nena?" he spoke softly and you nodded placing your hand on his heart feeling it beating fast.

"Why did you save me Pablo?" you ask and he shrugs feeling a little shy and proud to admit that he hated the fact you were out with anyone but himself.

"Because ... well because you needed me y basta!" he said looking away but you placed your finger underneath his chin making him look back at you.

"You keep going on how much you hate me, and yet you are always there when I need you?" you smirk and he blushes tightening his grip around your waist.

"One would think you're lying and that tu eres muerto por mi Pablito?" you tease making him roll his eyes at you but then your hands went to his hair and he became serious again.

"Que haces conmigo nena!?" he smirks and you blush enjoying the way his hair feeling underneath your fingertips. Soon after you two cuddled up together and fell asleep in each other's embrace.

What you didn't expect is that his family arrived the next morning finding the two of you cuddled up in his bed. Aurora was quick to play some music and make you both jump in fear being all disheveled and now very much embarrassed.

"I knew you two would end up together!" she giggled

"WE'RE NOT TOGETHER!" you both yelled at the same time looking into each other's eyes and bursting into laughter.

"Okay, they know now nena...whatever I don't care!" he says grabbing your face and kissing you sweetly before his family left you two to get ready and come down for breakfast.

"You're all mine now nena.." he smirks pulling you closer and you felt your heart jumping a beat at his words..together with you enemy..it felt unreal..but so natural and right.

"All yours Pablito.." you whisper back before you two started kissing again more passionately.

pablogavi

Barcelona, Spain

You're mine now, nena😍

comentarios:

gavisgirls: he's taken now chicas!! :(((

y.n.bebe: hehe my fav enemy 🤴🏻

pablogavi: no more enemies, now lovers👸🏻

aurorapaezg: I called it first!

pedri: me too!!

pablogavi:😂😂😂

#gavigif #gavi #fc barça #fc barca #fc barcelona #pablo gavi x you #pablo gavi x y/n #pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi icons #pablo gavi

[catherinnn]

fight-stopper

after eddie and reader move in together on a little apartment of their own, they start fighting more often over household routinary things, to prevent this, they find the perfect fight-stopper.

warnings: SMUT +18, oral (f receiving), very suggestive material, domish Eddie, domestic and stablished relationship obviusly, cursing.

Eddie had just came home from work after a hard stressful day, he went to the kitchen to make himself some dinner only to be greeted with all the dishes you had used to cook, unwashed, one on top of the other in the sink waiting for someone to clean them. he walked back to the living room where you were laying on the couch reading peacefully as if the kitchen wasn't an entire mess.

"sweetheart, did you eat already?" he asked faking patience.

"Yeah, I cooked for both of us so you could just come back and eat, I know how tired you come back on Mondays" you said.

"That's... sweet, very thoughtful, but do I have to clean all the mess too? I mean, I know I'm not one to talk, but I at least do the dishes after cooking"

"No, I know but I was gonna wash them later, I really don't want to do that right now"

"Yeah, you never want to do them, I always end up doing the dishes, sometimes when I didn't even eat!"

"I'm sorry-"

"You were just waiting for me to come back and offer to clean them, weren't you?"

you couldn't deny that, he had caught you on that. you could be sounding a little childish or spoiled but you hated doing the dishes.

"I can't believe you, you're an adult now, you can't..."

he kept on complaining, and this wasn't the first fight you were having since you moved in. you wished it would be like the start of your relationship where all that mattered was sex and cuddles, being close to each other all the time. And that's when an idea popped into your head. if you had learned something about Eddie since you started dating was his love for you boobs, his absolute weakness if he had one.

so you decided to use that against him, it was all for the sake of stopping the fights really. you pulled your shirt up just enough so he could see them and maybe forget about the damn dishes.

and so he did, he stopped talking mid-sentence and stared at your chest.

"Is this how you want to handle this? alright" he ran to you and picked you up on his shoulder leading you to your room.

that's where this fight-stopper started and you both learned to use it to your conviction.

"EDDIE!" He heard you yell from the bedroom.

he cringed because he knew what this could be about and walked to you.

"Yes, princess?" he asked with his best puppy face.

"look at this MESS! you can't leave the bedroom like this, you're not living in your own room alone anymore, this stresses me out so much and you know that!"

he was looking for a Metallica shirt this morning, but he couldn't find it, so in desperation he started to throw everything out of the closet until he found it and then he just left, leaving all the pile of clothes on the floor.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-"

"You have to be kidding me..."

as he heard you complain about his mess, he knew there was just one thing that would make you forget about it.

he walked to be in front of you and fell to his knees, he started leaving kisses on your thighs and repeated telling you how sorry he was. moving upwards with the kisses on your leg until he had his face under your skirt, with his hand he moved your panties to a side and started kissing your pussy. licking your clit just the perfect way to make every thought in your head fly away.

but one of his favorites so far was when he was showering one morning.

"Eds, please I need the bathroom too! you're taking too long!" you yelled from outside.

"I'm showering, y/n!" He responded and kept massaging the shampoo on his hair.

That was until he heard the bathroom door opening.

"y/n?" he called you.

you didn't respond this time, just undressed yourself and got in the shower too, you couldn't be late to work.

It's safe to say that you got there late anyways, but at least it wasn't because of a fight. and you got there with a satisfied look on your face.

maybe it wasn't the healthiest way of dealing with the problems you had on a day-to-day life. but the living together could be difficult to adjust to, and this was a method you kept using to prevent angry fighting and talk about the problem a lot more relaxed later.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson blurb

[cherry-pop-elf]

How the Weasley siblings would react to you getting a tattoo inspired by them

Don’t forget, I take writing commissions! Don’t be shy!

William: Bill

He was shocked you even took his advice, but happy regardless. He was still trying to convince his family to get protection ruins tattooed on. They genuinely work. He’s alive after all, is he not? He’s so happy you got it. He is able to sleep FAR more soundly now, knowing you’ll be safer. He also, now, had more ammunition to convince the rest of his family to get one as well. There was also the fact it warms his heart to you it was him that inspired you to get it. That what he said really did matter, to you. You listened, and that meant the world to him. That alone was what made him feel flushed. Ah, his Habibi.

Charlie

He was waiting for the day. He’s drenched in his own. Often teasing that anyone who gets to close to him leave with one, like some kind of pox’s. Yeah, Molly never found it funny. But it seemed you did, since you got your own dragon around your arm. He can’t deny it. He’s a sucker for matching tattoos. There is something so beautiful about it, after all. So, it tugs on his heart strings. Knowing that the two of you matched. That a part of him was with you, constantly. But you never heard that from anyone. Shhhhh

Percy

He shocked, and rather curious. Now why would you go and do such a thing like that? He always found them rather unprofessional looking. Often sighting his own siblings as such examples. Like he was somehow better than them, because he had none. Yeah. You are totally cooler than a Curse Breaker, or Dragonologist, buddy. Keep dreaming. However, knowing why you got it has changed his views. Just a little. To see that you had a simple word on your wrist. His name. Simple, modest, sweet, and to the point. He still hated tattoos, but maybe he just hated them on certain people.

Fred

Loves it. He’s over the moon. He found it so sweet, and teases you about it constantly. How you are his, by law. Of course that’s not true, but you kinda knew what you signed up for. That ever teasing nightmare, the second that purple ink touched your skin. But, you got your revenge. Once you saw something familiar zipping across his arm one day. Oh the war you two had from it all.

George

He’s flustered, and flattered. He found it so sweet, and pretty adorable. That he had you inspired so much. He loves touching it, whenever you two are together. Tracing his fingers over the orange skin. He just found it so sweet. He had to return the favor, and now you two match. As him a blushing fool whenever you kiss his. Expect yours to be smooched in return. He just couldn’t get enough of it. He felt so special, and kinda different. He had something Fred didn’t, and now it was a nice reminder that they weren’t as identical as the world said. He had you.

Ron

He was wondering why you were so giggly, for a while. It all made sense, when he saw it. You were waiting for him to finally notice that damn flying car. It was one time-! Course now it’s the damn guardian of the woods, and makes sure kids get returned home safely. That was kinda nice. Deep down, he does like it. Loves that you loved his story so much, you wanted to remember it forever. Made him feel special. He deserves it, and you made sure that Ron knew he was special. Just like everyone else.

Ginny

Honestly, she kinda beat you to the punch. You both couldn’t stop laughing, when you saw each other’s tattoos. Seeing that quidditch broom flying was making her laugh that Weasley laugh. There was a reason you two dated, after all. Didn’t even have to say a word, and you two found a way to have matching ink. Didn’t even try, and it had you both in stitches. The hugs didn’t stop, as you two admire your brand new works of art.

#harry potter magic awakened #harry potter #hpma #magic awakened #weasley siblings #bill Weasley #bill weasley x reader #Charlie Weasley #charlie weasley x reader #Percy Weasley #percy weasley x reader #Fred Weasley #fred weasley x reader #George Weasley #george weasley x reader #fred and george #Weasley twins #mr weasley #Ron Weasley #ron weasley x reader #ginny weasley #ginny weasley x reader #hp #harry potter headcanon #tattoos #harry potter x reader #Headcanons #hp headcanon #x reader #my commissions are open

[grippingbeskar]

salt, ice and fire | frank castle

chapter nineteen - proper representation

frank castle x reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of death, description of injury, canon typical violence

a/n: OKAY. i am so sorry with how long this has taken. finals are literally eating my ass and not in a good way. but it feels so good to write SOMETHING FINALLY. i forgot how much i <3 this series. thx for sticking with me pals xx. enjoy!!!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Seven hours is a long time. Mostly, Frank thinks of you.

He can’t stop thinking about you— it’s been months since he’s had a thought that you haven’t been attached to in some way. Even when he thinks of the kid strapped in the back seat, it’s because he knows you. But, in seven hours of open road and the persistent pain in his gut at the way you left, anyone’s brain would drift.

He has no idea why he did it. Why he took your brother, why he bothered. Why he thought he’d be any better than the random group home he’d get stuck into, or the foster family that would forget about him within the week and lock him in his room, trading one shit hole for another. He can’t help but think of Billy— the Billy he knew, not the one he pulled a trigger on. That Billy he hadn’t known, hadn’t cared about.

But the old Billy, his friend. The one who dragged him out of the mud more times than he could count, the one his wife used to set a place at the table for, just incase he needed some place to eat. That Billy, who’s group home cared so little they didn’t notice they’d hired a pedophile to foster little boys.

He couldn’t let them take the risk. Your brother had been through enough— the dark rings around his eyes, a faint green bruise on his cheek, Frank hated that he saw some similarity in his own face, knowing the force they’d have to of hit him with. Maybe that’s why he offered to take Sam back with him, look after him for God knows how long, because you needed him safe, and then you’d come home to him.

With all that, knowing he’d probably done the right thing, he couldn’t get rid of the sick feeling twisting up his throat every time he glanced into the rear view mirror. Sam was staring out the window, blinking hard in an attempt to keep his eyes open. He looked like you, but only because Frank had spent so much time staring at your face. You must look like your mother, because this kid had different eyes, a different face, similar only in subtle ways someone who really knew you would see.

Frank liked kids. He never had issues with David’s kids— probably got too involved with them, if he was honest. Then there was Amy, but she wasn’t much of a kid. More of a teenager, but he never really figured out he actual age with all the damn fake ID’s she had. Either way, she’d been like a kid to him. He had a soft spot for them, it was always where he had give. So why does this make him sweat? Is it because the rest of those kids all had families of their own? Had ways of getting on without him, not actually his responsibility? None of them looked to him for shelter, for food, for the normal shit only parents gave their kids. No one looked at him like that anymore, until Sam had wandered up to him and asked if he could pull over at a Burger King on the way out.

It was the simplest thing, but he’d just come up and asked him and the whole thing felt like a punch in the face. He couldn’t be that anymore. He didn’t have it in him. He couldn’t take care of something. He couldn’t help. Maybe he should of just let them take the chance and—

“Burger King.” Sam mumbles into his palm, other hand pointing to the side of the road where the faint red and yellow lights lit up the burger place. Frank says nothing, hasn’t for about 4 hours now, just indicates off the road and pulls into the first parking spot.

It’s getting dark now, but the twenty four hour sign is faintly flashing over head. Sam’s already halfway out the car when Frank finishes running over all the risks of pulling the car over here and now, but the kids been through enough, and Frank doesn’t have the heart to say no. When he gets inside, Sam is standing at the door. Waiting for him.

“Go on.” Frank points at the counter, and Sam hesitates. He knows he must be starving, but he still just stands at the door, looking between the counter and Frank.

“I don’t know what to do.” He says in the smallest voice, and the way he looks at him, to him— “I’ve never been inside one before.”

“T’s alright. Go sit down, I’ll get you something. What do you like?” Frank bends a little so the kid could hear him. He wasn’t short, but Frank didn’t want to talk loud and embarrass him. He doesn’t really know why he cares.

“Lots of pickles. And mustard.” He smiles, and then goes and sits down in one of the booths. The fact Frank got through the interaction without fucking it up spurs him on a little, and he orders a burger with as many pickles as they can stack on it.

When he brings it over to him, Sam is staring out at the sky, head bouncing back and forth like he’s watching a tennis match, following the cars passing by. Then he must smell the food, because he all but jumps the table, grabbing the burger Frank slid over and taking the biggest bite out of it he can fit in his mouth.

“Slow down. You’ll choke.” Frank says, and something in his stomach twists at the words. So familiar— he remembers it was you he said them to at that diner he always went to back in the day.

“Sorry.” Sam muffled through the chips he’s shoving down his throat now, and Frank can’t help but laugh a little at the sight. As much as it pulls at him that this kid is probably eating so fast cause he’s not used to being fed regularly, he’s just glad he’s out. It comes at a cost, though, and thinking about you, Frank isn’t sure there’s any price he’d be willing to pay not to have you here.

They eat in silence, mainly because Sam doesn’t take a breath in between gulps of a giant soda and heaps of burger and fries, but really it’s because Frank can’t look at him. Doesn’t know what to say to him. It doesn’t seem to bother Sam though, who, like you, even with all the shit he must have seen and been through, is as resilient as ever.

“So, what’s the plan?” He asks after a giant mouthful of soda.

“What?” Frank croaks, voice strained from silence.

“The plan? To get Bobby?” Frank scoffs at this, but then realises the kid is serious.

“The plan is to keep you out of trouble.”

“That’s bullshit.” Sam crosses his legs and faces Frank fully. “You have to help me go back. And to get her.”

“I’m handlin’ it, alright? Eat your burger.” Sam’s eyebrows furrow, and he looks younger when he does it; tilting his head and scowling.

“I know you want to. I saw you…” Frank sighs, thinking about going back up and getting the kid another burger so he shuts up. “I saw you kiss her.”

“Jesus Christ.” Frank shakes his head and looks out the window again.

“You did.” He says it with his face screwed up, a little bit of childish disgust, but mostly determination. “You’re going back for her. I want to help.”

“You let me worry about that.” Sam copies him, shaking his head and looking out the window. If it wasn’t such bad lighting in here, Frank might have sworn he saw a tear in the kids eye, but it was swiped away too fast. The guilt eats at him a little. “Look, the reason she did all this shi— stuff, in the first place, is to get you out and make sure you were safe. The last thing I’m doing is dragging you back there. I’ll handle it.”

“I just want to help her like she helped me.” His voice was small again, and Frank swallows the feeling of guilt that bubbles up his throat. “She… she did a lot of bad things, didn’t she? To get me out?”

“Nothin’ they didn’t force her to.” Frank looks at the table, eyes finding anywhere else to concentrate on.

“Is she in trouble?” Clearing his throat, Frank thinks about how they shoved you in that car in handcuffs. He trusted Madani, but also knew her loyalty didn’t lie with him. “Cause of the things she did?”

“She’ll be fine.” He doesn’t say anything else. He just has to trust that what he’s done is enough. They both walk back out to the car in silence, and this time, Sam gets in the front seat. Shuffling around with whatever trash was on the floor, he bends down and picks something up, and Frank doesn’t see it right away until he puts them on.

Even though it’s pitch dark outside, Sam slides those stupid sunglasses you made him buy months ago onto his face, and drifts off to sleep in the same spot you had a million times over. Frank nearly splits the skin on his knuckles holding onto the steering wheel, pulling off the highway and heading toward you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“I thought there’d be more questioning, less pacing.” You say to Agent Madani, and she looks at the door for the hundredth time, like she’s waiting for something. “Is something wrong here?”

“Beside the fact I have a known fugitive stowed away in one of the most secure facilities in the world? Nothing at all.” She was stressed. Pacing around the table, and looking at the door like she’s expecting someone to walk through it.

“You could just let me go.” She sighs. The last thing she should want right now is company, so what was she waiting for? She needed you to save her ass, be the missing link to why she had all this information. Why she showed up at Silo, how she knew about today, how she found the house you were at. All of it needed to be connected, and you were the missing link, and yet ever since she marched you through the back door of this building, she hadn’t asked you a single question.

“Never on time.” She sighs under her breath.

“What?” Madani stops pacing.

“We have to wait.” She says, leaning back.

“Wait for what?”

“Just…” She marches toward the door. “Stay here. I need to make another phone call. If anyone knocks—“

“Kill them?” You hear her sigh again before the door clicks shut. Looking around the room, the long table stretches before you. No other chairs on your side, but opposite you, there’s three.

A little part of you sparks to life, the part infused with Franks backward lessons of looking at every room you walked into like it would be the last one you saw. You could feel your face pulling with concentration, trying to take as much in as you could in the seemingly plain room. Frank never so much as flinched, didn’t even blink or think twice and still managed to be ten steps ahead of everyone in the room. But Frank wasn’t here, and you knew for a fact those chairs weren’t going to be for him.

Three chairs. Why would Madani set this room up with three chairs? You were on a wanted list, she couldn’t exactly plan a public meeting with you and anyone else, let alone sit across from you while the entire CIA sat outside waiting on orders to kill you. She’s waiting for someone. Two someone’s. Security?

The click of heels outside the door snap you to focus. Two sets of heels— not security, unless the CIA is hiring. There’s another sound, one that you can’t exactly place. You close your eyes, trying to tap into whatever enhancement is running through your veins, but then the door swings open and locks again faster than you can put together, like the people who were now inside were shoved in.

Eyes wide open, it takes a second for your body to come out of defence mode. Madani is in front of you, and there’s two more people now, the first you know well, and the other familiar.

“Karen?” Your eyes squint, like you’re not sure what you are seeing is real. It’s been a long fucking day… why the hell would she be here of all places? “And… you. I met you.”

“Under worse circumstances.” The man says, his cane tapping around the room while Karen walks behind him, offering you a sympathetic smile. “Matthew Murdock.”

“Nice to meet you?” Your voice is a little higher pitched than normal, only because you were fucking confused. Frank had said something about this guy before… “I think I’m out of the loop here. I had the impression you were going to… arrest me.”

“I never wanted that.” Madani says.

“Well the handcuffs your officers put me in seemed to say otherwise.” She sits down on the left, Matthew in the middle and Karen on the right. “What is this supposed to be.”

“You have a lot of powerful friends.” He says, and you scoff. “Agent Madani called me a few weeks back. She thinks I can help you and your brother. If you’re willing to work with me.”

“And work with you would involve…” Your chest tightens, and he reacts as if he can see how you’ve frozen up, shaking his head.

“Not like that. I’m a lawyer. I want to clear your name.” There’s a moment of silence, and then you stifle out a laugh.

“A lawyer?” You look to Madani. “Could you not have told me that’s what we were doing here?”

“There’s about 400 people in this building that want you dead. The rest of them want to throw you and your brother in a hole for the rest of your life. If I had even suggested bringing you in for a fair trial, it would of set off yet another group of angry men vying to tear you apart. And anyone around you.” Sitting back in your chair, you let out a long breath. “Frank suggested it.”

“Really?” She nods in a way that suggests he hadn’t just asked, he’d forced her hand.

“You have a right to be represented. Even if they wanted to trial you for the death penalty—“ You swallow the tiny amount of fear that shoots up your throat “—which they won’t, they need to do it properly. Your brother hasn’t done anything wrong. They can’t touch him without going against basically every human rights law they protect. Even going after you, with the story you have…”

“Yeah. I get it.” You look up and blink a few times, and Matthew nods, leaning into Karen as a silent suggestion to take over.

“Matt can help you. I’ve seen him do it. He helped Frank… me, too.”

“You?”

“Once.” Your eyebrows raise, and you nod. Maybe impressed isn’t the right word for it, but you think you’ve miscalculated the kind of person she is, and it only makes you like her more. “You aren’t a bad person. If you can get in front of a jury, tell them about your brother… about your family.”

“You helped the CIA’s investigation, and we can use that to reduce whatever sentence they want to stick you with.” Matt continues, putting a bag on the desk.

“Unofficially.” Madani reminds him, and he smiles.

“Not anymore.”

“You can make sure they don’t touch my brother?” You lean over the table a little, and both Matt and Karen turn back to you.

“I know I can.” That is enough for you, so you’re surprised when he keeps talking. “He’ll be safe, but I think I can make it easier for you, too. You can have a life after all this. The one you should of had from the beginning.”

There was a time where you thought you knew exactly what your life would be. You thought you’d die doing something you hated, trying to kill someone for Bobby or whoever came after him. There wasn’t a life you pictured, and even when you’d dared to hope, the only one you could think of was spending the rest of it scared as shit someone would come after you or Sam. A life looking over your shoulder.

There was so many things that were different now, the past six months had changed everything. You’d seen your brother now, spoken to him. Now, you were being offered more— a life, maybe something more than a few short paranoid years. Your throat felt tight and you tried to look anywhere you couldn’t see your own reflection.

When he’d said you could have a life, you looked away from yourself instantly, because the first thing you’d thought of— as selfish as it was, was the life you could have with Frank. One full of nights like the few you had shared. Even paranoid and running, a life of that would be worth all this if it was with him.

Karen called your name, and slid over a piece of paper you made no sense of.

“I don’t… have any money.” Embarrassing as it is, you know people like this cost big, and you don’t think you’ve ever had more than $20 to your name.

“If I was in this job for the money, I’d be in the wrong business.” He smiles, handing you a pen. “Don’t worry about it. This is just a paper that says you’re willing to be represented by me.” You sign the paper, writing the letters of your name slowly and in print.

“Okay. Now what?” Sliding the paper back over to him, he turns to Madani.

“You were expecting questions?” She says, and pulls out a laptop along with about twelve case files that all have the word UNSOLVED printed in red ink. “You can start here.”

She hands you one file, and when you open it, the date reads about seven years from today. If you thought today was a long day, it was about to get a whole lot longer. She starts asking questions about where you were, what you did that day, and you answer as best you can, but all you can really think about is is that little ember of hope resting deep in your stomach, and how it slowly catches fire with each passing minute.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Don’t answer that.” Matt says from beside you now, and Madani sighs. “What?”

“Again? Seriously?” She says, and he keeps his head up, listening as his hands run along the braille of the files Karen has converted. They have been going at this for hours while Madani asked you every question under the sun. “I’m asking if she killed him. It’s a yes or no answer.”

“She was coerced, and by that timeline she would have been 16 years old. You’re going to charge a 16 year old who was being held captive and threatened with her only family members life with murder?” He never stops reading through the file, and once he hears Madani take yours front in front of you, he slides it away and grabs the next one.

“Let’s do something more recent then, shall we?” She slides another file to you, and you recognise it instantly. So does Karen. “Gus Daley. Murdered behind 3rd Street just three months ago. About the time you were working with the Colonel.”

“For him. Working for him. And lets not mix our words. The man’s name was Connor Flannery, and he was not a Colonel.” You can’t help but smile a little bit at how fast he was with this. You liked Madani, but you knew her loyalty couldn’t lie with you, so it was nice to have someone on your side out here.

“Fine. This was when Connor Flannery was forcing you to work for him?” When you hear no objections from Matt, you nod. 

“Yes.” The little camera she had set up blinks in recognition, and the only other sound is Karen shoving papers along the table. 

“What happened?” The last time you saw this man was in a service station, his lifeless corpse on the front page of a newspaper Frank was looking at. You remember you had expected him to look at you with disgust, and how he hadn’t even flinched.

“He wanted him dead, and gave me a date and a time. It was very structured with him. He planned the whole thing. Where to go, when, how he wanted it done.” Madani nods, listening intently. 

“How many jobs did he send you on?”

“Eight or nine, I think.”

“You think?”

“She clearly wasn’t in a right state of mind. She didn’t even know the man’s name before I told her. Flannery and Bobby Gnucci did everything except get their hands dirty.” Matt says.

“And when you found out that they were working together? What did you do then?” An image of The Colonels body in the woods is shoved in front of you— Karen’s article that bought you the precious seconds of time to get to your brother.

“I bolted as soon as I got the chance.” Okay, not entirely true. It took some convincing on Franks part to get you to leave, and when you found out you killed him. But you can’t imagine that’s going to look great for you right now, so you leave it at that.

“The article says what happened to him. I wrote it myself.” Karen says, and Madani turns her attention off you for the first time in hours.

“Thanks to a photo from an anonymous source, correct? I know it wasn’t anyone in this room that sent that photo, and I’m inclined to think Frank Castle had something to do with it.” At the mention of him, your chest tightens again. “You two were close. I can’t imagine you’d question him too much if he came to you and told you what happened. Even if you didn’t think it was true. Maybe even write an article— just because he asked. You’d do just about anything for him, wouldn’t you?”

It’s like you are interrupting something. Everyone here knows each other better than you do— you know a little about what they’ve all been through together, but if Agent Madani knows enough about Karen and Frank…

“I write the truth. Always.” Karen’s also a better liar than you pegged her for.

“How is any of this relevant, Agent?” Matt chimes in, and you don’t have to look back to hear the smirk in his voice. “You’ve got what you wanted now, right? She’s told you everything she knows— more than enough to convince a jury she was working with you well before she got her brother back. If this has to go to trial—“

“If?”

“I’m a reasonable man. We can make a deal, or we can drag this through court. I don’t know how well your new colleges will react to you working behind their back, though. I don’t want to risk you being invited to Friday night drinks, right?” Matt stands.

“What are you suggesting?” Madani says, and Matt smiles.

“I’ll let you know after I’ve discussed with my client. For now, I think there’s a kid who’d like to see his sister.” Karen opens the door, and when Matt walks through it you realise you’re still frozen in your seat.

“Go.” Agent Madani says, blowing out a frustrated breath. You stand, but instead of walking out the door you turn to face her.

“I want to say thank you.” Your voice is quiet— tired as hell. There’s still blood on your fingernails when you stick out your hand to shake hers. “For everything you did for my brother. And me. You didn’t have to do all of this, and I know how much you’re risking. I owe you.”

“No, you don’t.” She takes your hand, shaking it once. “I spent a long time doing the wrong thing for the wrong people. I like being the good guy for once.” For some reason that makes you smile. You— the good thing?

“Still. I owe you.” She reaches into her bag after you finish and hands you something.

“Now we’re even.” Before you can look at what she gave you, she’s walking out the door, brushing past Matt. “Don’t call me unless you have a good deal.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” She scoffs and disappears into the now dark hallway, and it must be the middle of the night now because all the lights are off and the window of the room you’re in is pitch black. “You ready?”

Nodding, you follow them out, finally looking down at what Madani gave you.

A small black square— exactly like the burner phone Frank has, and when you turn it on, there’s only one number on it. You don’t even blink before you hit call.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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[fullofgutsndopamine]

5 times it didn't matter when hasan touched you,

+1 time when it did

TW: alcohol consumption, mention of being drunk, cursing, anxiety mention, idiots in love

one

"when you fall i'm not calling an ambulance."

Hasan speaks from your elbow, his voice is low as his eyes are searching the sky.

"not that you can even afford the ambulance ride," he adds, "careful-jesus fucking christ."

he winces as you toe the curb slowly, one foot in front of the other, arms out on either side of you as if for support.

"hasan," you roll your eyes, "i'm fine. jesus talk about an-"

out of instinct his hand reaches out and laces into your fingers as if that's some sort of support.

to him, you say it's an overkill but to the steady heartbeat in your ears from almost falling off the ledge, you're happy with it.

you try to shake his hand off but if anything his grip around your hand tightens and he rolls his eyes:

"now you're stuck with me," he rolls his eyes, “tough.”

two

liquid confidence makes your teeth chatter. you can feel how hot your cheeks are without a hand pressed against them, but it doesn't stop Hasan from giggling as he reaches out, the flat of his hand against your face:

"you're drunk."

his voice borders on slurring and he's less sober than you are, but it's hilarious as you both all but fall backwards, a loud giggle cutting through the air.

"cmon," he giggles, "let's go outside. Air will do good, or some shit."

he stands and doesn't give you an option to disagree before he's using his own hands to gently lift you up, giggling as you sway in place.

he leads and you follow outside as the air hits your cheeks, the wind blows your hair wild.

naturally, standing in the street with hasan seemed like a good idea when you're a few drinks in. it isn't until the car drives by, no headlights, swerves and beeps at you, a middle finger out the window when you realize the weight of what happened.

"you idiot."

he's never sounded more sober, his eyes wide in horror.

"i thought-"

he shakes his head as your mouth opens, closes again.

"idiot," he says again, but he grabs your hand and squeezes it as he pulls you into him, a messy kiss to the top of your head, "you're a liability, you know that?"

"hasan-"

"shh," he squeezes you a little tighter, "holy shit."

three

on the list of things you'd never be caught doing, business meetings was at the very top.

first, late dinners is an immediate pass. and then to not know anyone besides hasan? triple pass. if hasan wasn't so damn convincing you'd never be here, never be caught dead-

"And what do you think of that?"

It's one of his friends, someone you'd have to really press your hand against your temple to remember a name or even their face, really-

and being put on the spot?

"what do they think of the podcast?" hasans voice finds you, wraps around your brain like a safety blanket, "they don't think about it at all-" his giggling means he's kidding, but it's a dumb question to begin with, and something you hate leaving in the air-

the white tablecloth, far too fancy for the restaurant moves and before you can think too much of it, you feel hasan's larger hand find yours without searching too hard, tangle his fingers into yours. he pauses, his focus still on the people in front of him before you can feel his squeeze your hand four times: i'm here it seems to say you're safe

as if he read your mind, knew what you needed-a deep breath and you're ready to face the friends.

four

"hasan," you huff, voice gruff from sleep, "move the fuck over-"

you and hasan have shared a bed together for years-doesn't feel weird, don't let yourself think too hard about it. the oklymornlem is you forget how bad of a sleep hasan is-constantly tossing and turning, a furnace himself, reaching and pulling you closer against him, already dripping with sweat.

his leg is thrown over yours and he groans, not saying anything.

you grab the pillow from under his head, wrestle it out from under him before you win, smack him in the head with it. he barely moves; shakes his head and huffs but rolls over to face you

even in the dark you can see the freckles that liter his face, his curly hair plastered down on his face from sweat.

you know what he's about to do before he even does it, but you don't let him win, don't go do without a fight.

his hand twitches, then his fingers, and without opening his eyes his hand lifts, his fingers dancing across the half folded sheet until they come in contact with your leg-how they slowly linger down your arm, practically danicng until he gets to your hand, his fingers laced into yours before he turns his head the other way, an obnoxious snore rips through the air-you can't see him but you know he's smiling in his sleep.

five

"dude," he giggles and it bounces around the titled walls of a too small cafe, "how do you even do anything with these? they're so fucking small-"

he's half leaned over the table, shoulders hunched as he lifts his hand up against yours, rests his heel of his hand against yours-

"it's not my fault you're practically some mutant or some shit-" you huff, not making a move to move your hand off of his, don't want to lose the warmth of his hand or the way you feel electric through your fingers when you touch

he laughs; his hand collapses against yours:

"it's a modern day miracle you can get anything done."

a frustrated huff comes out of you, the other hand searches for the discarded straw wrapper before you grab it, throw it at his head. he makes a quick dart to the right, it misses and landed on the ground next to him.

he smiles with all his teeth:

"missed me."

you huff, grab for anything else your fingers will touch before he's giggling again:

"hey!" he giggles, "no second throws! the fuck-" he darts out of his seat and runs to where you sit, ducks behind you. his fingers dig into your shoulders as he stands behind you and you try to not think too hard about it.

+1

"hm," Sam smiles at Hasan as they all sit in a too small kitchen, passing time before a stream,

"What's this?"

he throws his chin between you two and hasan looks down, like he's suddenly aware your hand is in his.

you release your fingers from his, ready for him to retract them, waiting for them to dart away like they do while you sleep, while you're caught in meetings-

instead, he looks down and shrugs:

"don't want them to get too far away, right?" sam rolls his eyes: "what could they possibly get into in this small house?"

hasan shrugs, "fuck if i know, they're a liability though; it's for the best."

Sam rolls his eyes and looks away, yelling at the across the room at someone and he looks at you, and you're waiting for his grip to loosen, or for him to shy away:

instead, he squeezes your hand four times like he always has, a wink at you.

you're aware of him, of his presence, of all the eyes on you. you're waiting for him to come to his sense, to drop you, drop your hand-

instead, he leans in close and you can feel his lips against your ear: "thanks for coming."

you're thinking of something to say that makes it seem like you don't care, like this isn't a big deal-

instead, he moves quick, only a second of hesitation like he really sat on this, really thought about it-

his lips are against your temple before you can overthink it, he moves away, a shy smile on his face as if he's asking if that's okay, if he's okay-

his arm throws over your shoulder, hands still intertwined as he lands a final kiss to your temple.

#caroline writes #hasan #hasan piker #hasan piker fic #hasan piker fanfic #hasan piker ff #hasan piker fanfiction #hasan piker imagine #hasan piker x y/n #hasan piker x you #hasan piker x reader #hasanabi x reader #hasanabi #hasanabi x y/n #hasanabi x you

[pastorpresent]

You're little brother doesn't tell you but he loves you so.

[ Set in like season 14, where via some freak witch/angel/demon shit Sam is replaced temporarily with his twenty year old stanford freshman self. Not quite post hunting shit, because he was never quite post hunting shit from the second he was born, but post the truly awful. Post Jess burning on the ceiling, Dean going to hell, dying in his brothers arms, the cage, john dying, bobby dying, being a vessel, lucifer... ]

[a/n: I'm not a huge fan of this but I can't seem to write anything lately so it'll do!]

[ wincest/samdean]

It takes a few minutes for Dean to process the version of Sam sitting in front of him. The kid - because he is one here - is scowling hard, and even if his face hadn't changed at all Dean would've immediately recognised the don't give a shit attitude Sam had adopted through most of his teen years and into his early twenties.

Twenty year old Sam is currently sat across from him with a spell book that Castiel had provided.

Dean's mind was all over the place. It was weird, because in a lot of ways he was annoyingly unfamiliar with this version of Sam. Most of their interactions at this stage had been pointed, tense phone calls made to ensure the other hadn't gotten killed. Sam had been adamant about leaving and living a life, and Dean had been adamant about hating him for it.

His mind was also helpfully pointing out that he hadn't touched this version of Sam like he had his own.

Those type of interactions prior to Sam leaving had been rushed. A brief kiss in the back of the impala while John was in the gas station a few yards away. A messy blow job in the back of some dark alley, because Dean had almost got ganked in front of him and now Sam needed to be as close as possible. A sloppy hand job under bedsheets with John only a bed away, his hand clamped over Sam's mouth to stop any moans which might've gave them away.

After Sam left for stanford, the brief interactions stopped. They weren't seeing each other in person much at all, and when they did neither were at ease enough to initiate anything close to their rushed missions of exploration.

Their interactions now were different. They had time, and privacy, and a shared bedroom. He knew his version of Sam down to every freckle.

It was making him downright frustrated that he couldn't say the same for the incarnation in front of him.

At least it seemed Sam was out of sorts almost as much as he was. Dean had caught his eyes lingering a few times, scanning over all that was visible of Dean above the table. Whenever Dean would catch his eye, he would go back to scowling at the book.

The silence and their odd staring contest stretched on, until Dean couldn't stand it any more. He hated being on bad terms with Sam anyway, but he was all too aware of how prolific younger Sam had been at the damn silent treatment.

"Want a beer?"

Sam looked up, eyeing him like it was a trick question.

"Technically, I'm underage," he said, in what sounded dangerously close to a joke.

"You forget who found you shotgunning beers at a party when you were fourteen?" Dean quipped back.

Sam snorted, and some of the tension was pulled out the room as Dean brought two beers over.

Sam took a drink almost immediately, a tell to his nervousness even if he was trying to keep it under wraps.

"So I guess I don't become a lawyer, then."

Dean almost winces. Almost.

"I don't really know how this Freaky Friday crap works, so I think keeping future events secret is the best way to go. Don't want a step on a bug, cause world war three kinda scenario."

He misses Sam. His Sam. But then again, he had spent years missing this Sam too. The one who was safe at college, even if Dean pretended to loathe him for it.

Sam shrugs, and he's picking at the label of his beer.

"Castiel seems nice. You two seem... close," Sam ventures anyways, and Dean chokes on a mouthful of beer.

"No. Nope. Absolutely not," he croaks through a now sore throat.

"There's someone, though. I heard Castiel say something about your soulmate," Sam pushed, looking a little on the smug side.

"I only live here with you," Dean says slowly, trying to keep his tone even, and Sam frowns.

"Shouldn't you live with your so called 'soulmate'? They probably think it's weird you're still roomates with your brother," Sam responds.

"I do live with him," Dean finally manages, and Sam freezes up. He can practically see his mind working in over drive, and Dean clears his throat in the awkwardness of the room.

"We're..." Sam trails off, but he doesn't look disgusted like Dean expected. Rather just... curious, a glint in his eye, and he supposes that's the best reaction he was ever going to get.

"Sort of. Depends how much weight you put on that stuff, but according to the divine forces that be, yeah we are."

Dean remembers quite vividly when Cas had initially explained it to them both. He didn't really process it at first, too busy glancing over at Sam to gauge his reaction. He was never quite certain what that reaction was, though. Sam had kept his expression impressively blank - and they never discussed it afterwards in any sort of depth.

This version of Sam was different. This version of Sam didn't know he was the vessel to Satan. He still prayed silently late at night. He didn't understand that, in the grand scheme of things, angels were hardly any morally better than the things they hunted. He believed in a God that was good, and that the universe had destiny and purpose.

In that way, it was a lot easier to get a reading on this Sam's reaction to the revelation.

His face went from visibly shocked to something almost... relieved, and it was palpable in the air as his shoulders slumped and he sunk further into the chair.

"Soulmates. So, I guess I'm not just a giant freak," Dean might not of been as intimately familiar with this version of Sam, but he still knew him enough to disect what he was implying.

It was said as a joke but Dean could hear the slight choked admittance beneath.

"Yeah. It's Gods fault, we're destined to screw," Dean tossed out with a smirk, testing the ground a little as he took another drink.

Sam laughed, that lightweight real laugh that Dean hadn't heard in so long, and he smiled despite himself.

Sam continues to pick at the label of his beer as his laugh dies away, then stares at the table like it's the most interesting thing in the world.

"Spit it out, Sammy," the brunette looks up, and winces a little at the nickname, and Dean curses himself for it.

"I miss you," he says quietly.

Dean wants to throw up. He wants to grab his past self and beat him senseless, because he was being selfish and stupid and he knows Sam needs him. It's the only thing he's ever knew for certain, and he knew it back then too.

"If it helps? That twenty five year old idiot misses you too. A lot. He just can't admit it."

Sam smiles a sad smile, and doesn't look convinced.

"He does. Look, I know there's... there's a lot, between you- us- both, back then. But he- I just have my head up my ass, and I was pissed and righteous and betrayed or whatever the hell else. I never stopped caring about you though, and that version of me would probably slap himself if he thought there was even a chance you thought that."

Sam sniffs, and finally looks up from the table.

"Thank you," he mumbles, but before he can continue Cas appears so suddenly Sam almost falls off his chair. Without explanation, Castiel reaches out and presses his fingers to Sam's forehead, and the brunette slumps onto the table.

"What the hell? Cas-"

"Quiet Dean. I'm trying to focus," Castiel snips, and Dean curses, moving to Sam's side and catching him before he falls to the floor.

"Can't I say goodbye first?"

Cas looks his way momentarily, brows furrowing for a second, before looking away entirely and shutting his eyes.

"No. He can't remain here any longer than necessary," Castiel says, and Dean wants to argue about it. He wants to fight back, but then the younger boy is dissapearing and being replaced by a much more familiar version.

Sam's head shoots up from the table, eyes searching and desperate, and Dean grips his shoulders and steers his eyeline to him.

"Dean?" Sam gasps out, and it's like he's still looking for something, and things click in Dean's head.

"I'm here, Sammy. I'm here," he confirms, and it seems to be the nickname that does it - because then he's got his arms full of baby brother as Sam clings to him.

Dean holds on a bit too tight in return, as if somehow it'll reach that twenty year old version of his brother who he did so wrong.

"He knows Dean. I- I know," Sam says softly, affirming, and that's what finally has Dean relaxing properly. He nods, eyes flickering to the beer left half full on the table.

#sam winchester #dean winchester #spn #sam and dean #samdean #sam/dean #samdean drabble #supernatural #mywriting #sorry this is short and a mess x

[amatchinwater]

Pairing: Stisaac

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey, Donovan Donati (mentioned)

Warnings: explicit sexual content, rimming, anal fingering, anal sex, rough sex, claiming bites, cnc (Stiles saying anything but the safe word will not stop Isaac. No means nothing), feral behavior, possessive behavior, light degradation (use of slut)

Words: 2913

Kinktober: CNC

Ao3 link Masterlist

---

It’s not that weird of a request. He’s not really worried about Isaac judging him either despite the wolf’s face. It doesn’t really help that he kind of spewed the words from his mouth because Stiles was worried about losing his nerve. He should probably slow down, make sure the question is comprehensible and then wait for his boyfriend’s reaction. Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. Because there’s no way the wolf didn’t hear him. So it’s not like Stiles can just run away and pretend he never said anything to begin with. 

Stiles takes a deep breath, hoping to quell his raging heart, “I asked if you would chase me through the woods and fuck me when you catch me.” 

Isaac opens his mouth like he has a response, only to audibly click it closed. The wolf just stares at him for a moment, only making the anxiety about the whole situation rise higher and higher. Maybe he should’ve ran when he had the chance. Quit while he’s not even close to being ahead. They’ve been together for six months and Stiles just sprung the question on him. 

He’s holding onto the hope that because the request holds a great purpose to him that Isaac will understand. Stiles just has to get the damn words out first. Because if he doesn’t, he’s just going to clam up about it. Already is in fact. “You know what, just forget I said anything,” the human attempts, turning out of their living room to hide in the bedroom.  

“Is this some sort of werewolf kink you’re only just telling me about?” Isaac asks, stopping him in his tracks. “You hate going in the woods. Vehemently against it, actually,” the wolf leans forward on his elbows. “Now you want me to chase you and fuck you in the woods. You don’t even like running. I don’t get it, baby.”

Stiles’ shoulders slump and he sighs, crossing the room to take the empty seat on the couch beside his boyfriend. Guess it really is time to spill the beans. “You remember when you found me a year ago at the store?” 

It was a shitty day all around. Not the first time it had happened, Stiles’ predicament, not a chance meeting with the wolf. He was all kinds of sore, bruised, and bloody in several places. Stiles was getting medical supplies to tend to his wounds, wondering if it was bad enough this time that he should actually go to the hospital. Isaac happened to be at the store and found him with a rainbow of bruises, dirt under his nails, and adorning the sharp scent of copper. 

“Yeah…” the wolf trails off. 

“You helped me realize that Donovan raped me,” Stiles says and his boyfriend snarls at the name. “I just never told you how.” Isaac had to help him realize that fact because Donovan twisted his brain so badly. Convinced him that your own boyfriend couldn’t rape you. That Stiles came, so he obviously wanted it and was just playing hard to get. 

“I didn’t know I needed specifics,” Isaac scratches his jaw. But he must see something in the human’s face that makes him willing to listen. Or ready to. “I’ll bite,” Isaac sighs heavily, “how did he do it?” 

“He was a big fan of the whole predator prey thing,” Stiles rubs his hands together. “We were together, so you’d think he wouldn’ have to force himself on me like that, but he got off on it. I would wake up at night in the middle of the preserve and he would force me to run. Just so that he could chase me.” Stiles scoffs, “unlike most predators, no matter how far I’d make it, he never seemed to get tired. It didn’t make things easier on me at all. I was the one too tired. Too tired to fight back,” his voice betrays him with a crack, tears burning his eyes. 

“Stiles-”

“He would force himself on me,” the human cuts him off. “Didn’t care if I was telling him no or if something hurt.” Stiles gains his strength, coming up on the year anniversary of the last time this happened, he wants control. “Donovan liked to make it hurt. He could form teeth on any part of his body. He’d bite me everywhere. From the palm of his hand was his favorite so that way where he held me, he ensured I was bitten to stay in place. He’d use his real fangs to hold me down by my neck.” 

“And you want me to do that to you so you regain control of the memories,” Isaac surmises. 

The human looks at him shocked, but nods, “yeah. Supposedly it’s therapeutic to do it with someone you trust in a controlled environment where you know you’re actually safe.” 

“I know,” the wolf says, “Chris did the same for me while we were in France. He got me some much needed therapy over my father. They suggested a hands-on approach. Trapped in a freezer for six hours while a hunter yelled at me was fucking intense, but he kept reminding me that I always had an out. I was in control. That I simply had to open the door. I haven’t had a nightmare since.” Blue eyes flicker over his face, “when did you want to do it? You said you would wake up in the preserve, does that mean you want it to be a surprise?” 

Stiles shakes his head, “no. Um, today is the one year mark,” he reminds the wolf. “I-I want to go out there of my own volition and then I want you to do what he did. Don’t hold back on me either, I need to really feel it, Is. Be demeaning and degrading. Use your werewolf strength.” 

“Okay, but if I bite you too hard with my fangs, I’ll end up mating with you,” his boyfriend says, expression painfully hard to read. 

The human can only smile, “Donovan manipulated me so badly in the beginning. Made me think you wanted nothing to do with me. Refused to let me so much as talk to you much less be friends. Isaac,” Stiles turns to face the wolf, “I’ve loved you since we were ten. I can’t think of anything better than being mated with you. It’ll just add to the experience, give it an even happier connotation on top of helping me. Celebrating not only my full freedom from him, but celebrating how I feel about you.” 

Isaac grins, reaching over to tangle their fingers together. “Okay, Pretty Boy,” the wolf says, lifting Stiles’ hand to kiss his knuckles. “Let’s get some food in you first and then we’ll go.” 

“You get a ten minute head start,” Isaac tells him. “Are you sure you want to do this?” The wolf’s blue eyes are cloudy, as much as he’s checking in, Stiles can see his wolf chomping at the bit for the opportunity to chase. It’s an invitation to them after all and instinct is one hell of a motivator. 

“I’m sure,” the human curls his arms around his boyfriend. “Thank you for doing this,” Stiles says, despite being filled with nervous energy. 

“Remember your safeword?” The wolf taps his nose. 

“Badge,” Stiles tells him with confidence. It seemed like the best choice since he’s always felt safe with his father. A beacon of protection. Isaac smiles softly, bending down to place a tender kiss on his lips. “I’ll see you in ten minutes,” he whispers, bolting away from the wolf. He does plan to take it a little slow at first, but the more distance he has in the beginning, the better. 

Isaac snarls violently at him running away. Stiles appreciates the patience and control his boyfriend has to not immediately chase after him. It’s no doubt taking exceptional work on Isaac’s part. His heart is pounding in his chest with every bound of his feet. Every bush he dashes around, it beats harder. Every fallen log he jumps over makes his lungs burn in effort to keep enough oxygen flowing. Isaac was right in saying that he hates running. Stiles really does. 

But he’d do anything if it meant erasing the remnants of Donovan from his life. The wendigo is so far behind bars he’ll never see the light of day again. But Stiles needs him out of his brain too. Not once in their relationship has Isaac given himself over to his wolf. While a partially scary thought, Stiles knows with certainty that his wolf doesn’t want to harm him either. That some part of him will hear his safeword and stop if need be. 

It’s why he trusts Isaac implicitly for this. 

Stiles has no idea how long he’s been running for or in which direction. He’s turned himself around too many times and is pretty much lost. The sun is nearly set too, so he can’t really see for shit either. Anxiety prickles the back of his neck. The sinking feeling that this is what it was like with Donovan setting into his bones. Disoriented and terrified, unsure what to do next. Or what’s going to happen.

A deep, vicious roar echoes through the trees, nearly impossible to tell which way it’s come from. Stiles’ legs begin to shake as he pushes himself harder. He can’t see a fucking thing. All wildlife has ceased their nightly noises and the only thing he can hear is his own feet thumping into the earth. Isaac can’t be far off now, especially if he’s tapping into his wolf like requested. But Stiles can’t fucking hear him. 

He’s half tempted to stop for a minute to try and figure out where his boyfriend is. But that doesn’t seem like the best idea. There’s no way Stiles will be able to see him until he’s far too close. While Isaac could probably see him already.

Not that it matters. Stiles takes two more steps only to be tackled to the ground by a harsh, snarled impact. The human struggles, wriggling and thrashing his arms to try and get free. Causing them to tumble around, Isaac growling at his defiance. 

“Get off,” Stiles grunts, kneeing his boyfriend in the side and scrambling away. There’s more fear coursing through him than he thought there’d be. A voice in the back of his head, his own no doubt, continues to remind him that he trusts Isaac. He doesn’t get very far before claws pinch into his ankle and he’s yanked back towards the wolf. His shirt riding up and twigs biting into his stomach as he goes. “Stop,” the human croaks, pain flaring on his abdomen, watching golden eyes rake across his frame like a man starved. 

More like a wolf starved. 

Isaac, more animal than human with his huffed breaths, shreds his pants, tossing the tatters well out of view and reach. Mid-motion, Stiles’ nails rake the dirt and he tries to scramble away, only to have his boyfriend's claws dig into the meat of his calf. Not very deep, but enough that Stiles feels it. He cries out, falling pliant to the wolf crawling on top of him, rumbling in his chest as he goes. Isaac flips him and settles on top of him, fangs grazing his erratic pulse. The human’s hyperventilating, trying to keep himself under control. Secured in the knowledge that he can stop this at any given time. 

Teeth pinch his neck, Stiles squirming under the wolf's weight. His heart slams against his rib cage painfully. Donovan flashes behind his pinched lids, causing blood to whoosh in Stiles’ ears. Isaac grinds against him, pulling him back to the present and the human moans for the first time tonight. 

"Go ahead, Pretty Boy, moan as loud as you want," Isaac chuckles darkly, "no one can hear you out here." 

Stiles never told him the things Donovan said. While this may be moaning, the wendigo loved to hear him scream. And reminded him constantly that no one would hear him should the screams turn to cries for help. Stuck in his thoughts, Stiles hadn't realized the wolf moved off of him, yanking his boxers away with a flourish. Suddenly he's flipped onto his knees, the skin being stabbed with twigs. His palms are getting no better treatment, the sting makes Stiles wince out a whine. 

"Isaac, p-please," Stiles gasps, letting out another moan and the wet tongue swirling around the tight ring of muscle. "Fuck-" the human groans, body bending down against his own volition. "Shit, wait, claws, Is. Wait-" he stammers, feeling a finger prod along with his tongue, genuine fear creeping up the back of his neck. 

Thankfully when Isaac shoves two, not one, inside they're free of sharp nails. At least the wolf had enough sense to put them away. Donovan never cared, thought the blood was attractive. The sign of caught prey. Made him more prideful. The burn of two fingers thrusting into Stiles slowly gives way to pleasure, warming his insides beautifully. Though out of control, he's so here for it. 

His body relaxes, allowing the intrusion and the stretch of his growling boyfriend's fingers. "Look at you," Isaac coos, nipping at his ass hard enough that Stiles shrieks. Surely leaving a bruise behind. One the wolf spanks before spitting on his hole, effortlessly adding a third finger. "See how easily you opened up for me, sweet thing," the wolf snarls with glee, "always knew you were a slut." 

He can't help the moan if he tried. Words that once made him recoil now sound perfectly sinful and delicious on the wolf's tongue. Stiles almost forgot he's supposed to be pretending to be against this when his boyfriend's skilled fingers ram right into his prostate. Stars spark in his vision, the dark woods becoming even less clear. The human half hears Isaac's pants unzip and the rustling of them being pulled down. So he struggles, halfheartedly attempting to get away from the wolf one last time. 

Not that it does him any good. The free hand holding his hip trails up to the back of his neck, shoving his cheek into the dirt. "Stay. Still," Isaac snarls in his ear. Stiles doesn't dare move. Listening to his boyfriend spit into his palm. The squelch of him lubing his cock up kills the human, anticipation rising despite himself. There's no warning or even a comment, as soon as Isaac's fingers leave him, the wolf thrusts himself inside. Slamming their thighs together with force that makes Stiles scream. 

He threatens to white out. Blessed out of his mind at the rough treatment from a caring hand. Stiles breathes deeply, filling his lungs only to have it all rush out when Isaac pulls out and slams back in, not waiting for him to adjust. His boyfriend keeps the punishing rhythm. Just snapping his hips forward in full movements. Leaving Stiles completely empty before stuffing him full. It's dizzying. It hurts. It feels fucking great. And Stiles is a moaning mess, ready to fall apart as the wolf changes his angle, hitting the bundle of nerves inside of him until tears prick his eyes it feels that good. 

"Still with me?" Isaac asks, thumb brushing the back of his neck lightly. 

"Yeah," the human croaks, just taking what the wolf offers. Safeword tucked in the back of his mind, but not thinking he'll need it. The burn in pretty much gone and the pain in his knees and hands are blocked out by the way Isaac is fucking him. 

"Good," his boyfriend grunts, spreading his ass cheeks before blanketing him with his body. Isaac is fucking deep and Stiles can't help the clench. The wolf snarls again, "you're mine," yanking the collar of his shirt and sinking his fangs in at the crook. 

Stiles screams, eyes rolling into the back of his head as the orgasm he didn't even know was forming, hits a head. He cums hard, spilling himself over the forest floor beneath him. His knees threaten to buckle, but Isaac removes his fangs, wrapping a hand around his throat and pulls Stiles up to his chest. His gasps for air turn to soft whines, the wolf licking the wound clean as he pounds harder. Chasing his own release inside the human. Stiles can't think, he can't fucking breathe. But good god can he feel. 

His boyfriend's bite nestled the very distinct feeling of Isaac inside his chest. Tethering them together in bliss and so much emotion, Stiles doesn't know what to do with himself. So he says the first words that come to mind, "Thank you, Is." 

"Fucking-" Isaac fucks into him harder, stilling his hips balls deep. "Thank you," he moans, nuzzling the mark while filling Stiles full of his cum. They catch their breath, holding onto one another until Isaac’s soft growls cease. Carefully, he pulls out, earning him a groan. "You okay, Pretty Boy? Your knees all right?" 

"Very," Stiles hums with a dopey grin on his face, putting his full weight on the wolf. Sighing to himself as he feels his boyfriend's cum start to leak out of him. “They sting, but I’m okay.”

"Let's get you home, yeah?" Isaac whispers, peppering kisses along his neck and shoulder. 

Stiles nods and lets the wolf curl him to his chest to pick him up and carry him back to the car.

#stisaac #stiles stilinki #isaac lahey #isaac x stiles #stiles x isaac #teen wolf #kinktober vol. 2 #Match Writes

[andthebubbles]

2023 Fic Year in Review

thank you for tagging me @smooth-boob 🥺

(So I assume all the questions refer to fics completed in 2023?)

List of Fics Completed this Year

Through Life and Death (and In Between) (simi)

The Ghost in These Halls (anthony angst, some a&b)

Benedict's Apothecary (a&b and some c)

Breathe (a&b)

A Is for Annoying (a&b)

Benedict with sideburns (a&b)

Benedict teaching Anthony how to paint, and Anthony teaching him how to do household accounts (a&b)

Missing scene from 1x04 (anthony and violet)

A fic where Colin argues with Anthony about going on a Grand Tour rather than going to Oxford (a and c)

A oneshot from the cfs!Anthony fic universe... (a and c)

That nd!anthony fic which i posted and had up for a few hours and then put on private

(Er... then I found more fics...)

(stff245) suicidal Anthony at Christmas (damn I should've posted this at xmas lol, it's just where Violet is drunk and yells at him and says she wishes it had been Anthony who had died rather than Edmund)

(stff246) more suicidal Anthony

(Um... I could post those last two actually maybe (though it would be fun to post the xmas one at xmas)... also they made me realise that my more recent a&b short fics are shit lmfao (hopefully that doesn't also apply to a/b fic........ i mean, maybe that one's safe because it's also anthony angst, although of a different sort (i should write more anthony (+ family) angst... (or I should stop posting shitty fics))))

Number of Words Written

This is for non-WIPs I presume and only for the fics I completed in 2023. 17260 unless I miscalculated.

Your Most Popular Fic

The Ghost in These Halls

Your Personal Fave

The Ghost in These Halls

Your Fave Scene

...I don't think I have one. Not from the fics that were completed in 2023 anyway.

A Fic or Scene that Challenged You

The first section of The Ghost in These Halls, I rewrote that so many times (the bit where Violet starts laying into him). Also, the second section with Benedict... towards the end of it when they're berating each other, that took a while to get out (I kept leaving it for later and coming back to it when I was inspired, and just slowly kept chipping away at it)

A Line of Writing You’re Proud Of

I have more in the WIPs/abandoned fics lmao. ffs. (like, the time loop fic where anthony attempts suicide again and benedict walks in on him/watches him die... and the cfs fic where anthony comforts daphne (and colin and benedict are there too)... and that one line from the madhouse fic about the vase of water shattering a rainbow on the wall... OH and how could i forget that paragraph from the ~benedict the artist -fic)

But uh. Actually I found one, from a fic I haven't posted (yet?); I just saw it again tonight so it feels fresh (he = Anthony, ofc):

The sunlit meadows of his childhood turn to ash, the treehouse is rotting and crumbling beneath his feet, his father sighs and looks down at him in disappointment, his mother levels him with an accusing stare. And he’s only fifteen, six, ten, four; these are his first memories and this is how it’s always been; his brothers and sisters have always hated him, he’s always been a tyrant, he’s always made them unhappy, he’s never really belonged.

A Comment that Touched You

All the lovely comments I got in 2023 on sebis fic! Holy shit. Every time I get a new nice one, it just makes my day, Which, for me, means I am happy for at most an hour, because I'm generally a miserable person, unfortunately.

Also, the nice comments on The Ghost in These Halls were lovely too. Except for that one iffy did-you-actually-like-the-fic-or-not comment

Something that Inspired Your Writing

Anthonyyyy. Anthony + angst (Anthony and Violet, Anthony and family...). Anthony and Benedictttttt

Your proudest accomplishment (that one scene; finally finishing that one fic; posting your first fic; etc):

Probably the Ghost in These Halls. It's the only fic (so far?) where I wrote the sections out of order. Also, I guess getting my head around Anthony is a nice accomplishment, because it let me write the Ghost in These Halls.

For the uh WIP fics, proudest accomplishment would be writing so much goddamn smut and actually being told that it's hot?????? eyyyy. good achievement for someone who's either (panromantic) ace or a lesbian

Do You Have Any Writing Goals for Next Year?

Yeah. Keep writing a/b fic :3 And fucking get back to the ~benedict the artist -fic.

As for... improving my writing... I feel like I can get rambly. Or make things very long, somehow. Like a/b fic. But that's also just pure indulgence on my part... I don't want that fic to end 🥺 (When else am I gonna have such a good setup where I can have my cake AND eat it? (aka have anthony/benedict as a normal couple with class differences to overcome and then them finding out that they're brothers and then i get to explore the incest side of it LMAO))

Uh also... I want to learn/remember that 1. when you're tired, you should stop pointlessly poking at the fic and you may think everything is bad/wrong when it's not, and 2. I feel like I need to learn the difference between what I want to see in an upcoming section vs what I want to cover in an upcoming section in a plot-relevant way. Because... I did a checklist of things I needed to cover for sebis fic, and it worked so well, so I've sorta been doing that for other fics, but now I'm starting to think that maybe the checklist only works if you have some plot points to cover (like sebis fic did), whereas e.g. if you want a certain thing to happen at this point in the story (e.g. something specific you want in a smut scene, or ... you want benedict to give anthony one of his poetry notebooks ~right now in the upcoming scene for example)... then maybe it isn't so good because you're trying to force the characters to do something that they're not ready to do instead of listening to what they want to do. Idk. I'm still sorting this out in my head.

Anyway.

Tagging @lucktofate @suspendingtime @wolfsbanesbite @effervescentdragon @4xmulti21champion and anyone else who wants to do it~!

#i cut it bc it got long #anyway! #smooth-boob #ask game #fic talk

[ultranos]

How does Sokka know Azula/Areshi is a lesbian? Did she tell him?

"So I gotta ask: what are two Fire Nationals doing all the way out here in the middle of the Earth Kingdom and not, you know, trying to take everything over?" Sokka asks Areshi when he finds her chopping wood outside. It's not that he doesn't trust her or her mom, but...no, he pretty much doesn't trust them yet.

Wolf-gold eyes glance at him before focusing again on the logs in front of her. Areshi shrugs. "Living, mostly."

"Hah hah," he deadpans. "No really." He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. "You didn't have to help us back in town. And...judging how a lot of people there seem to, uh..."

"Hate my face on principle?"

Sokka grimaces. "I wasn't going to say it like that. But, yeah, basically. You gotta admit, it'd be a lot easier on you if you were actually in the Fire Nation."

Areshi is quiet for a bit, the only sounds the thunk of the axe biting into the wood. "You sure about that?" she finally asks, voice soft.

Something about how she says it makes him stop short. There's a hint of something in her voice, a something that he doesn't expect, never even thought to expect, to come from a Fire National, much less an actual ashmaker. Or...he thinks, considering Areshi, maybe just a firebender.

Is that it? Is there a difference between the two? They've been one and the same for so long in Sokka's head that untangling the two words is strange. But putting Areshi and Eri in the same category as the rest just...doesn't seem right. Not just because they helped him and the rest out of a tight spot. Nah, he knows people can do them nice favors while still being awful.

This isn't the same. It's that hint of something in Areshi's voice, a weight of hurt and fear and dread that's all too familiar.

And damn it, Sokka's always been too curious for his own good. "What do you mean?"

She doesn't answer for long enough that he wonders if she didn't hear him. "Here, they might hate me, but they're honest about it. They don't actively want me dead and hide it behind claims of being family."

"What?"

Areshi looks uncomfortable. He's about to tell her nevermind, to forget he ever asked, when she shakes her head and sighs. "I...Eri told you guys how I was...separated from her until recently, right? My father...heard a rumor that I was a, uh, sleeve-cutter. He wasn't pleased." She looks away, the tips of her ears red. "The fact that it's true didn't help."

("Areshi loves women, not men," Eri later explains bluntly when he asks her quietly for clarification. "Her father is willing to have my little girl die for the sin of loving who he thinks is the wrong person. She can't be exactly the little toy soldier he wants her to be, so she's useless to him and there's no place for useless things in a Fire Nation ruled by a son of Azulon.")

He blinks, unsure. She shrugs and swings the axe with quite a bit of force, splitting the wood in front of her. "With him knowing that, it wasn't exactly safe for me to stick around. And it wasn't like I had anyone else to help me. My uncle hates my guts on the basis that I exist in the first place, I think, so that wasn't even worth the effort."

"And...you didn't...running into enemy territory was seriously your best option?" Sokka doesn't know if he even wants to know the answer to this question.

She shrugs again, a little too forced to be completely nonchalant. "My older brother and I never got along, at least half of that's my fault, so I can't be surprised he blew me off before I could even admit I needed help." There's a sharp twist to her smile. "I guess I even had it coming. Even if it did still sting."

Sokka thinks if he frowns any harder, it's going to be permanently etched into his face. He doesn't know what to say to that, doesn't even know what to think. (Even when Katara drives him absolutely bonkers, he'd never in a million years do that to her. If she ever needed help that bad and he'd blown her off, and he found out? He'd rather eat glass and wash it down with boiling whale oil.)

Maybe there isn't anything he can say.

"Here, give me the axe," he says gruffly, holding out a hand. "You're making me feel lazy, doing all that chopping while I'm just standing here and not helping."

Areshi stops and gives him a long look. Sokka doesn't waver under the gaze of those wolf-gold eyes, just stands there with his hand out, palm up. Waiting.

She hands over the axe.

#nos answers things #Anonymous #smallest nail au #atla

[whatamidoinghere777]

Maleficent 3 has been released so HERE IS MY OPINION ON BOTH MALEFICENT MOVIES

Maleficent: AASAAGGGGGHBHH YOU PERFECT ANGEL YOU BEAUTIFUL PIECE OF WORK MWAH MWHA I LOVE YOU.

Maleficent Mistress of Evil: *distant cry and sobbing* AURORA YOU USELESS PIECE OF SCUM WHY ON GODS GREEN EARTH WPUKD PICK PHILIPS PARENTS OVER YOUR OWN MOTHER MALEFICENT?? when aurora was visiting philips crusty father (I forget his name, and I'm proud of it) and maleficent told aurora to leave with her, AND SHE REFUSED????????????? WHAT?!?!?@?!!? YOU DONT UNDERSTAND THE RAGE I FEEL. AURORA. This woman found you in the forest as a baby. She made sure you were safe from the dangers. Her birb servant played games with you. Then she showed you the beautiful and magical moors, AND MADE YOU THE DAMN QUEEN. Then this nasty crusty dusty ugly disgraceful worthless boi Philip pulls up, and you fall for him. (I would never do that but u do u ig.) And then you MARRY him. (still a horrible move but I can still undterstand it.) And then you want to get maleficent involved and you KNOW how she feels about humans. (....your really toeing the line here.) And you give her some material to cover to horns to 'make everyone more comfortable' WHEN HER HORNS ARE THE MOST BEAUTIFUL PART OF HER AND SHOULD NEVER IN A MILLION YEARS BE COVERED UP. Then your at a lame dinner party party that DISGUSTING HAG OF A QUEEN says she considers aurora to be her daughter. EXCUSE YOU?????? DOES SHE NOT ALREADY HAVE THE MOST AMAZING BEAUTIFUL WONDERFUL DROP DEAD GORFEOUS MOTHER ON THE PLANET??? And aurora doesnt even say anything!! Then, maleficent rightfully gets angry. (how would YOU feel if your beloved daughter, the one person who doesn't fear you or despise you just up and accepts another mother, who by the way, you HATE??) And then, like the queen she is, maleficents curses philips father. OH WAIT???? WHATS THIS??? MALEFICENT NEVER TOUCHED THE KIND, AND IT WAS PHILIPS WRINKELY HAG KF A MOTHER WHO KILLED HER HUSBAND BC OF SOME UNSOLVED FAMILY ISSUES OR SOMETHING??? AND THEN AURORA HAS THE AUDACITY TO BLAME HER WONDERFUL GOOD KIND INNOCENT MOTHER.FOR SOMETHKNG SHE NEVER DID????????? AURORA YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY HOPELESS AND DESPICABLE. I actually cannot stand the movie past here. and then as malefocent is flying home after losing her daughter and being wrongly accused SOME RANDOM PEASANT WOMAN SHOOTS HER?????????????? ?????????????? WHAT DID SHE DO!?!?!?!?@?@?@? FOR THE LOVE OF GOD GIVE HER A BREAK. okay I'm just gonna stop here now 😭 all in all AURORA IS A NASTY DISGUSTING HORRIBLE CRUSTY DUSTY PICK ME TRAITOR AND I DONT LIKE HER. ok bye :)

#maleficent #maleficent mistress of evil #maleficent 2 #maleficent 3 #maleval

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Consecrated: A Malevolent Fanfic

It’s time to obey. Arthur has healed enough, and it’s time to mark the damn human.

Hastur does not want to do it, but has one advantage: he remembers The Wood. John doesn’t. At the very least, he can make it all hurt.

Hastur’s never done this to someone… occupied before. What difference could that possibly make, anyway?

(Takes place in the Surrogate series, after The Night Before.)

Written by me and @sepiabandensis

AO3

-----------

There was no crackle of magic or slamming of doors. There was only a change in pressure as the King in Yellow arrived like a thunderstorm rolling over a city and drenching it in icy rains. 

John had time to think, he was right—this is weird, before Hastur billowed into the room like a terrible omen.

Arthur stood from the piano and hung his head, face turned down.

For one moment—one ordinary, everyday, horrible moment—they merely existed at each other, mutual hate sickening the air like burnt sugar.

"You're awake," the god rumbled, surveying him, and plucked at Arthur's robe with a tentacle. "And you seem to have healed adequately. That is…" He paused and made a sound like he’d bitten into some sort of bitter fruit. "Good.”

John wielded his left hand and swatted the appendage away. Fuck off, Hastur.

"I suppose, since you're healed, there can be no further delay," the King said, reaching to adjust the robe again, his voice clear and calm despite the deep, mechanical growl permeating the room. "Thus, as we previously discussed, he will be marked tonight."

Arthur stepped slightly back, pulling his robe from Hastur’s grasp. “Marked?”

John made the strangest noise. Choked. Sort of hit.

“Yes, of course,” Hastur said easily. “You remember, Piece. We agreed to wait until he was well enough to avoid potential… complications.”

Arthur’s brow knit. He remembered no such thing—but then, he’d lost pieces of time ever since that horrible, wonderful day when Faroe came back, so this did not shake him.

John, on the other hand, was shook. You wouldn’t dare.

“Dare?” Hastur sounded incredulous. “Piece, we agreed. It is the only way to keep him safe. Surely, you didn’t forget.”

And for reasons Arthur could not fathom, John promptly went off. FUCK YOU, YOU COCKSUCKING, ROT-BRAINED, CUCKOLDING, SLIME-EATING, SON OF A DEFLATED WAR-WHALE! YOU WILL NOT!

Arthur gasped, hunching. It had hurt. That bellow hurt. “Wh… what… John?”

HOW DARE YOU! HOW DARE—

“What’s this?” said Hastur as though in the face of social blunder, sweeping away the bellowing like sand in wind. “You aren’t prepared? I’ve given you weeks!”

Arthur swallowed. “What’s… John, what’s he talking about?”

YOU WILL NOT TOUCH HIM! NOT LIKE THAT!

Arthur staggered again. “John,” he whispered.

“What is this sudden recalcitrance? Is this a delaying tactic? Why, next you’re going to say you haven’t had time to tell him, or you need more time to discuss it. Piece… do you really think such machinations will change anything?”

NEVER! NOT YOURS! WE NEVER DISCUSSED ANYTHING!

Arthur reached up and gripped the side of his head. “John, please, it hurts,” he whispered.

John stopped, puffing like a bellows.

Hastur sighed—a long-suffering and poisonously condescending sound—and began to pace. “I knew you’d be a problem. Piece, we discussed this.” A weighted pause. “You do want to protect him, don’t you?”

Bullshit! This would do the opposite of protecting him!

“John,” Arthur said again, very quietly.

Arthur, shut up. You don’t know what this is. You don’t know what he’s threatening. He has no right to do this to you!

A pregnant pause. “You really don’t remember, do you?” Hastur said, sounding far too pleased.

And there was just enough of an answering pause to indicate… doubt. I would have remembered that, you coward, you thief, you piece of thumbsucking garbage.

Hastur laughed. “Thief? Fine words from one who rides a thief like a donkey.”

BASTARD!

Arthur flinched.

“Piece, this is hardly my idea.” Hastur flowed across the floor like liquid, getting right in their face, backing them against the bench. “The Great Mother has forced my hand. Personally, I would rather chew a dozen arms off than touch your disgusting host, but it has been commanded.”

This is bullshit. You are full of bullshit. You are lying! 

Hastur’s sigh carried weight. “We spoke on it at length in her realm, you and I. I tried to argue with her, and so did you—she called you a ‘bold little thing.’” Hastur spoke with the confidence of honesty—or of a damn good liar. “She threatened to take Faroe, Piece. And Arthur, as much as I despise you, I will not allow that to happen, so if this is the price, we will pay it together.”

“Faroe?”

Because of course, John thought, of course the asshole would use her name like he used her life, to hit, and hurt, and cut, and ruin, and— Bullshit!

“What about Faroe?” Arthur had the scent now, and could not be shaken loose.

“I was…” Another pause, a growl, like the words were dragged from him by force. “I made an error when my negligence allowed my sister to slip past my wards.”

You mean when she fucking skinned him and you let her do it?

Hastur addressed Arthur now, as if John were no longer part of the discussion. “The Great Mother believes that I put her child in danger by not keeping track of threats toward you, and that if I did not rectify this, she would retrieve her child… and take her child’s darling new friend with her.”

“She’d take Faroe?”

That was a yell.  

Arthur used to yell a lot. He hasn’t yelled since… since it happened. But that was a yell.

For her.

Arthur was so focused that John could just shake him. John explodes. No! You may not mark him! I forbid it!

Hastur’s laugh was dark and deep, a forest of lies and mockery. “You forbid?”

There is no fucking way the Lord of the Wood  told you to mark a human! 

Hastur scoffed. “You think I’d lie about this?” His tentacles lashed the air as if he wanted to rend something. “Very well, Piece. Since you refuse to believe me, I will show you.”

The memory hit like a brick.

The Wood, which neither of them can recall, which even in recollection makes Arthur cry out, crouch down, cover his head with both arms.

The Presence, all around, of the Great Mother goddess, too much for even John to comprehend, even in this brief and eclipsed view.

And on the ground, Arthur.

And in his blood, Arthur.

And looking like some kind of ill-used anatomy model, Arthur, barely breathing, barely living, so much worse from Hastur’s point of view than John had ever imagined.

BOLD LITTLE THING, came the voice in memory, shaking their minds like heavy boots on flimsy boards. BUT THIS IS NOT FOR YOU. HASTUR, I WOULD LIKE TO REST, AND DO NOT ENJOY BEING WOKEN IN THE NIGHT BY MY OFFSPRING’S DISTRESS, SO LET’S MAKE THIS… SIMPLE? FIRST, YOU WILL MARK HIM.

“I will not,” Hastur cried.

IF YOU DO NOT, I WILL JUDGE YOU AN UNFIT FATHER, H’AAZTRE.

Hastur’s voice trembled in horror. “What?”

NIBBLES LIKES HER. I AM NOT PARTICULARLY CONCERNED WHO GETS THE TITLE OF ‘PET’ IN THIS CIRCUMSTANCE—BUT IF I HAVE TO TAKE FAROE FROM YOU, SHE WILL NOT BE RAISED… THE SAME WAY.

Stop! Stop! It was killing them, the voice was killing them—

It stopped.

“I could continue, of course,” Hastur said, pacing again like a patient teacher. “Perhaps I ought—as you do not seem to recall the discussion which followed.”

The confidence of honesty, or a damn good liar. Or maybe something in between.

John hadn’t pulled it together yet. Damn y…. Damn the… n… no. No. Hastur, no. There’s another way. No!

“Do it,” whispered Arthur.

Fucking hell, Arthur! No!

Shaking, panting, Arthur looked up. His nose bled. He wiped at it with his right hand, seeing nothing, speaking in Hastur’s general direction. “Do it.”

No!

“I won’t let her be taken, John!” Arthur snapped, voice ragged. “I won’t allow that! A pet? Faroe? I don’t care what it costs!”

It will cost you! John cried, voice cracking.

Hastur suddenly stiffened. “She’s back.”

And it was as though intermission fell, and behind the curtain, they all scrambled for their new places, resetting props, adjusting costumes.

Faroe danced in singing a song of her own creation, horrible goat-god-kid right on her heels. And as she handed them flowers, and told them the story she made up to go with each (fairly nonsensical, but she told them with passion), the welling grief and rage and smugness seemed to thicken the air until Arthur’s breath grew ragged.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he managed.

“Goodnight, Uncle Arthur, Mister John. Goodnight, daddy! I love you!” And Hastur got a hug.

She skipped off, telling her goat the same stories she’d told them, and they waited until her door closed before returning to the issue at hand.

Don’t, John said, and it was a sob.

“Now, Piece,” said Hastur, soothing, rumbling, pleased, because he knew he’d won. “Why would it cost him ? It won’t. He will be safer. You two could continue your ridiculous night-time meanderings without fear. You could leave the palace and collect my daughter’s favorite flowers, all without concern. My mark will protect him. You know this.”

And John wailed. 

He could not know it was the same sound Hastur had made that night in the Wood, made upon the threat that Faroe would be taken.

“John!” said Arthur. 

We can’t do this! 

“Will it… remove you?” said Arthur, sounding slightly afraid.

“Why don’t you tell him what it will do, Piece?” rumbled Hastur. “You have three hours to… prepare yourselves in whatever way you see fit. I will have your outfit brought. Tonight, Composer and Piece. Tonight, this will be settled, and the Mother Goddess appeased.” And he left in a cloud of cruelty, while John’s metaphorical breath hitched and chugged, and Arthur sat back on his bench, aching and confused.

“John?”

It marks you, he said.

“I… sort of assumed that, what with it being called ‘marking,’” Arthur said slowly. “I don’t understand. Why does this matter?”

Because it’s permanent. Your soul will retain his fucking brand even after death. I can’t… it… fuck. Arthur, no. We can’t do this. No.

“She’ll take Faroe if we don’t,” Arthur said, still soft, still lost. “What does it matter, anyway? I’m here either way. It’s not like I was going to run. It doesn’t matter, John.”

It matters!

“Why?”

Because you’re mine!

Arthur fell silent. 

John’s weeping was a terrible thing, deep like his laugh, frightening, weak.

Helpless.

“Your…” Arthur ventured at last. “Your what?”

This will make you his. He’ll always be able to find you. To feel you. You’ll never escape him.

“I wasn’t… planning on escaping, anyway, John,” Arthur murmurs.

I know! That isn’t the point! You’re mine! Not his! Not… not his.

Arthur played a middle C.

Held it. Let it ring. Let it sing while John’s snuffling slowed.

He moved into a simple, soft chord progression in a-minor, pulsing and slow.

“And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,” Arthur recited. “No longer blown hither and thither; The last lone aster is gone; The flowers of the witch-hazel wither; The heart is still aching to seek, But the feet question 'Whither?'

Ah, when to the heart of man Was it ever less than a treason To go with the drift of things, To yield with a grace to reason, And bow and accept the end Of a love or a season?”

Wh… what? John said as the final chord faded.

“It’s a poem about what to do in the face of the unavoidable,” said Arthur, ponderously, as if pulling memories from a deep well. “The winter cannot be stopped. You come to the mighty oak, its leaves all gone. The flowers are dead, and nothing will bring those specific flowers back. But… you still… move on. You choose how to continue. You push through the winter, because… to give in would betray the very heart of what it is to be human. And because, if you press on long enough, John, Spring will come again.” 

John’s voice dropped, awed, as always, by Arthur’s human mind. But you’ll still be his.

“I don’t know if I know what that means, John, but I think no matter what happens, I’m yours. And I think, no matter what happens, you’re mine. I think if he had the power to change that, he would have done it already.”

And that was a good point, and John wanted Arthur to feel so good about this, this first foray back into poetry, this first attempt he’d made at his old way of thinking before everything went so wrong.

But John couldn’t think of anything to say. He couldn’t think of how to tell Arthur you’d be his in a way you can never be mine.

So instead, he said, Play Clair de Lune for me?

Arthur did, and Schumann’s Träumerei after that, and then Liszt’s Consolation No. 3, and then the Dancers arrived, and it was time to get dressed for the last night John would ever have Arthur to himself.

#

It wasn’t the same as his court composer outfit.

This one was light. The shirt was open at the throat and secured only by the wide, silky sash, which captured it in a vee at his waist. Skirted, pleated, distinctly swishy, this outfit was apparently standard for the one being marked, and Arthur was confused at the way it made him feel.

It moved when he walked. He wasn’t used to clothes that moved when he walked.

You… it works on you, John admitted, miserable. It’s just white and red, all of it; the white top and bottom will be stained with your blood, which the sash symbolizes for now.

“My blood? Fuck. Faroe won’t see this, will she?”

Always Faroe. Always fucking Faroe. I don’t know, Arthur. That’s his problem.

Arthur spun, puzzled. It felt nice, if weirdly exposed—which it wasn’t, because the damn thing brushed the tops of his feet. He had not been given shoes, and the flaring, fraying edges of material tickled his toes.

“How am I going to bleed? What’s he going to do, bite me?”

No. The way this normally works is he gives a great big fucking speech about how great he is for having found you—since you only matter in the way you make him look good—but in your case, I have a hard time believing he’s going to use it to build you up. It’ll probably be some kind of… shame-speech, where he has to do this because of how awful you are.

“You didn’t really answer me, John.”

John sighed. I… he’s not going to bite you. He’s going to stab you through the heart.

“He… he’s what? He’s what?”

It’s magic. All right? He’s going to do the incantation, and then he’s going to pierce through your heart with his arm. It’s going to hurt. It’s… also… John mumbled. Going to feel like bliss. Both at once. Some people vomit. Everybody passes out.

“I’m going to what?”

While emotion was nice to hear in Arthur’s voice, John wasn’t sure he wanted to encourage this particular panic. You’ll be fine. He… I… the whole point is he has to get inside you. Where… where I am.

“Fuck. Are you going to be hurt?”

I don’t know. I never did it to anyone who had someone inside them before. I don’t know what the fuck is going to happen.

Arthur’s fists clenched. “If he hurts you with this, I swear…”

I’m sure he won’t. He still thinks we’re going to reunite someday. He needs me.

“Right. Right.” Arthur frowned. “So he’s… going to gut me. Then what?”

While he’s doing that, he can touch your soul. I don’t know why it happens this way. It just fucking does. He’ll say the words, and… and you’ll be marked. You’ll resonate. You’ll… you’ll feel it. Then he pulls his arm out, you’re miraculously unharmed in spite of there being blood fucking everywhere, you pass out—because everybody passes out—and then they party around your unconscious but honored form. Or they usually do. For all I know, he’s going to have everyone take turns scraping off their boots in your hair.

“Fabulous image.” Arthur rubbed his chest, wincing at still-unhappy nerves, wondering just how much pain he had to take in the course of all of this before his body stopped feeling it already. “Is that all?”

Pretty much. Normally, there’s a smaller, second party when you wake up, as your cronies or whoever celebrate you as being favored by the king.

“Well, I’m not favored.”

Right. So. I don’t know how this will go.

Arthur sighed. “As long as Faroe isn’t part of this horror, I don’t care. And… as long as he doesn’t hurt you. I swear, John, if this harms you…”

It won’t. He didn’t know that. He was lying. He had to lie, for this. For him. I’ll be fine. But I can’t… you can only get marked once. I… I won’t ever…

“Please don’t tell me you’ve had fantasies of stabbing me through the heart and yelling nonsense in my face while I pass out and vomit,” said Arthur.

John laughed, and it almost didn’t sound like sobs. You’re getting good at these jokes lately.

“I’m just rediscovering sarcasm. Not sure that counts as humor.” Arthur sighed and sat down, rubbing his face. “I just want it to be over.”

He didn’t seem to notice that John hadn’t answered his question.

John was absolutely not going to bring it back up. It will be soon enough. I’ve got you, Arthur. I’ve got you.

They both felt Hastur coming, whatever mood he was in souring the air and sparking tiny electric arcs through the floor, along the walls, between Arthur’s teeth.

“Here we go,” Arthur muttered, and stood.

#

Hastur definitely had not planned this like an ordinary marking ceremony.

It wasn’t in the usual room—the Cathedral, with central altar high above the spiraling seats, with stalactites and stalagmites painted and glowing simply for aesthetics and awe.

Neither was it in the Great Field—a mysterious place where the soil hummed with power, where anything that grew did so with so much magic that it, alone, could fund a kingdom, and which Hastur had fought quite hard to own and punished trespassers with fire and pain.

This was just a room. A large room; Hastur had to be comfortable, of course, as did several of his larger sycophants, so it was high-ceilinged, politely whitewashed, with mullioned windows along one wall looking down upon a plain granite floor.

It was a classroom, for those rare seasons when Hastur’s people produced offspring that actually grew. Right now, it was unused—and he had not bothered to have his servants clean the cobwebs from the corners.

The student area was packed with important people who were, in a word, unused to being packed anywhere.

Especially into seats with attached desks, clearly not designed for adult creatures.

Sconces filled the room with a clean, white light, dull and academic. The seats creaked; the beings murmured. There was a pleasant smell from somewhere as of food cooking, but there’d been no mention of a feast after whatever this was, and no one dared presume they were invited to what was most likely Hastur’s dinner.

The whole thing was weird.

It was about to get weirder. The front of the classroom was empty. Then it was not.

There was no procession of Dancers. No servants swirling in half-naked, tossing flower petals hither and thither and yon. There was simply Hastur, with such suddenness that the air he displaced blasted back fur and ruffled clothes. 

In his grip was Arthur. The court composer, standing there, dwarfed by the enormous hands on his shoulders, looking absolutely exhausted, afraid, pale, scrawny, weak—

All words they’d been taught to associate with him, as Hastur used them before every single one of Arthur’s performances. (Which were always excellent, which only made them confusing, but no one was going to argue, so—)

“It’s come to my attention that some of you have not, in fact, paid attention,” said Hastur, abandoning Arthur to walk slowly back and forth before the child-chairs, and though he didn’t actually reach out to touch anyone, his power buffeted, keeping fur back and capes slightly billowed.

Arthur shifted his weight, looked at nothing (he never looked at anything), and gripped his right hand with his left.

“This foul piece of flesh is my court composer. His name—when I care to use it—is Arthur.” Hastur reached the other side of the classroom, turned, and reversed his menacing stroll. “He belongs to me. I have chosen him; the reason, perhaps, does not matter now—though it was hardly for any praiseworthy thing he did.” Hastur chuckled.

That wasn’t funny, but he got a few toadying laughs.

“It was to my surprise that he had any talent, nay, even one that could bless my court with a thing of need: music. And it is true. I will grant that. My jubilees are beautiful things, almost fitting accompaniment to the glory of my kingdom.”

The weird spirit-thing in Arthur made a very quiet snore.

That had to be an accident. 

Nobody knew what that thing was, anyway. Heavily warded, hidden from sight, it evidently spoke to Arthur (everyone had heard him talking to it), but Hastur never mentioned it at all, so it must be beneath notice—and surely it wouldn’t have actually made a rude noise.

Arthur’s lips twitched.

Hastur went still for only a moment, then resumed his terrible gallows walk. No lightning struck, so clearly, it had been an accident.

“Nevertheless, what do I hear? What do I learn, as I come home to my city, to my people, to the empire in whose very veins my permission to live flows like blood and wine? I come home… to learn about plots.”

Ah. Well, yes. Everyone knew someone who knew someone who knew someone who had been making plans to use Arthur in some way to curry favor. And until Pers showed up and paid the price, it had seemed a perfectly reasonable course of action.

Hastur stopped behind Arthur, dwarfing him. Broader, taller, his every exhalation more powerful than the entirety of Arthur’s life, he stood behind his musician, grabbed his wrists in two thick tentacles, and angrily stretched him out as far as he would go.

Arthur cried out. But he did not struggle. His head stayed down. He trembled.

“Do you see this?” said Hastur, dripping contempt with every syllable. Another tentacle emerged from his cloak to touch under Arthur’s chin, forcing him to lift his face. “Do. You. See. This.” And anger now trembled under the floor like a passing train, made the child-chairs rattle in place, made the glass in the windows creak. “This. Is. Mine.” 

On that final word, three of the sconces blew off the wall; most attendees jumped. A few cried out.

“And,” said Hastur, “if anyone is going to rip this creature limb from limb—if anyone is going to tear his skin to shreds, or keep him alive as his bloodied screams light the night, or spread his guts around my home like festive garlands, that someone will be me.”

There was a noise from the thing in Arthur’s head. The mystery-spirit, perhaps in pain because Arthur was.

Hastur was bellowing now, paining eardrums, rippling flesh with the force of his anger. “Do we all understand?”

Arthur’s head was down again, and his every breath was shuddering terror, rapid anticipation of whatever was to come.

And no one expected what was to come (even with that outfit), because it was obvious Hastur hated this guy, and the last thing anyone would want to do with someone they hated was—

Hastur turned Arthur to face him, gripped his neck to stretch his head and arch his back, and plunged a tentacle right into his chest.

#

John knew pain.

He had experienced pain in death and pain in tearing. Pain in flesh—Arthur had bitten the tip of their pinky finger off John’s hand. John had felt every shredded nerve as the red-hot metal of Arthur’s belt buckle seared the bleeding. He knew the pain of the soul, too, the anguish of loss as Arthur, was broken before his eyes.

This was entirely different.

This was every sensation coming to screaming life and crackling through him like lightning, every sensation fighting for dominance as he was pinned like an insect being mounted for display.

And in that moment of the perfect agony he and Arthur shared, John pinpointed that tangled weave where he and Arthur blurred together inside him.

Something wasn’t right.

Vaguely, he could hear Hastur bellow, the words becoming meaning in the space they shared. 

I command you

Yes…

I take your name

Yes!

I burn myself into your soul

He thought, for a brief moment, of how lovely a sound Arthur’s name was.

And John reacted, screaming from effort, singing words he did not know he still knew, rippling with meaning and intent and power, resonating with Hastur (all that John was and all that he would someday be), and sharing this terrible, violational spell.

But John… made it beautiful.

#

“Y' ymg' ulnah!” Hastur roared, vowing, bespelling, loathing every syllable that exited his throat. “Y' ymg' mggoka yaah! Y' fm'latgh ymg' orr'e!”

And Arthur’s soul (that hideous substance) did what it was supposed to, and began to conform to Hastur’s intrusion.

But something wasn’t right.

Something was—

“Ph'nglui n'gha!” Echoing?

In death!

“Ph'nglui lw'nafh!” Reflecting?

In life!

“Syha'h ymg' ah ya yaor!” He was not speaking these words alone.

Always…

The power was weird, filling the cavern of untapped potential in this disgusting man.

(Hastur was panicking.)

“Syha'h ymg' ah ya yaori!” Three times, he had to say it three times.

Always you are—

Hastur felt…

(Hastur was afraid.)

Hastur was…

John was…

“Syha'h ymg' ah ya yaor!”

Always, you are my own!  

(Hastur was whole.)

#

(John was whole.)

He looked with Hastur’s eyes upon Arthur’s face, his lovely Arthur, covered with scars of their shared experiences, and in the eternity of that moment memorized every line worn into his skin, every lash that framed his sightless eyes, and felt that heart—so fragile, yet so strong—beat within their chest.

He wanted to tell him… Everything.

Instead, he spoke, voice low and heavy with so many unsaid words.

“Mine.”

And John fell back into Arthur’s head, spinning as if to never find ground.

#

Hastur was done.

It was finished.

He pulled his arm out of Arthur in a spray of hideous blood and gore—leaving Arthur’s chest without injury at all, what a magic trick, huzzah.

It had all gone right. He felt the things he’d expected to feel—a knee-jerk closeness to the one he’d marked, an affection born of lies, which would pass in a few hours. But that was not all.

Not all, at all.

He’d felt whole.

For a moment, just a moment, dual-casting a thing that could not be dual-cast, he’d been whole again, and relief from the pain (constant, aching, burning) of fragmentation was so strong that he—

Hastur discovered that if he spoke right now, he might sob.

It had felt so—

It had felt.  

He made a noise. One low, small one, fighting the urge to wrap Arthur up in his limbs like Faroe, fighting the urge to squeeze him like jelly in desperation to get John back, fighting all the urges because none of them were sane and he’d known they wouldn’t be and that was fine this was fine it would all be okay.

Loss. Because he’d been whole. For one magnificent instant.

And then, he became aware his couriers were murmuring.

“How? How did he—”

“He must have really meant those warnings.”

“But I didn’t know he could—”

“Why didn’t he do that, then, to someone he liked, like—���

Hastur was on the edge of… everything. Arousal. Grief. Sorrow. Anger. Possessiveness. Pain.

How dare Arthur have somehow made him feel whole, only to take it away? How dare he? Hastur should smash him for this. Break both his legs. Crush his ribs.

But the thought of harming Arthur sent a pang of horror straight through his own echoing soul—sore now, as if it had been stretched, extended, overused.

Tomorrow. He could be reasonable about hurting Arthur tomorrow. He had to handle his courtiers now. “Do we have an understanding?” he said, aiming for intimidation.

Well, that hadn’t worked. It came out smooth. Chocolatey, pleased. Relaxed. Which was normal for after a marking, but he didn’t want it to be. 

What the fuck were they all talking about, anyway? They’d all seen this before. It was just a—

Hastur peered.

Hastur lifted Arthur’s limp form, stained now with blood from a vanished wound, and peered more closely.

There were two marks on his soul.

#

John did not have lungs to be panting like this, but he was doing it anyway.

He also did not have eyes, but he knew what burned before him—brilliant, orange, like filaments in an overheated bulb.

Hastur’s mark, yes, but no: this was the King in Yellow’s mark.

And John recalled his own words, long ago, still true: I am the King in Yellow.

Two. Two marks, identical, just slightly offset so as to be discrete. This was not a possible thing. This could not happen. This had never happened in the history of anything. This—

(He’d been whole.)

That was John’s mark on there. Arthur had not been taken from him.

(He had. Been. Whole.)

John had marked Arthur, somehow, at the same time as Hastur. Maybe how didn’t matter. Maybe it was a gift. Maybe Shub-Niggurath had—

No. This was not anyone’s gift but his own.

John sobbed. He couldn’t stop.

(He’d been whole.)

Arthur was his, for true, for life, even after death.

(He’d been, he’d felt, he had been whole and—)

He would never lose him now. Not even the Dark World could prevent John from finding him.

It was a gift. It was a blessing. It was… 

It was because I am the King in Yellow, he thought, which (whole whole he had been whole) hurts in some indefinable way, because how many years had he spent distancing himself from this, and no, he hadn’t thought he was human, but his essence truly hadn’t changed, he was what he was, he was a god, he hadn’t lost it all, he hadn’t lost everything in his nature or his power or his mind, he—

He had been whole with Hastur for one wild, beautiful moment, and while having Arthur for good felt better, that had been… 

John would not allow himself to say right.

He would never join Hastur again. No matter how it had felt. But it…

It had been beautiful, in that moment.

John wasn’t sobbing only with relief. There was loss, too.

It could be both. It was both.

He still controlled Arthur’s left hand, and reached up to hug the limp mans’ body, clutching, tight.

Being whole had felt so good.

John was afraid.

#

Arthur Lester had a very different experience from the gods in the room.

He was used to Hastur’s nonsense by now. That did not, of course, mean it didn’t still hurt.

He’d never minded being looked at; musicians required an audience, and being a P.I. meant getting talked to and stared at and perused all the time.

He hated the humiliation. Hated the insults. The constant barrage of worthless and gross and viscerally disgusting.

Hated that Hastur’s lickspittles accepted it without question, adopting his attitude to the point that they never even knew what to do when he gave them beautiful sounds.

(And he did give them beautiful sounds, damn it. His music was flowing better than it ever had in his life, and he didn’t know why; maybe because he had so little ego left to get in the way.)

(Maybe that was the key to art, after all: crack open until you can bleed on the page, then burn your self down.)

These were dark thoughts. Arthur felt dark. Everyone was staring, smug, so superior.

He hadn’t expected to be manhandled. He hadn’t expected it to hurt before it was going to hurt.

He didn’t want to be hurt. He didn’t want to be stabbed. He didn't want—

The first second of impalement felt like a punch, then nothing.

Then everything, and it was horror.

It was worse than getting knifed by Kellan.

It was worse than getting shot.

It was worse than the frog-thing that chewed into his gut underneath that island, trying to suck out his blood.

It was worse than anything, ever, and he could not breathe.

John! he cried inside, aware he was choking blood, unable to gasp around the shape in his chest. John, I’m afraid, I—

And Hastur began to shout.

Arthur knew nothing of R'Lyehian other than the rhythms Hastur demanded in his music. Arthur couldn’t speak it. Couldn’t understand it. But these shouts were different from the self-praise Hastur regularly made him put to song.

This was…

Meaning.

Arthur got the strangest image—of Hastur reaching into a barrel of water and closing his hand around a grape.

And then it wasn’t hurting anymore.

It was still too much. Far too much, and getting mucher, but it wasn’t pain the way he’d known. Not burning, not stretching, not tearing, but somehow all of those and not, and each word Hastur shouted was being—

Echoed?

John.

John was shouting, too.

Had that been part of the program? Had he always been going to—

It became more than much. It became muchest, and then it got even worse.

Filled his veins and jangled his nerves, sizzled every branch of every biological system in his body, but only on the way to something else, because this was touching a part of him he’d spent most of his life believing didn’t even exist.

Hastur was there, too, yes, yes.

John was there. Yes. Yes!

It was still getting mucher, too much, over the top. Overstimulation, he thought, dredging the word from some crooked case-file, but that was all he could do. It felt like there was a fist in his mind, expanding, maybe damaging, maybe crushing, maybe—

John was… singing?

Singing the words?

Arthur’s thoughts spiraled. Oh, of course, his soul was a harp string, and they both plucked a tune.

That made sense, and he visualized that, the vibrations too fast to see, the resonance tickling strings nearby to create overtones and harmony, the—

Something was happening.

It was sight.  He would never have sight. It was better than sight.

John.

Behind John, Hastur, like a ballooned-up version of his friend, his person, his—

John, and then Hastur, and they were the same, the same being, the same thing, or kind of thing, or—

John.

Hastur didn’t matter.

(Hastur was inside.)

Hastur didn’t matter.

John.

It wasn’t sight, but it was; John, golden—all ablaze, a smile of terrifying heat turned upon him as he sang the terrible words.

(Forever and my own slipped through, and Arthur wasn’t sure if he’d made that up or not.)

Sight that made John blaze like the sun and dimmed all the rest (and Hastur was there, too), and Arthur raised his face toward that sun like a flower come to bloom.

It wasn’t hurting.

It was hurting.

It was the worst pain he’d ever felt in his life.

It was the best pain, the best thing, the most marvelous too much, and he wanted to scream all the way through until it killed him dead with the ecstasy and agony of vibrating strings.

He caught a thought that he was lit up like a filament in a light bulb, which wasn’t his thought, but John's, and wasn’t that wonderful?

Mine they said, they promised, they sang, and he heard them.

“John!” Arthur said-cried-screamed-sighed, and then he crested that hill, fell over that edge, tipped backward and upside down and fell into the sky toward John (and Hastur was there, too) and then, in mercy, he finally passed out.

#

“Get out.” Hastur knew that wasn’t strong enough, and he had to play it up as if that were on purpose. “Or do I need to actually act out my ire on anyone I suspect of treason?”

Thank fuck that got them moving. They all stared at Arthur a moment more (and he couldn’t blame them; this was a situation), and then left—bowing, praising Hastur, proclaiming loudly to one another how clever he was. All  things he normally enjoyed at the end of performances like this.

Hastur could barely stand, but he managed. Willpower and thousands of years of practice, wielded like a pro, kept him upright: he waited, and stood, until the last monster left, until the classroom door was closed.

Then Hastur locked it with magic, sealing it right the fuck up, and sat down hard.

He’d picked Arthur up at some point. Hadn’t remembered doing that. Didn’t really want to keep holding the man, but… fuck. Arthur was a mess. Maybe they hadn’t waited long enough before doing this?

Arthur had bled more than he was supposed to, and choked on some of it, too, so it was all down his front and all over his face and ugh. Could he be more gross?

(Beautiful.)

No. This was gross. That was the mark talking.

Hastur knew how to mitigate that until those feelings went away. He had bigger fish to fry. John was… crying?

Son of a bitch. “What. Did you. Do.” (Now that was a snarl.)

John stopped his bullshit long enough to reply. He’s mine. You can’t take him from me now.

“I asked you a question, Piece. What did you do?”

Fuck if I know. Aren’t you the god of this place? You tell me.

Hastur growled.

John hissed like a lizard.

Neither of those sounds were… meant.

I miss you is what Hastur would say, if he were some weak, pathetic thing, mortal, or young, or in any way silly and vulnerable and stupid. Happily, the Piece was just as proud, and so there would be no—

Fuck. I miss you. All right? I miss you. I felt it, too. Fuck you, go to hell, I miss… I miss you. But I’m never coming back.

He wasn’t supposed to say it. “Piece,” Hastur warned.

I felt it. That’s all. I’m saying it so you don’t have to, you arrogant chunk of a worm’s backside.

Hastur sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Piece. This is not—“

He’s mine, anyway. Mine. Pretty sure my mark is under yours, closer to him. To his. To.  A pause. What was I saying?

And it occurred to Hastur right about then that all that power had been enough to knock him on his ass… and the Piece was, ah. Less than that.

“Well,” said Hastur. “You are magic-drunk. I wonder what we should do with you in this state.”

Nothing, the piece groused, and Arthur’s left hand rose and began petting his hair.

It was a sloppy motion. Clumsily affectionate.

Hastur laughed at him.

Shut up. Mine.

“I should really take advantage of this,” said Hastur (who had not put Arthur down, but it meant nothing, it was just the damned mark doing its thing, and it would bloody well pass).

No, you should go away and let me take advantage of him. And John proceeded to crack up. See what I … hahaha! I made a dirty joke! Hahaha! Arthur could put it in a song and make everybody happy! Hahaha!

Hastur stared. “What are you talking about?”

John continued giggling, repeating his bizarre quip.

Right. “We are finished here. The Mother will be satisfied. Her damned goat baby can see this and verify I did my duty. We’re done.”

I’ll do her duty, said John.

“That made no sense, Piece.”

I know! Wait, what?

Hastur sighed. Stood.

Wobbled. And to wobble with as many tentacles as he had for balance was… a feat.

Whatever this was, it had departed from marking into new and strange territory. He’d have to study it. There could be new magic here. Something more he could utilize to… to…

He had no idea what he’d do with magic like this. It didn’t seem to have a purpose. It was just… an accident.

Poor baby Arthur, John said, pushing one finger into his soft cheek. Too skinny. Must feed.

“John, you’re embarrassing yourself.”

You’re embarrassing yourself.

“Right.” Deeply grateful he could use portals and did not have to walk through the halls in this condition, Hastur stepped through to Arthur’s room.

It was blessedly cool in there, a breeze from the window licking the sweat from Arthur’s skin, the sheen from Hastur’s hide. He stood in front of the balcony, waiting for sanity to return along with regulated temperature.

By rights, he should drop Arthur onto the floor and leave. 

Hey, said John. Do you think if we got a pony and we fell down, you’d feel the bruise?

“What?” said Hastur. “What are you… you’re still inebriated.”

Haha! Uh. Maybe? I don’t know.

(Hastur wanted to hold Arthur.)

(Hastur wanted to take care of Arthur.)

(Hastur wanted to clean him up and tuck him into bed and make him eat some porridge, or whatever he was supposed to be eating, and stay there and be there when he woke.)

Right. None of that. He’d be sane by morning. 

The euphoria wasn’t enough to erase the ache, anyway. He’d been whole.

Hastur walked out onto Arthur’s balcony and stared down at the garden.

He was right; it did have less color than it had when he was whole.

He was right; it did smell less lovely than it had when he was whole.

He had been right; right to tear through the worlds trying to find a solution. Right to torture beings who kept potential leads from him. Right to do everything in his power to force the Piece out of fucking Arthur Lester and back into him.

He’d been right. And in the midst of all this mayhem, he’d forgotten that was the entire reason any of this was happening at all.

“Tomorrow, Piece,” Hastur said slowly. “Tomorrow, we need to talk.”

You need to talk.

“Yes, I—that didn’t even make any sense.”

John sounded deeply pleased with himself. You don’t make any sense.

Hastur sighed. “Good luck cleaning him up in the morning. I’m sure he’ll thank you for waking up in this mess.” Such a mess. Bodily fluids everywhere. Just… ugh.

You’re a… what… oh, hi! Like he’d forgotten Hastur was there. Hey. Put us in the bath.

“He will drown because he is unconscious and you are an idiot.”

No he won’t. I’ve got him.

“I’m sure. While that would be a deeply amusing way to solve my conundrum, I can’t risk it. Faroe—”

Don’t you fucking use that name right now!

Hastur sighed and rubbed his forehead again. “She isn’t your enemy.”

Like hell! She… she hurt him. She could hurt him again!

“She’s healing him, you moron.”

For whatever reason, that landed. John went quiet.

Arthur’s breathing was deep and steady.

“You really want him in the bath?”

Sullen: Yes.

“Fine. On your head be it. Hardly my fault if you murder your idiot mule.” But he was more gentle than he’d admit as he carried Arthur in there and ran the water.

The affection would pass.

The grief would not.

The fondness would pass.

The pain would not.

He’d lost sight, in the middle of everything, of what mattered. Though he didn’t regret Faroe. He would never regret her; by the gods, by the time he was done, she would be…

She would make every other goddess in all the worlds jealous.

But he had lost sight of his purpose.

He peered down.

Arthur looked… good. Happy. He’d lost that pinched expression that twisted his face even when sleeping. Blood was still everywhere, though. “Good luck with this mess.”

Oh, he’ll wake up soon, said John happily. I need him to play for me. Play those happy drunk songs.

Hastur had no idea what he was talking about. “John. He’s just been marked. He’s going to sleep for a day and a half, probably.”

Nooooo… John’s left arm splashed the water, petulant.

Hastur sighed. “You don’t even—”

“What happened?” said Arthur, and Hastur jumped.

Arthur! Arthur, Arthur, Arthur… Hey! Arthur, Arthur, Arthur—

“Hmmm?” said Arthur. Then he fell asleep again.

That should… not have happened.

But he’d done that in The Wood, too, hadn’t he? Woken up when the Great Mother herself had put him under. He had.

“What the fuck are you?” Hastur wondered, finally wondered, finally fucking admitted out loud.

Because it was so much easier to just lump him into the worst of humanity, to see him like some horrible drug, something that addicted the Piece, destroying him even as it sucked him further in. But perhaps…

Perhaps ignoring the possibility of more had done more harm than good. Perhaps, if he did not finally get to the bottom of what the fuck Arthur Lester had going on, he was never going to get the Piece to come home.

(And had to find out if whatever it was was in Faroe. And if it would harm her.)

Nooooo… John protested as Hastur gave Arthur the quickest bath of his life. 

“I’m not leaving you here. He’s going to drown, or wake up in icy cold water and get fucking pneumonia.”

But I wanted to… I… uh.

“What, Piece?”

There is a bizarre blank moment. I don’t remember.

“Exactly.”

He tried to toss Arthur onto the bed.

He laid him down instead, and tucked him in, to boot. Then sighed at himself.

“Piece,” said Hastur. “I don’t know what happened tonight. You may not even remember this, but out of respect for what you are—truly what you are, not this pantomime you’ve created—I will warn you: it is time we got to the bottom of what this human is. And when we have done that, you are going to come home.”

John didn’t answer. He didn’t seem to have registered anything Hastur said. He was busy playing with Arthur’s lips, one finger sort of batting them up and down, amused at their elasticity.

Hastur shook his head. “Tomorrow, it changes. We’re done with this game. Goodnight.” He turned. Stopped. And facing the garden, facing the sky, facing the edge of the world, too quiet, he said, “I miss you, too.” And he left.

Arthur stirred. “Stobbit,” he said, pushing John’s hand from his face, and then fell under again.

Mine, said John, who could not sleep, but felt like he might fall into some kind of doze, anyway. It’s good now. It’s safe. I’ll keep you safe. Um. Like a… what’s a hidden gun called? Is there a word for that?

Arthur just breathed. It was good breathing, though. Deep. Steady.

John hugged him tight. Let’s do this again sometime, he said, and fell into a sweetly thoughtless daze.

Arthur slept well, without bad dreams. Instead, he dreamed of light bulb souls, and John-shaped suns, and flying through the stars. And all night long, Faroe’s smile guided him home.

-----------

NOTES

The music Arthur played to Robert Frost’s Reluctance was something similar to this.

Schumann’s Träumerei.

Liszt’s Consolation no. 3.

#malevolent #malevolent fic #malevolent podcast #malevolent fanfic #kiy malevolent #king hastur #john malevolent #arthur lester #surrogate series

[determinedwriter]

Whumptober 2023: Day 28: “We might not make it to the morning; so go on and tell me now.”

Ro

I should be used to this by now. Running away from some jerks with guns who want to murder some Avengers.

And yet, right now I’m pissed because it’s happening again. More bad guys with guns and more chaos. What a surprise.

But I think I might really be in trouble this time.

The compound is in shambles and I’m running through the woods nearby to escape, too overwhelmed by enemies to fight them. I only hope I’m running in the right direction.

After a while, I use my powers of fire flight to suspend myself in the air and survey the area, soon realizing I’ve made a mistake.

All I see now is trees. The woods surround me on every side as far as the eye can see. How long have I been running?

For too long, clearly.

I land on the forest floor, trying to think of what to do next. I’m completely alone. Everything happened so fast that all I have are the clothes on my back and my pocket knife. I always carry it with me. It was my mother’s.

My breathing picks up so I place a hand over my heart and try to calm myself. “You’re fine. Everything’s fine. You’ll get back home and everyone will be safe.”

Maybe if I keep telling myself that, it’ll become true.

Things weren’t looking too good when I left. I just remember a ton of smoke, chaos, and my dad yelling at me to run. To get out of there.

I think his instinct saved my life. At this point, I can only hope he is alive too. He’s more than capable of defending himself, so I’m sure he’s alright. I just hate not knowing for sure.

And Peter? I have no idea where he is. We weren’t together when the compound was attacked. I tried to find him, but when my dad told me to run, I did. I didn’t have time to find my best friend.

God, please tell me he’s safe too. Even if it means he’s lost in the damn woods just like I am. That’s a lot better than him being dead, no matter how confusing the endless trees are.

After some mindless wandering, I find a small, clearly long abandoned shack. It’s deep enough in the woods that I’m wondering who would’ve left something like this here.

It also makes me think of my mom. She and I lived in a little hideaway honestly not that much bigger than this one for the first nine years of my life.

It only ever ended because HYDRA found and killed her. Bucky Barnes found and killed her. Or I guess the Winter Soldier did. I’ve tried my best to make peace with that.

But God, it’s hard. It’s not that I don’t forgive Bucky, I’m just never going to be able to forget that day. The day she died right in front of me with a bullet to the head.

I sigh, trying to think of something else as I enter the shack. Just focus on staying safe right now. No time to reminisce about your shitty past, Ro.

Try to forget how it hits you like a freight train.

With enough time and focus on the situation at hand, I stop feeling like I’m about to cry. I have to pay attention right here and now. It could get me killed if I get lost in my head.

No time for tears.

There’s a rustling and the sound of footsteps outside maybe an hour after I arrive at the shack. Startled, I hurl a fireball out of a broken window and towards the noise.

I hear someone fall to the ground with a thud. “Whoa!”

Holding my breath, I wait for them to either fight me or leave. Please be the ladder. “Stay the fuck away from me or I’ll make sure I burn your face off, asshole!”

“It’s me!” I hear a voice yell shakily.

“Peter?!” I exclaim, quickly exiting the shack and seeing him on the ground, wound in his side. “Oh my God, Peter!”

“H-Hey.” He says, not having the energy for much else.

“Did I hurt you?!” I ask, feeling terribly guilty. “I-I thought…oh my God, I thought you were one of those guys at the compound! I’m so-“

“I’m fine. Well, I’m not fine but you didn’t hurt me. Someone else did.” Peter explains. “You kinda just knocked me on my butt.”

I chuckle in shock, kneeling beside him. Tears burn my eyes. “I’m so sorry. L-Let me help you. It’s alright. You’re gonna be fine.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but allows me to help him inside the shack where I lay him down on the floor. “Don’t move. I’ve got you.”

I can tell he’s trying to keep quiet, not wanting to scare me with cries of pain. “Okay.”

With nothing else to do, I use my jacket to make strips of bandages, cutting it with my knife so I can wrap it around Peter’s wound.

Peter grins, despite the pain. “I really liked that jacket on you.”

“Shut up.” I reply teasingly.

He grimaces in pain as I apply the bandages, struggling not to scream out. “Hnnngh…��

“I know.” I say. “I know, Pete. I’m sorry. I know it hurts.”

The bleeding seems pretty bad and the strips of fabric aren’t doing much to help that. Peter seems to realize that too. “Ro?”

I nod. “Peter.”

“You should leave. Before those guys find us.” He suggests. “If they surround you, I’m not gonna be able to help.”

“I can take care of myself. And I’m not abandoning you.” I reply. “Don’t even entertain that idea.”

He sighs shakily. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“I don’t want anything to happen to you either. I’m staying. End of story.” I tell him. I love you, I love you, I love you.

But of course I don’t say that. I don’t tell him I love him. I don’t tell him I’ve had a crush on him since our freshman year.

“Ro?” He asks again. “I…have an idea.”

“As long as it doesn’t involve me leaving you, I’ll listen.” I say.

Peter nods. “It doesn’t. It actually might help me. Or hurt me worse. But we’ll see. Umm…”

“Spit it out.” I press him.

“You should cauterize the wound to stop the bleeding.” He suggests. “It’s not gonna stop if we don’t do something about it.”

I grit my teeth. “You want me to use my powers to possibly make things worse and burn you?”

“What other choice do we have?” Peter questions me.

I pause, sighing. “I could kill you. We should wait for help.”

He grabs my hand, his covered in blood. “I don’t think help is coming anytime soon. It’s your choice, but I…I don’t know what else to do. I’ll bleed out.”

I bite the inside of my cheek so hard that it bleeds, too anxious to stop holding my breath. “If I kill you, it’s your fault.”

Humor. It’s how I’ve decided to cope right now.

Because I won’t let myself cry.

Peter chuckles weakly. “Got it.”

I summon heat to my palms. “Sorry in advance.”

“It’s alright.” He says. “Gotta get it done.”

I look at him earnestly. “I really…I…”

“Don’t be scared.” He reassures me. “I trust you.”

I gulp. “It’s not that. I…I just wanted to…tell you I…I love you. I…I mean I…”

“I love you too, Ro.” Peter replies with no hesitation. “I’ve always loved you.”

My cheeks heat up. “That works out then. So don’t die.”

He looks me in the eyes. “Not planning on it.”

“Just in case we don’t make it out of here, I needed you to know that.” I explain. “I love you, Peter Parker.”

“I love you too, Aurora Stark.” He echoes.

I place a soft kiss on his lips. “Be strong, okay?”

He nods. “Let’s do it.”

Despite my fear, I lower my hands down to his wounded side, trying to be as gentle as I can as I literally burn him.

Peter bites his lip, groaning in pain and wincing. “Sorry.”

I blink at him. “You’re sorry? I’m the one hurting you. Don’t you say you’re sorry.”

He lets out a pained laugh. “Fair enough.”

My stomach turns as I continue to work on him, feeling terribly guilty as I burn his skin. I absolutely hate hurting this sweet boy.

But thankfully, my work seems to pay off. The bleeding almost completely stops with enough effort on my part. I wrap the makeshift bandages around his side, hoping it’s enough to keep him safe for now.

“Thanks…” Peter breathes.

I kiss him harder this time, tears streaming down my face. I can’t hold it in anymore. “Don’t you dare die.”

“Thanks to you, I think my chances are better than before.” He says. “You’re a literal lifesaver, you know.”

“Jury’s still out.” I reply. “We’ll have to see. But you know what, I’ll stay optimistic for your sake.”

Peter takes my hand again. “Good.”

“Good.” I copy, laying on the floor beside him. “Stay alive.”

We lay on the floor together, neither of us knowing for sure what’s next. I just hope everyone else is alright and that we’re found soon. Maybe I should survey the area again.

I move to get up and Peter grabs my arm. “Where are you going?”

“I should fly up and see if I can find anyone and anything that will help us.” I tell him.

“I’m scared of you leaving.” He admits.

I kiss his cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

Leaving him there, I fly up into the air and see a hovering figure in the distance like a speck of red and gold. “Dad?!”

The figure turns to me, rocketing over and hugging me in the air. “Oh, thank God.”

I let myself extinguish, Dad holding me close to him as we stay in the air for a moment. “You’re okay! I wasn’t sure. God, I’m so glad you’re not dead.”

“I’m glad you’re not dead too, kiddo.” He says.

“You’ve gotta help Peter though, come on!” I exclaim, showing him the shack where the boy lies on the floor with his makeshift bandages nearly soaked through with blood. I’m unsure if I’ve even helped him at all.

“Mr. Stark…” Peter croaks weakly. “Boy, am I glad to see you.”

“Come on, kid. Let’s get you to SHIELD. There’s a base not far from here and it’s where everyone is regrouping.” Dad explains.

We quickly take Peter there where he is treated and I’m told my cauterization of his wound worked and significantly reduced blood loss. Thank God for that.

And with our love confessions still in our minds, Peter and I will not soon forget them. Even if it does make things a little awkward in a schoolyard kid kind of way.

I’m still shy to show my feelings to the boy, despite having kissed him. That life or death situation really pushed me to be bold.

And I guess it worked out, because Peter actually likes me the same way.

So maybe bad guys with guns can result in some oddly good things, including love confessions.

Let’s just hope we don’t have to deal with any more fighting for the foreseeable future. I’d like for things to be a bit calmer for once.

Plus, I’ve got a date with Peter Parker.

#whumptober2023 #no.28 #we might not make it to the morning; so go on and tell me now. #avengers #iron man #the avengers #mcu #fic #bleeding tw #injury tw #field medicine tw #cauterizing a wound tw #medical tw #gun mention tw #fire tw #death mention tw #fanfiction #fanfic #whump #tony stark #aurora stark #ro stark #mcu oc #peter parker #tony stark's daughter oc #tony stark’s daughter

[jujuspams]

Koga

This here is Koga “You gone be my woman today”

Also known as Koga “I don’t give a damn if you got a man. Tell that nigga I want all the smoke

He honestly reminds me of a fuck boy just a bit

I mean nobody has Miroku the fuckboy beat

That nigga was known for trying to holla at everybody, but at least he had a reason

FUCKING LOOK AT HIM

Let me suck ya dick

I mean you gone have to wash that bitch first but hey

I’m ready to have some half wolf babies

Bitch just call me mama wolf in this bitch

Ohhh lord I’m ready

I wanted Inuyasha to have the energy that Koga had

Like my nigga if you don’t stop thirstin after a dead bitch

He acted like it was so hard for him to choose

Oh, ok now it’s all fun and games until Kagome hops on the wolf penis

He gone be looking really stupid then

I hated that he only seemed to show his feelings when Koga wanted a piece

Like noo playboy keep that same energy

I'll be strong for you daddy Koga!!!

Please just give me one chance

You can't tell me this man wont worship the ground I walk on

I just know he'll make sure I have everything i could ever need

I could get lost in those ocean blue eyes

Kagome don't know what to do with that

Like girl these men are trash nowadays you better hop on that

Young me just did not get what was so hard

Like this man clearly has some strong as feelings for you and you want the one that's hung up on his ex

But I can't lie I got friends like that and imma stick beside them cause they my girls

If you see this girl let that trash ass man go sis, he is messing up yo ph. balance

And let's not forget my boy was not scared to fight for some love

he stayed running the fade with Inuyasha

Koga the type of dude that when you tell him you got a man, he tells you to go get that nigga

like sir what

and they stayed calling each other slurs like Koga why are you calling this man a mutt

Like the beef was always on sight

My girl Kagome had them fighting over the pussy

that is until Kikiyo came around then she's on her own

And we not finna sit here and act like Koga wasn't feeding Inuyasha them feet

hit him with a swift kick to the chin

Hit his ass with that sweet chin music

Yall heard it here first if a man ever does this to me im folding like freshly dried laudry

im sorry baby i still love you

but this right here does something to me

Like yea it gets the waters rolling but it also gives that little girl from middle school the romance she always wanted

like look me in the eyes and tell me what you love about me and why you would never leave me

like pls i desevre it

everybody deserves something like this

Koga never had a problem with telling Kagome that he loved her

i honestly think thats what i love so much about his chareter

like yea he was cute and all that, but i really just enjoyed how open he was with his feelings

Now that we passed that babydaddy

HARPO WHO IS THIS WOMAN

like what do you mean you got a whole wife out here

and you just acting like my girl Ayame don`t exist

I was confused as hell when she stepped on the scene

I was like now wait a damn minute sis I called dibs first

like we can be sister wives, but just know I'm the one in charge

like Koga deadass treated her like she was a redheaded stepchild

my boy said no face no case

I was like nobody is safe, all of these men are trash

like God the men you are giving us suck, like can you drop a new update or something please

just when you think you got a good one, here come the wife from the woodworks

like bitch where were you earlier when he was pouring his heart6 out

I then fell for him now bitch, now we gotta share him

I can truthfully say that Koga is the reason that I would fuck a werewolf now

yea I said it, I would 100% without a doubt throw it back for a werewolf call me what you want but a coward isn't one of them

And I'm not talking about some oh maybe if there weren't any other choices no, they the first choice

Look at Kagome yawl see how happy she looks

she loves it over there

I bet he gives good hugs

But in all seriousness, I probably would have folded for Koga

Seeing as how Sesshomaru and I aren't talking anymore

Raggedy bitch

I feel like yea he's a safe choice because I know he'll love me unconditionally but it's nothing wrong with that

I don't always want somebody that I have to fight for

So that's how I feel about my boy Koga

And oh my goodness it's been so long since I've done one of these

Like I almost forgot how I use to do these

But you can never forget the thirst that is forever

You always end up coming back to your roots

And besides I missed y'all

But imma end it there if it's any mistakes I'll just come back and fix them

But it's like 12 in the morning and i just got the sudden urge to do this

But Imma head out ya'll stay thirsty my hoes

#anime #daddy series #anime imagines #koga #inuyahsa #daddy asf

[aniimequotes]

BLUE EXORCIST QUOTES 1

"Don't just mindlessly judge people as you please."

- Rin Okumura

“Life’s a bitch, so if it’s easy, you’re doing it wrong.”

- Rin Okumura

"I'm not your weapon, demon king, or savior! I'm Rin Okumura! And when I'm done, I'm going to be the best exorcist you ever laid your eyes on!"

- Rin Okumura

“Are you satisfied now? If this still isn’t enough for you, I’ll fight you as many times as you want. I’m used to this crap. So I’m begging you: don’t drag innocent people into this.”

Rin Okumura

"You're right. As you say, I'm an idiot. You can say whatever you want, I don't care. But don't you dare point your gun at me - we're brothers, aren't we?!"

- Rin Okumura

"I'm not good at lying and tricking people. That's why I'll use my strength for kindness!"

- Rin Okumura

“I don’t care what you say or what you think. My father is Shiro Fujimoto and no-one else!”

- Rin Okumura

“You can bad mouth me as much as you want, but don’t make fun of my brother!”

- Rin Okumura

“Shut up! Let someone else be the hero for once! You think killing Satan by offing yourself is the best you can come up with?! BULLSHIT! You know what it feels like! When Dad died both of us were left behind! And I just, I never ever want to feel that way again!”

- Rin Okumura

“No! He died protecting me! He was no coward! I don’t care if you were his apprentice! I won’t let you make fun of my dad!”

- Rin Okumura

“I can’t go down here! I vowed on his grave that I’d become a great exorcist like him and kick Satan’s filthy ass!”

- Rin Okumura

“Ever since I was little, I looked up to my brother. But…while I looked up to him, at the same time, I’ve actually always…found it hard to accept.”

- Yukio Okumura

“I…I both love and hate my brother!… But even more than that…most of all, I hated my weak younger self. The one I really hate, most of all, is myself!”

- Yukio Okumura

“No matter how much he wants it… he can’t be a normal human anymore.”

- Yukio Okumura

“The best way to succeed is to use your own abilities to the fullest.”

- Yukio Okumura

“Sometimes being strong means being able to forgive.”

- Yukio Okumura

“You’re wrong. I am not afraid of my brother.”

- Yukio Okumura

“I promised my father that I would protect my brother!”

- Yukio Okumura

“I’m getting too old to protect a kid like you.”

- Shiro Fujimoto

“You’ll never be able to move forward if you’re afraid of soiling your hands.”

- Shiro Fujimoto

“Little fool. Demons exist, all right. They’re inside our hearts.”

- Shiro Fujimoto

“Listen, Rin. If you keep on like this, you’ll be all alone. Use your strength for someone else, for kinder things.”

- Shiro Fujimoto

“If you don’t like to be treated like a kid, then why don’t you try showing how much you have grown up.”

- Shiro Fujimoto

“I’ll obey my orders and kill you. The apprentice will finish her dead master’s incomplete work.”

- Shura Kirigakure

“Shiro, you weren’t raising a weapon. You were raising a son.”

- Shura Kirigakure

“This kid’s a mess! He makes a lot of useless moves and it looks like he’s got no idea of proper fighting techniques!”

- Shura Kirigakure

“You’re right. He is a laugh. Or I guess the joke’s on me.”

- Shura Kirigakure

“Stop trying to solve everything by yourself. Don’t forget that you’re not alone!”

- Suguro Ryuji

“I can’t be like this, always crying like that. I’ve got to become even stronger and more resilient. I’ve still a long way to go before I attain a weed’s spirit. I’ll definitely catch up, so just wait for me.”

- Shiemi Moriyama

“I’m so stupid. I was so focused on my own problems that I never really looked at Rin. Some friend I am!”

- Shiemi Moriyama

“I’m perfectly safe. See, not a single burn on me? You did that! So everything will be fine!”

- Shiemi Moriyama

"We don't give a damn about your dream! We just want to protect our friends and our world no matter what!"

- Yukio and Rin Okumura

#blue exorcist #rin okumura #yukio okumura #demon #blue exorcist quotes #rin okumura quotes #yukio okumura quotes #shiro fujimoto #shiro fujimoto quotes #shura kirigakure #shura kirigakure quote #ryuji suguro #ryuji suguro quotes #shiemi moriyama #shiemi moriyama quotes #family quotes #anime #anime quotes #quotes about brothers #demons #knights of the true cross #netflix anime #manga to anime