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eldritch-queern-magicat · 3 months

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It seems we really had picked up spiritual parasites or something. Because after Era had released the tension we've been holding onto for far too long, we really felt those psychological toxins like they were real on some nonphysical level of reality. He used our fire to burn them up and devour them. It was a bit like after a lifetime of being fed on, he said, “Hey, give that back.” Then he just took what they'd stolen back, and they were reduced to ashes. It wouldn't be the first time he technically just ate an entity, of course. He did that for a friend in real life before COVID, who had a quite nasty being attached and causing strife. He basically trapped the asshole in a disposable coffee cup, with the lid. And then it was magic blender time.

To be fair, we're an agnostic Christopagan at this point. We sometimes have to suspend our disbelief because we know ritual helps through, even if nothing else, at least the placebo effect. So we just roll with it, and Era was set on getting the asshole spirit gone asap. And yes, our friend in that situation felt better consistently afterwards. So whether anyone believes this or not, the real world effects can't be ignored.

The little parasites screamed the whole time he burned them to ashes that Saturday night. It was almost fun watching parasites realize this mortal host isn't going to just exorcise them and call it done. Though to be honest, I don't think I've ever heard of a living human outright devouring and digesting the nasties that attach to and feed on them. Let's call that part of being faekin/otherkin, plus that very bloody and absolutely terrifying childhood. And then I also come from a formerly strong line of hunters on Dad's side of the family. So we saw this as simply a case of eat or be eaten. And I really didn't want to allow them to go looking for someone or something else to feed on and hurt.

...Oh, right, we started getting into Soul Eater at one point after Mom died. That actually ñmight have had something to do with it. I wouldn't be shocked. Either way, we do this now when it comes to serious threats. But honestly, it's more of a last resort. We like to avoid it wherever possible, because it's really not a nice thing to do. It's actually sad for us, because that was another entity that existed. And now it's just gone, because it made itself too much of a threat within my vicinity.

And then suddenly, with the parasites gone, all the voices of paranoia we used to have to cope with were also just gone. Our mind has been so calm and quiet since Saturday night. We've finally managed to chill ourselves out and it feels amazing. Our attention span is starting to recover faster again. Because I spent a couple hours last night writing about the last few months in my little system journal. I wrote a lot of pages. And I had to stop and go to bed before I even got to the ask Era so excitedly wrote a whole several page essay for. It also got him to open up about our brainwashing on our Facebook account, where we have the most people we know from real life, including some family.

Honestly, we're too happy about the ask for words to really do it justice. When we finally figured out what we wanted this side blog to be, it was partially to help track our mental state. But we also hoped that if others found themselves here, that what we shared would also help them if they needed it. Getting that ask helped us in return because it made us realize exactly where we started versus where we are now. Hindsight is 20/20, after all.

Era spent about a day writing that essay. It was, in fact, several pages long in the Libre Office text document. None of us ever actually thought that posting about integrating through dronification would get very much interest or attention, since dronification is a very specific kind of kink. We knew it was an odd concept for healing to start with. Chalk it up to us always trying to think outside of the box, I guess. So honestly, we're kinda... I don't know the right word for it right now. But we feel so warm and fuzzy inside from it.

Remembering things is easy now, for those parts that are also the drone. It's really, actually not just completely shrouded in our mental fog anymore. We don't have to worry about amnesia between us. I was writing in the journal from more than just what I got after fusing with our introject of the original Lion-O (yeah, this is probably what prompted a lot of changes from my source). I was also writing from the book of memories we put back in order and rebound. It's really great to have everything we've gotten so far organized so neatly.

-Catra 🧨😻

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almostcolorfulcolor · 10 months

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Death Note, meet Supernatural- CHAPTER 1

Relationships: L (Death Note)/Reader, L (Death Note)/Original Female Character(s)

Summary: What if Death Note existed in a world with Winchesters in it? Would L finally have the evidence he needs to prove Light is Kira? How will L fare in a world where monsters are real and not every case is solvable by him? Lucky for him, there's a hunter here to work side-by-side with him.

Chapter Summary: With data from L's investigation, it wouldn't have taken long for a hunter to find the mystery of Death Note, find the Shinigami and Kira, and ganking them both. If you're curious about how it plays out, read on!

Chapter 1: Japan, here I come!

I open my burning eyes. Tears blur my vision as I try to forget the images from my latest nightmare. My boys…my poor boys…“I will bring you both back”, I promise…for over the 100th time. Shaking off my thoughts, I get ready for the day mentally ticking off my checklist for my trip to Japan. The first truly big nuisance since Dick Roman, this Kira, was killing off criminals left and right.

It was not my typical case but something about Kira’s requirements of killing was supernatural. He needed a name and face to kill. With just those, he could kill anyone from anywhere. Which human could do that? And even if they could, the means had to be supernatural. Perhaps they made a demon deal, or Kira used a cursed object. Not only that, there was perhaps someone else with Kira’s power who only needed a face to kill. 3 Japanese police officers dropped dead during a TV broadcast- names unknown.

The world’s security agencies were stumped. The number 1 detective in the world, L, was working on it but even he hadn’t been able to put a stop to Kira's killings till now. I could only assume it was because of the supernatural factor. Which made it my responsibility. What the hell those Japanese hunters were doing I didn’t know- and I couldn’t find out because not many hunters trusted my little Team Free Will after the whole opening of the Devil’s Gate, starting the Apocalypse and releasing the Leviathans into the world. Couldn’t blame them tbh.

It did make this whole investigation pretty hard though. If only Sam was here…This was my problem. I had become so tangled up with the Winchesters that it was impossible for me to not think about them for more than 10 minutes. I was on my own now. Alone. A lone wolf. And I was about to feel like absolute shit once I landed in Japan and my social awkwardness came out to play in a foreign country whose language I wasn't familiar with. Fingers crossed.

—One plane ride later—

First stop, Wakoucha at the airport cafe. Overpriced but worth every yen. After a couple of sips, I got my bearings and hauled ass to the hotel the FBI director set me up at. Presidential suite, of course. Exorcising a demon outta his brother would go a long way.

A ping on my laptop draws my attention. A video call from the guy himself. Answering it, I say, “Hey, I just got to—” when he makes a shushing gesture. I pipe down, curious to see what he’s on about. He holds up a piece of paper for me to read. Surprisingly, I can read it perfectly. Which means someone must have taken the pain to write it inverted. There’s no doubt what it is. At my nod, he promptly sets fire to the paper with a lighter, gives me a thumbs up and ends the call.

Well, then. No time to waste.

I change into the charming suit that makes me look like a cinnamon roll, idiots never see it coming when I gank them. All geared up I go to my FBI-issued car (I miss Baby) and head up to meet the famous L and the officially “disbanded” taskforce.

—Time Skip—

The building is quite ordinary from the outside. The same old grey skyscraper with the corporate soul-sucking vibe. Somewhere inside there is a group of people with whom I will be catching a killer with supernatural powers. L’s right-hand man was informed of my arrival and he was waiting for me right as I step in the doors. He’s completely covered from head to toe so that I cannot even get one glimpse of his skin. The only thing I can say is he’s tall. The dude’s just standing there until I clear my throat and speak, “Verification?”. Nodding, he starts-“Jefferson” and I finish-“Starship”.

Codes confirmed, he wordlessly leads me down the lobby. The security inside is no joke. When the detectors beep, he gestures to me to upturn my pockets. Knowing there’s no way out of this, I take out the couple of guns and knives I had on me. He even confiscates my mobile phone. The holy water’s filled in a disposable plastic bottle so I can easily take it past the checkpoint. No way I could’ve broken in here on my own. I can’t help but feel like a dumb kid who doesn’t know the hell she’s doing. Before, with Sam and Dean, it was just natural to feel confident and self-assured. I try to channel some of that right now and attempt to make conversation. “Call me Anne (Pick your fake name). Pleased to meet you. How’s the case coming along sir? Any new leads since we last talked?” To my credit, my voice only wavers for 5 seconds max. The guy gives me a side glance but doesn’t respond. Not to be discouraged any more than I already am, I barrel on. “So I’ve been following this case like everybody and I already have a couple of theories- I can’t share them yet- but I’d like to ask you something about L. I’ve heard he’s a bit…moody and I don’t want to butt heads with him on the investigation or make him feel like I’m taking over. Any words of advice on how to make this smooth sailing?”

Silence. Fine then. I’ve already given too much power to him. Now it’s time to be all tough and laconic myself. We take the elevator and stop several floors up. My heart is fluttering as a tall dude leads me to a set of doors and just throws them open. Every head snaps my way. Well, shit.

I flashback to 1st grade when I changed schools. The teacher was mean and made me stand in front of the class and introduce myself. I hated her then and I hate the tall dude now. I turn to glare at him to find out he’s already left. Turning to face my audience, I wave and give a sheepish smile. I know I just look like a dork. God, what��s wrong with me? When did I suddenly become a schoolgirl? These guys will never take me seriously now. Damn it.

I jump when a voice pulls me out of my self-criticism, “Who are you? How did you get in?” It’s a guy about Bo…60 years old pointing a gun at me. Nearly everyone is except a couple of boys. I start to answer but another voice cuts me off. A warm, gravelly, soothing voice. “She’s our newest member.” It takes me a moment to realize the speaker is this cute little weirdo sitting in a big chair in front of a gigantic screen. Seriously, just wow. A moment of appreciation is required here. This guy is soooooo cute. I drink in his features- his big bambi eyes, his chaotic raven hair that I long to feel, his perfect mouth as he pops in a marshmall- “We have to tolerate her for now as the FBI has forced her upon us”, the said mouth pipes up. And just like that my fantasies take a sharp turn and I see my fist connecting with his teeth and his perfect mouth bloody.

Feeling sufficiently insulted, I snark back, “Shut the hell up, asshole. Like I’m thrilled to be forced to work with a bunch of incompetent jackasses who haven’t been able to catch a pathetic killer in months. The headquarters had to send in a babysitter to mind the greatly overrated L. Make sure you give me the case report before you choke to death stuffing your cakehole and do Kira’s work for him.”

His eyes narrow and I ain’t backing down. Let’s show him who’s boss.

A/N:

Thanks for reading my first work! More chapters to come- I've got the plot ready, hope you enjoy it :)

(Please reblog and comment if you please- they fuel my passion. Constructive criticism and genuine praise always help too!)

Until next time! CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

#l lawliet #l death note #l lawliet x reader #l x reader #supernatural #supernatural reader insert #hunter reader #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester #light yagami #misa amane #death note fanfiction #death note anime #death note oc

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waraningyo · 3 months

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𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗖𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗜𝗡𝗙𝗢 𝗦𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗧.

𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗘 : kugisaki nobara ( 釘崎・野薔薇 ).

𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗘 𝗠𝗘𝗔𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚 :

kugisaki nobara ( 釘崎・野薔薇 ) —

in kugisaki ( 釘崎 ) , 'kugi' ( 釘 ) means "nail", while 'saki' ( 崎 ) refers to that of a "cape" or "promontory".

in nobara ( 野薔薇 ), 'no' ( 野 ) means "field" or "wild", while 'bara' ( 薔薇 ) means "rose".

therefore, nobara is understood to mean "wild rose" and coupled with kugisaki's meaning of "cape of nails" loosely giving a very good mix of both strength and delicacy.

𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗔𝗦 : kugisaki ( 釘崎 ), very few have earned the right to call her by her first name.

𝗘𝗧𝗛𝗡𝗜𝗖𝗜𝗧𝗬 : asian ( japanese ).

𝗧𝗛𝗥𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗡𝗦 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗛𝗔𝗩𝗘 𝗡𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗢𝗟𝗗 𝗔𝗡𝗬𝗢𝗡𝗘 :

一。 what with the way she indulges her more luxuriant and materialistic side, anyone who didn't know her ( and even those who do ) would think that she's owned her debit card ( slightly bedazzled and stylized with press on jewels: colored rose pink + a light shade of green + glittery silver ) all of her life. but no, the debit card she occasionally maxes out happens to be her very first. she isn't so flippant as to not necessarily tell anyone this, as much as it isn't their business to know. 二。 she's never been much to tell itadori and fushiguro of the one time wherein she slipped into a creek's shallow waters near her obā-san's home, because at age 8 she endeavored to save a stray kitten that'd managed to fall in. she has her softness, but she can't live with the fact of it being so very on display. 三。 like an ample number of teenaged girls her age, a bit assertive in their approach to the opposite sex / that much more susceptible to scaring them off, kugisaki nobara has never been kissed. it begs a deep understanding of why no one needs know this. she'd end up cursing and subsequently exorcising them herself.

𝗧𝗛𝗥𝗘𝗘 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗖𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗦 𝗗𝗢𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗜𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗜𝗥 𝗙𝗥𝗘𝗘 𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗘 :

一。 when you're raised in a tight-knit, traditionalist, and closed ( minded ) off village on the outskirts of the city proper, endless green a sore sight for miles: being taught jujutsu in secrecy by your obā-san and when you finally spread your wings to live it up big in the city you'd have so many dreams about as a young child — for as long as you could remember, you end up gaining a deep appreciation for traveling and sightseeing. since moving from her obā-san's village to tōkyō, she's spent much of her time exploring and she loves stumbling upon new shops or boutiques, food-stand vendors, and etc. 二。 it's no secret that kugisaki holds a great fondness for shopping, splurging, indulging herself materialistically whenever she can. the finer things in life are what she, in all her girlhood, is deserving of. nothing more, nothing less! 三。aside from her more luxuriant hobby in shopping, kugisaki has a secret love for photography and scrapbooking. she understands the fleetingness of moments, of people, you'd like to hold onto — hardly one to be hung up on nostalgia, she still feeds her sentimental streak in a very quiet way.

𝗦𝗜𝗫 𝗣𝗘𝗢𝗣𝗟𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗖𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗦 / 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘𝗦 :

she adores maki-senpai, she's learning that gojo-sensei is a sensei worth looking up to ( unlike the ones she had as a child ), itadori and fushiguro have seats in her life of their own volition and it's enough for her that she allows them to stay. her obā-san is deeply, deeply loved for obvious reasons. she loves to gossip with geto-sensei.

𝗧𝗪𝗢 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗖𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗥𝗘𝗚𝗥𝗘𝗧𝗦 :

一。 she's rarely one to go back on any decisive action, thought, or belief she has. she's rigid in her own way, stubborn to a definitive fault, and she acknowledges that she has this in common with the villagers of her hometown. i'd say her biggest regret is not showing more empathy ( this isn't to say that she's void of it, but rather the opposite ) than she could have. should have. she's only human, she isn't faultless despite her carefully crafting a contradicting persona, and one thing she regrets is not swapping contact information with fumi before she boarded the train for tōkyō when she had the chance. 二。 she regrets not visiting saori's home in the beginning: where it once stood, after finding out one day, with fumi, that it'd had been bulldozed. she was angry at the villagers and too caught up in a childish ( yet not child-like ) grief and it took her a while to muster up the courage to visit it after her grief period was over with. it took lots of coaxing with ice cream, smash bro matches, and slumber parties, + her own courage for her to face the ghost of her most precious village memory.

𝗧𝗪𝗢 𝗣𝗛𝗢𝗕𝗜𝗔𝗦 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗖𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗛𝗔𝗦 :

一。 its symptoms in her isn't severe enough to be categorized too extensively as a phobia, per se, but the thought of being alone terrifies her secretly. she can count on her hand how many people she considers close enough to be friends or acquaintances, and it's not many. for as long as she could remember, she's felt alone in her village despite physically being around others: it's a type of disassociation that perhaps helped her understand just what was seemingly wrong with everyone else, though. 二。 in congruency with her loneliness, she has a fear of being forgotten. she's always stuck out just enough to leave her mark on people she's met and places she's been, and even sand has foot markings in it until they eventually fade. but that's the thing: becoming just a memory that'd eventually fade with time, distance, or any combination of it secretly rattles her. the people in her life aren't many, though she's content with who she has, and she'd love to keep them.

tagged by : @nvictive, thank you for this! it was cute and fun. tagging : @duefault ( for maki! ), @vesselmade, @akujisenri, @sugurau, @dontm0ve, @gohjuo, @fshguro, @cultfed, @griefbled ( for toge! ).

#🌹、study: 六.⠀ 웃⠀ about.#🌹 、study.⠀ 웃⠀ headcanon(s).#this was fun to do. >:) it got sorta long ....... my bad!#long post /

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ventiskies · 3 years

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When he rejects you | Chongyun, Scaramouche, Albedo

a/n: hello friends!! i apologize for my somewhat disappearance TwT im currently having exam season but i couldnt help but write something for my favorite three (and yes, scara is there... and honestly, I don't know when I started simping for him either but you can now call me a future scaramouche haver >:)) so not a request, but do enjoy !! <3 (apologies if there are any errors!!)

pairing: chongyun x gn! reader, scaramouche x gn! reader, albedo x gn! reader (platonic)

Chongyun

★ Chongyun, Xingqiu and you had been best friends since you were kids. And although you were a trio, you and Chongyun had always known each other much longer.

★ If your life were a book, it would be a sweet childhood best friends growing up together genre, something that often piqued Xingqiu’s interests when he drags the two of you to Wanwen bookhouse

★ The books you had borrowed from Xingqiu about them all ended with the same thing; that they end up becoming a couple and growing up together. Reminiscing about their childhood youth when they were old.

★ You knew not to trust the books or use them as a guide, but just like the books, you had grown to fall in love with the icy-haired boy.

★ Chongyun was like a breath of fresh air. His determination in exorcising ‘evil spirits' to the point that he blindly falls for Xingqiu and your pranks were the things that you loved about him. He was filled with enthusiasm and positivity (literally).

★ You grew into enjoying his positive attitude, you couldn't imagine a day going by without Chongyun telling you and Xingqiu about a so called 'haunted' place he had found, and forcing the two of you to come with him. and even if it had ended without meeting a single spirit, he would still be in high spirits.

★ you loved it, seeing the rush of thrill he feels whenever he senses a spirit nearby, hoping the spirit was able to withstand his excessive yang energy. the repeating days without one successful exorcism, only to end up getting treated to a meal by Xingqiu, and the parting that always ends with a promise to see each other the day after. Chongyun speaks his emotions, and you were in love with that.

★ and him, just in general.

★ And one day, you had decided to tell him just that

★ You were both on the hunt for Jueyun chilies for Xiangling, a small commission that you had decided to take on while waiting for Xingqiu to finish his work at the guild. The sun had set, and you had returned from Qingce village with a bucket full of the chilies and had decided to rest on top of the mountain where you had both Waypointed to just to admire the sunset.

★ In the heat of the moment, you had spoken.

“I like you, Chongyun,” you had said, looking at him with a smile.

★ You would have accepted a silence. You had expected it to be like the books; he would gently laugh and look at you, admitting that he had been waiting for you to say the exact words, lean in to kiss you. It would be awkward at first, but it’ll also be something to look back to in the future when kissing becomes something you do every day. You’d return back to Liyue Harbor hand in hand, and be able to tell Xingqiu and Xiangling that he was your boyfriend now, and admit to the former that maybe his books were right.

★ But instead, you were met with Chongyun’s wide eyes staring at you. His cheeks flushed red with what you had tried hard to hope was shyness, but had appealed more like panic. He had stood up and cleared his throat

“We- we should get back,” he says, too quickly for someone as calm as he is. And you knew it was a wrong step, “I’m-,” he clears his throat, “I’m going to go ahead first. I'm sorry,”

★ You didn’t know if he was apologizing for leaving early, or for not being able to accept your feelings, but when you hadn't seen him the following day, you could only assume.

Scaramouche

★ Honestly, you had it coming for you.

★ Scaramouche is someone whose life is their job. There was nothing that could distract him from working for the Tsaritsa

★ You had (been self-entitled) as his best friend. And honestly, if Scaramouche knew of it, he doesn't blame you. Everyone in the Fatui and who worked under the Fatui knew how close you were. Which was odd because, for one, you were absolutely nothing like him. Although you weren't exactly liked by everyone, you weren't loathed by everyone like the sixth harbinger was.

★ Scaramouche was feared by anyone who hears his name or walks a foot away from him, while you carried a calmer aura. Without glancing, Scaramouche could bring his subordinates trembling, while they would greet you when you pass by them.

★ You were polar opposites, and yet, everyone has seen the two of you together so much that when he wasn't with you or the other way around, people would assume you were on a solo mission or just leaving the other’s quarters

★ Of course, being his best friend, you weren’t spared of his usual harsh words. As a matter of fact, you probably had it much worse than anyone else. It had almost seemed as if every time he spoke, he spoke like he was trying to get rid of you.

★ But if that really were the case, then he hasn’t been trying his best. You had stayed with him since you had become an ally to the Fatui, and ever since then had stayed by his side. When others shake in fear, you shake your head with a laugh and a retort.

★ It had even come as a surprise to you when you had realized you had fallen for the harbinger. You would think that spending time with such a foul-mouthed person who would murder someone in the blink of an eye with no hesitation would make you dislike him. But that didn’t happen.

★ In fact, it was quite the opposite. You had fallen in love with him.

★ It wasn’t obvious to anyone, and even you had to take the time to squint to look for it. But Scaramouche did care for you in his own way. Whether it be toning down the harsh words when he sees your mood dampen after a mission, or beating the shit out of a person who had attacked you ruthlessly, not stopping even after his hands were covered in crimson liquid and the person almost certainly died. Even if he calls you a hindrance afterward for dirtying his hands, he definitely thought of you the same as you thought of him.

★ A friend.

★ Or, you had hoped, something more.

★ It was a mistake to take his slight kindness as a sign of him liking you, it truly was.

★ During your journey to Inazuma for a mission, you had decided to confess to him out of the blue. You knew he was someone who could predict the outcome of something even before you said anything, so a slow confession when the sun was setting in a field of flowers would just be a waste of time. if there was something you learned, it's to cut to the chase with him.

“Hey Scara,” you had said quietly. He had replied with a low hum, not turning back to look at you, “I like you.”

★ Without a second thought, Scaramouche had taken you by surprise as well.

★ He had not stopped in his tracks, instead, his shoulders shook in laugher. His laugh wasn't the same laugh you hear whenever you make a stupid mishap or get slightly injured during a simple mission- no, those laughs were warmer. Although laced with unkindness, they were more familiar.

★ This one was condescending. As if you were a new recruit again, having to work under him. As if all those years as friends had just gone down the drain.

“Stupid. What a fool of me to assume you were different.” he says, voice clear as a bell in the night, “don’t be an inconvenience. I don't have time for people like you.”

Albedo

★ Ever since working under Albedo with Sucrose, your life had been nothing but full of wonder. Although some were dangerous, Albedo and you bonded easily as if you had worked together in a past life.

★ Albedo was a genius. He was someone you looked up to, and sometime during your investigations, he had become a friend. You didn't know when it started. When it had gone from two alchemists staying the night in Dragonspine to observe the different stages of new plant growth, to- with the permission of the acting grandmaster - just two people, two friends, going out to explore the seven nations.

★ Sucrose and Timaeus had stayed back in Mondstadt to finish experiments that you both had decided to put on hold for your trip, and with nothing to worry about, the two of you had gone out with nothing but the protection of each other (and your visions, of course), and a few packed meals from Good Hunter.

★ Albedo had a side that no one saw unless they spent nights camping with him in the middle of nowhere. You were one of the lucky people who were able to see that side of his during your trips around the seven.

★ The alchemist wasn't just curious about the way the world works, he had also been curious with, well, you.

★ Some nights when he couldn't go to sleep (which was often. You’d be surprised to see how messed up his sleep schedule was), he would sit in front of the fire you had both worked hard to make, and simply talk.

★ sometimes, it would be short conversations. but more than often, you find yourself talking about everything and nothing until the sun rose above the mountains, and you would have to continue your journey until one of you (usually being you,) were too tired to continue.

★ Albedo talks with passion, no matter what the topic is. He could be talking about what you were going to be having for dinner for the next night before you reach the first region in your trip, and he would already have you captivated.

★ Albedo also talks with gentleness. And this was the said side not a lot of people would be able to see from the chief alchemist. Whenever the tent was filled with comforting silence, you would be able to hear Albedo asking you questions about yourself. They weren’t your standard, what was your dream growing up? Kind of questions, but they were more specific. More… personal.

★ Is it not funny, how life works? What if a single moment had changed in the past, I and you wouldn't have met. He would question, eyes trained to the flames burning in front of him. It sounded rhetorical, but his tone was laced with wonder. He sounds as if he was expecting an answer, but he doesn't urge you for one. And every time he does, you merely hum.

★ Albedo was gentle in everything he did. Almost all the time you were with him, he had never acted brashly. He was patient, kind.

★ and that was most likely what had prompted your crush on the alchemist

★ crushing on Albedo was like looking up at the stars. he was someone who shined brightly, but you knew he was too far to reach, yet despite that, you had still attempted to.

★ you had decided to finally let it all out on him the night of your final stay before you reached your final region, which was Inazuma.

★ and that, you had realized a little too late, had been the icing on top of a really terrible cake.

"Albedo," you had stared, and the alchemist immediately turned towards you. that was something you had grown fond of. you knew Albedo was a man married to his work, so when he turns to you in the midst of it, you felt your stomach churn in delight, "I have to tell you something,"

“Hm?” he hums, setting his notepad down to give you his full attention, “what is it, y/n?”

★ You took a deep breath, and the moment you had opened your mouth to tell him, you had a sinking feeling you had made a huge mistake.

“I like you, a lot,” you muttered, “not just platonically, Albedo. I… I think you're really interesting. and if you'd like, I would love to be with you. ”

★ Albedo’s face had fallen, and although it had been the slightest, you had still noticed it. He looked at you as if the cogs were turning in his brain, and finally, he looks down

“I must apologize,” he starts, and you feel your stomach drop, “but I’m not interested in you that way, y/n. If it makes you feel better, I see you as a very dear friend,”

★ You nod, apologizing to Albedo before he offers a small smile before continuing his research

★ You both did not speak of it, but there was a very thick air of silence hangs over the two of you afterward, that didn't dissipate even after you both left the camp.

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septembersghost · 2 years

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it's so frustrating how dean is upheld to this moral standard that none of the rest of the characters are within this fandom. there is just an endless stream of meta of how he's a monster, a serial killer, and how "he thinks he's the authority on who lives and who dies" which is like??? sam and cas literally do the same thing!!!! just because they have a few lines of dialogue about it where they say they want to change their ways doesn't matter because they never do!! like at that point, is this not just clearly bad writing instead of a reflection of dean's character, when it's a problem with all of them and not just him??? anyways sorry this is out of nowhere, i just needed to vent deangirl to deangirl i guess 😂💞

i've addressed this a bit before, but it's been a while and honestly it's been on my mind a LOT these last couple of weeks for various reasons, and another deangirl friend and i have been discussing it too. it's also perhaps the primary reason why i've retreated as far as possible without detaching completely from the fandom over the past few months, because it is a constant barrage of meta that is so far from the realm of my interpretation that it becomes unrecognizable, and i find that upsetting in a way that's ruinous to my relationship with the show. i completely agree with you, but want to try and examine it further than that. as you know, usually i write about and focus on dean's transcendent spirit and light because he's so special and important to me, but i want to be clear that this does not dismiss or ignore his darkness and his rage, and i think it's necessary to recognize those aspects of him that exist in tandem with that beauty, because the entire POINT is that the bloodshed and the suffering and loss never destroys his essence, and only serves to define that resolve and resilience further. it's also why i've talked a lot about love not being simple, love being tender because it's healing and salvational, but also having a sharp edge because it's dangerous and tremendous too.

there's a serious issue in fandom with false moral equivocations, and i don't know precisely what causes it. on a base level, supernatural does not function in a black and white moral universe (nor do most stories, nor does reality, but i digress) - it is complicated, and disturbing, and full of murky shadows. it's a horror show. these characters don't exist to teach us virtue lessons. the characters are forced to make difficult decisions and then reconcile with the consequences. we love them, so it's easy to call them our precious sunbeam honey pie heroes - and they are! lol that's fine, i joke that dean did nothing wrong, but i know that isn't actually true - they are all complex and flawed, they can be selfish and reckless, they can be harsh and jerks sometimes, and that's...*gasps* a POSITIVE THING, because it's interesting. because bravery and goodness don't have to be simple, because being wrong sometimes or reactive sometimes doesn't preclude kindness and empathy/sympathy, because situational selfishness doesn't negate inherent selflessness. multiple layers are vital.

every single one of them is a killer. every single one of them has blood on their hands. every single one of them causes deaths and cataclysms, whether unintended or not. collateral damage and destruction follow them, holding it against them at every turn is miserable. i truly do not know how dean gets held up as the monstrous murderer when castiel is guilty of the annihilation of countless of his own kind (among, uh, many other atrocities, cas' damage is incalculable if you want to hold it against him), when sam is every bit as much capable of murderous ruthlessness and vicious fury and vengeance as anyone. is sam drinking innocent people's blood and killing them rather than exorcising them under ruby's influence and the compulsion of his addiction somehow less "terrible" than dean killing a room full of predators who are after claire or a family of supremacists who murder innocents for parts under the influence and compulsion of the mark? dean chooses to save sam rather than allowing him to die closing the gates of hell thus maintaining the status quo of demonic presence endangering the world, sam releases the darkness rather than allowing dean to succumb to the fate of the mark thus creating an entirely new apocalyptic threat, cas goes totally off the rails and releases the leviathan which is catastrophic. where exactly are we drawing the line here? how shall we pick apart tfw's sins and weigh them against their many qualities? which feather tips the scales? it's ridiculous, because it's all erroneous equivalencies that fall apart under scrutiny. you can't just tally up the mistakes and go, well, so-and-so is obviously WORSE! for what reason? that is not how their world operates. dean gets called self-righteous and judgmental, but for every single example of dean being "mean" to anyone, there are examples of the others criticizing, belittling, or berating him too. for every punch dean throws, he gets punches thrown back at him. (not to mention the VAST power imbalance that exists between he and cas specifically, or the vulnerability dean has when it comes to sam and his role within his family.) what use is it to try and claim which "transgression" (ugh) is which?

the winchesters are not serial killers. please. imagine how tired we are. there's an actual definition for that which they do not meet. i say this openly considering a serial killer one of my fave characters (see how my blog has plummeted into revisiting him since november), do i have to call dex and get him to wrap the fandom in plastic while i explain why the boys are not serial killers? how hunting =/= to that terminology? how if you look at hunting as straight up murder (it isn't) the entire premise collapses? and somehow it's dean specifically who gets that label...for what? the mark? purgatory? being treated as a soldier from the age of four? it's a completely unbalanced perspective that lacks any nuance or comprehension of narrative intent and thematic meaning.

furthermore, there is an intrinsic problem in the narrative where dean is often objectively correct, yet the narrative frames it like he's wrong. this happens particularly with his emotional reactions, where they portray it like he's worse and more damaging to others in his responses than whatever happened that hurt him. it's an unusual issue and it causes this cognitive dissonance, because a majority of the weighted responsibility is laid on dean, so if there's a catastrophe, dean is at fault. his place as caretaker also ends up being...almost scapegoating at times, which, again, isn't absolving him of the things he does do, but the actions of others should not be on him, yet often sometimes are. his parentification is a partial reason for this imo, but the narrative itself has issues acknowledging that, and the demands and sublimation and forced obedience and sacrifice imposed on him by john that reverberate through his arc from beginning to end are a whole other essay unto themselves.

when i was talking about him to my friend the other day, we were discussing his trauma responses - dean has specific ways he reacts to his trauma/ptsd that all make sense for who he is - grief, self-hatred, guilt, anger, numbing through alcohol, it all aligns, but it isn't..."perfect." to use his propensity for violence as an example, it doesn't do him any favors to ignore the fact that he does thrive in those situations, that he does get a rush from both giving and receiving threat, but it's because of the structure of his entire life. he was shaped to feel worth in that way, forced to see violence as constructive and necessary in that way, and the best response he can give to that situation, to not have it be incapacitating with fear, is to master it, or at least pretend to. but that's not the nice, easy reaction of victimhood. it's not the "blameless" reaction that's seen as pure and acceptable (which, btw, applies to nobody in spn). it's messy. he can thrive in it while simultaneously being brutalized by it. there's a flipside of this in his humor and his ability to find joy in the smallest, silliest of things, because he endures the bleakness of his life however he can. it is never one condition, but he gets unfortunately debased and judged for those very understandable responses.

dean also doesn't always do compassion in an easy, simplistic way. on occasion his acts of empathy are blunt. this doesn't make them less empathetic (it could be argued it makes those actions MORE so, because of his desire that an aspect of his care towards others is the truth. and before anyone comes for me, yes, he also lies to his loved ones when he deems it necessary, but so do sam and cas, because, again, no one here is ever simple or a single aspect), but it's easy to feel like that straightforwardness isn't gentle enough, despite the fact that it typically comes from a necessary and caring place. it's something that i, as a very shy and gentle person irl myself, tend to value in him. i know that honesty gets read as mere toughness, but it isn't. he exists in a world where every moment can be of the essence, can be the blink between getting out alive or not, so the delivery of his compassion needs to be direct and useful. when there's space to be soft, we do see it. there's a relinquishment of safety, home, connections, because of their nomadic life and its hazards, but dean is continually and deeply drawn to people.

"my peace is helping people" is true, and so is the clarity he gets from aiming a weapon, because they're inextricable. saving people is first, the caveat being...you can't save the people if you don't hunt things.

the absolute HYPOCRISY of some of these double standards gets into a total quagmire of convoluted reasoning because you just cannot break apart their choices in that manner. (~they say they want to change their behavior~! okay, and? they usually don't. i'm supposed to believe platitude lines thrown out to sort of moralize that are then instantly ignored are worth more than acknowledging the shit that's been done? that doesn't even make sense. they live with overwhelming forms of self-loathing and remorse because of it, but let's not pretend the ingrained patterns of behavior don't repeat. besides, isn't that part of the appeal? yeah, they make choices out of desperation and extremely messed up attachment, and we want to see them keep risking it all for one another. and i'd do it again, as said sam.) it erodes the narrative to even try to strike one thing against another when every action is dependent upon intensely difficult situations and individual characterization (which isn't always even consistent from one writer to the next. hi, you're watching supernatural). i'm also uninterested in turning this into a who-did-what-wrong-when because that's precisely the issue with these circular arguments. (your post the other day: ""they did a horrible thing!" yes well. this is the doing horrible things show what's not clicking." say it louder.)

how dean gets the "monster" label when he's defined by his humanity is baffling. (to quote my friend, "he's also considered responsible for everyone's humanity," which is true and loops back into every burden being on him. this is a responsibility put on him from childhood and that never goes away.) dean is the pulsing emblem of humanity, that's not an accident. this isn't to say he isn't "other" - he absolutely is, but his otherness (his freakishness, which he owns) is fundamentally human. the necessary gravity of that is there for us to further understand sam's struggles and cas' rebellion and literally name a character and put them here because in one way or another, they're almost all pulled towards and illuminated or contrasted by dean's human center. his very being acting as the antithesis of "monstrousness" as defined by the story thus becomes its own inimitable and unique, even unnerving, thing. it doesn't make him...god? (which i've seen him inaccurately accused of playing), but the narrative quite often WANTS him to be the decisive authority (the righteous man) because of his integral humanness, and then shames him for it. this leads to discord, because any rejection or even slight that he passes, anger he carries, hurt he expresses, then feels like a forsaking of sam or cas themselves when that's never the case (he'd die for them, i don't know how much clearer he's ever supposed to make that. which is not even acknowledging the fact that he, you know, literally does die on numerous occasions, but who here hasn't?). when sam or cas feel repudiated, there are audience members who i think feel that way too. the emotional complications tend to get muddied. also, these characters rarely talk things out, because they're disasters, because there's no time, and also because, often, they simply don't NEED to because they get it, and each other, and are able to move on, but it bristles with the audience because we don't get (i don't like this word, but i'm going to use it) closure. things hang in the air unsaid and unsettled and we have this longing to see conversations and forgiveness that happens implicitly instead of explicitly, but because of that, idk i think there are viewers who try to keep a running, incorrect tally and hold grudges. (i recently saw someone tweet that the rebar "did its job," because of dean saying, "nobody cares that you're broken, clean up your mess," which is just the most insane ignorance of context and reason and eventual reconciliation, and it's always wild to me because cas would revile that take. cas would brandish a blade for that take. sam would likewise be appalled by every single post that calls dean his abuser and insinuates that he had to be "free" of him, when sam reiterated over and over again that he was choosing his life with his brother. it's awful and it ends up being an insult and degradation to the very characters they're claiming to stan. it flattens them out and steals their motivations.) that said, dean apologizes repeatedly. dean admits when he's wrong or when he needs help repeatedly. dean confesses his experiences and is emotionally truthful repeatedly. dean shoulders every burden he can repeatedly. dean puts himself on the line repeatedly. what else is he supposed to do?

(it perhaps isn't germane to the topic at hand, but i'm going to say this anyway because it's very important and apparently needs to be remembered - the entire world would've roasted had dean not shown up at the cemetery in swan song. they roll the dice and they LOSE. cas and bobby both resign themselves to it being the end. that battle is over, apocalypse now, world ender baby, if dean doesn't roll up in the impala and say, "howdy, boys," like he isn't facing the two supreme archangels. if he doesn't get beaten half to death by the terror wearing his brother's face and say, "i'm here. i'm not gonna leave you." dean being incapable of letting sam face that alone, dean loving him ceaselessly and being loyal and every fiber in him needing to be on that battlefield is the only reason sam was able to wrest control over lucifer in those defining moments, and of course it's because that love is reciprocated, and sam breaks through for dean. i know i've written about swan song multiple times and i say this like a record on repeat, but love is THE defining act of free will. every time. every single time.)

humanity is multitudinous, and thus so is dean. erase an aspect of it and you're immediately removing an essential element. furiously nitpick one aspect of it and you're superficially ignoring every other vital piece.

is this not just clearly bad writing instead of a reflection of dean's character, when it's a problem with all of them and not just him??? <- exactly. a lot of it is poor writing and unclear development from one writer to the next because they had trouble staying on track in that room (for whatever reason), but there are still defining traits and through-lines that can be found and understood, and dean's (to me) are particularly evident.

"critical" fandom is an incredibly unfair, oddly puritanical, point of view, but maybe worse than that, it's boring. it is so, so very boring. it doesn't allow any space for nuance. it doesn't allow for any depth. psycho control freak dean who imposes his will on poor sensitive sam and weak lovestruck cas? (gross, why would you want that?) none of those characters exist. it strips them of everything they are to look at them that way. i've never met them. i've definitely said this before, but sam has a spine and will of steel. cas is an ancient cosmic being. neither of them is imposed upon or afraid of dean. they don't keep charts of each other's wrongdoings, why should we? they need and resent and admire and agonize over and lean on and get mad at and love one another, sometimes simultaneously. sam and cas both make colossal mistakes, both do cruel, hurtful things, both lie, both drench themselves in blood. it's not like dean is alone in this? why it's somehow ~worse~ from him is a failing of comprehension, but i really do think it's also that constant obligation to which he's subjected. how dare dean mess up. dean needs to be the rock for everyone else. dean needs to be the home. dean shouldn't be allowed to express his pain lest it be seen as a barb at the others, dean's anger is over-reactive, dean's abandonment issues are annoying, dean's hell trauma is his fault, dean's grief is too exposed, dean's love is a liability (get you wild, make you leave). it's weird and it's exhausting, and it's fundamentally wrong. and there's ample evidence of this and proof of it all over the show, asserted by the people who love him, but a fairly significant portion of the fandom has decided to have this derivative perspective that cuts the fabric of all of their journeys to useless pieces. an endless sisyphean hill of admonishment. no passion. no complexity. no thank you.

we love him with a real love and feel that extension of ourselves because we understand him, or because we understand parts of ourselves in him, at which point it's no longer about bloodied knuckles or missteps or gunshots in the dark, it's about intrinsic humanity. ultimately, it's about courage in the face of terrifying obstacles, or survival after excruciating loss, or the defining and boundless ability to love, or - any combination of so, so many of these things, a list too expansive to make because it will vary for anyone asked. i can't fathom what the appeal is of limiting that. i can't understand or even come to terms with seeing him in such a limited, contemptuous way. how dare they try to make it that small? that's not my show. that's not what fascinates me nor what i fell in love with. that's not my dean, and at the risk of sounding pretentious (which i don't want to do!) or possessive (lol), i've known dean for going on seventeen years. all my adulthood. longer than i've known most real people, and far more constant. i don't even care if that sounds unhinged, at this point i WILL say it, he has lived in that room central to my heart all this time, he has grown with me, i have loved him when i hated myself, held onto him when i've felt alone. sometimes in the midst of all the difficulties i deal with, i don't know much of anything, but i do know him. the meta you're referring to - that's not who he is.

this turned into more of a rant than i intended, but i hear you and am with you, deangirl to deangirl, always 💕💗💕

#crossroadsdirt #i'm sorry this became like a dissertative diatribe darling #(oooh. alliteration!)#it. infuriates. frustrates. enrages me.#letterbox #dean feelings #*#spn for ts #friend who remained in this unnamed i always end up lifting words directly from our conversations thank you <3

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linkspooky · 3 years

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Black Wolf, White Wolf, Megumi and Yuji.

In my last post I mentioned how the white wolf and black wolf are symbolic for the connection between Gojo and Yuji. However, because the students are all parallels for the previous generation (Gojo, Geto and Shoko paralleling Yuji, Megumi and Nobara), the white wolf and black wolf also represents the relationship between Megumi and Yuji. Megumi and Yuji are a pair of opposites, who are complementary to one another. They present themselves as completely different people, but also have far more in common with, and a closer connection to each other than anybody else.

1. There are Two Wolves Inside of You, One of Them is Gay.

The white wolf is wholly white except for three black dots on its head, the black wholf wholly black with the exception of three white dots. Each of these supposed opposites black and white have a little bit of each other’s coloring. This is a clear reference to the coloring of the Taijitu symbol.

The yin yang (i.e. taijitu symbol) shows a balance between two opposites with a portion of the opposite element in each section.

Yuji and Megumi are designed as characters to represent this same dualism as a couple. Yuji being associated with the white Yang, and Megumi the black yin.

n Ancient Chinese philosophy, yin and yang (/jɪn/ and /jɑːŋ, jæŋ/; Chinese: 陰陽 yīnyáng, lit. "dark-bright", "negative-positive") is a concept of dualism, describing how seemingly opposite or contrary forces may actually be complementary, interconnected, and interdependent in the natural world, and how they may give rise to each other as they interrelate to one another. Yin is the black side, and yang is the white side

The white wolf has a tendency to be associated with Yuji, and the black wolf associated with Megumi. This goes as early back as their first mission together. Immediately after panel where they first disagree with one another on how to save people, and end up confronting each other, the white wolf shikigami is killed permanently.

In the same mission, Yuji dies. Afterwards, as a consequence for his death the white wolf can never be summoned as a shikigami again, but the black wolf begins to take on a few of the white wolf’s features.

Megumi and Yuji are opposites. Megumi is cold and dispassionate, and entirely selective with his sympathies. Yuji is warm, friendly, and willing to sympathize with almost anybody. They’re also like eac other. Not only that, but they become progressively like each other as the plot goes on.

The relationship between yin and yang is often described in terms of sunlight playing over a mountain and a valley. Yin (literally the 'shady place' or 'north slope') is the dark area occluded by the mountain's bulk, while yang (literally the "sunny place' or "south slope") is the brightly lit portion. As the sun moves across the sky, yin and yang gradually trade places with each other, revealing what was obscured and obscuring what was revealed.

In other words, just like how the divine black dog now has a piece of the white dog. Megumi and Yuji present themselves to the world as opposites externally, but internally they have a piece of themselves inside each other. Despite being so different they both look at each other and think yeah, that’s the right way people should live instead.

Megumi and Yuji are inspired by the differences they have with each other. Megumi wants to become a more emotional person to Yuji, true to his feelings and his desire to save others. Yuji wants to learn to think things through like Megumi does.

There’s also several other ways the two of them compliment each other as a pair.

Yin is characterized as slow, soft, yielding, diffuse, cold, wet, and passive; and is associated with water, earth, the moon, femininity, and night time.

Yin is associated with femininity. Megumi’s name is specifically a gender neutral name. Megumi himself uses shadow as his Curse Technique. Remember Yang is the sun over the valley, and Yin is the shadows created by that sun. Megumi literally uses those shadows as a form of attack.

Megumi is also constantly characterized as passive in comparison to Yuji. It is Megumi who lives quietly with his head down, it is Megumi who passively accepts things, Megumi reacts while Yuji acts. Yuji is always running off to save people, and Megumi is the one trying to stop him from hurting himself. Even Gojo points out this passivity as a flaw on Megumi’s part. He spends so much time thinking of others, while Yuji isn’t even thinking of him, he’s swinging for a home run.

Yang, by contrast, is fast, hard, solid, focused, hot, dry, and active; and is associated with fire, sky, the sun, masculinity and daytime.

Yuji on the other hand is associated with masculinity. Megumi uses the ten shadows, Yuji just punches things. The hypermasculine Todo finds Megumi boring, but warms up to Yuji right away as a brother. Yuji’s even famous for his strength. (There’s also some Tiger and Dragon symbolism going on here, Yuji is known as the Tiger of West Junior High. Geto, who is also his opposite foil is capable of summoning a dragon).

Yuji is the active character always running off to save someone. He’s the one most determined to get involved while Megumi usually holds back. Once again returning to Gojo, Gojo and Yuji are both similiar because they think the same way about things, they’re always trying to stand out, be the star, because they’re both active. It’s usually Yuji who runs ahead and leaves Megumi behind.

However, part of the yin / yang dulaity is that as complementary pairs they can also reverse. Strong can become weak. We’re even litereally shown this in the one fight Megumi and Yuji cooperate on during the shibuya arc, they fight someone whose literal curse technique is reversing polarizaiton, making strong attacks weak.

Strong becomes weak, and weak becomes strong. The yin and yang glady trade places with one another. As a result of the Shibuya arc, we have seen Megumi acting more like Yuji, and Yuji acting more like Megumi.

In their very first arc, it was Yuji who was active. He let Sukuna rampage in order to save the others, leaving Megumi behind to deal with the fallout.

In the Shibuya arc this event is paralleled in an opposite way. Yuji becomes more passive, and less self centered. He starts to act more like Megumi. His individual life is less important, than contributing to the whole. In other words, it’s Yuji this time who decides to make the sacrifice bunt.

While at the same time we see Megumi is pushed to his absolute limit and starts swinging for the stands. It’s Megumi’s choice to summon Mahoraga and let him effectively rampage, at the cost of himself. The kind of wild, self-sacrifice that only Yuji would make. This.

Mirrors this.

Not only that but the same way Megumi had to fight against Sukuna in order to try and contain him, this time Sukuna has to fight against Mahoraga in order to stop the exorcising ritual from killing Megumi.

Megumi and Itadori are not only alike, they’re also becoming more like each other as the story progresses probably out of affection and genuine admiration of one another. Megumi inspires Yuji to become more passive and think things through. Yuji inspires Megumi to become more active towards saving others. Yuji’s thinking has even changed to become more like Megumi’s he calls himself a cog, using the same symbolism Megumi once did.

They also reflect each others flaws. When they’re alone and apart from each other, both of them becomes way too willing to sacrifice themselves. While at the same time, they both believe the other sacrificing themself is unacceptable. For Yuji, Megumi dying is the worst result. For Megumi, Yuji dying is the worst result.

Megumi and Yuji want to save each other, but individually they’re too prone to self destruction. However, with all the effort the manga puts into representing both of them as a pair, it leads me to believe that we’re eventually going to see a reconciliation between the two of them. Unlike Gojo and Geto who eventually ended up separating, and becoming incredibly unbalanced as individuals. I believe that Megumi and Yuji will have the opposite results, they’ll be able to find each other again, and find balance in each other.

#megumi fushigoro #fushigoro megumi #yuji itadori #itadori yuji #itafushi #jjk meta #jujutsu kaisen meta #jujutsu kaisen theory #yuji megumi

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defiantsuggestions · 3 years

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I feel like I can't really say I was abused because it's not as bad as it used to be. When I was younger I wasn't allowed to eat until the house was spotless, my dad regularly hit and spanked me and put me in a headlock when I did some normal little kid thing like refuse to take a nap, I would walk into my room and find my stuff destroyed and thrown around because my dad was angry, my dad even tried to exorcise the "autism demon" out of me, and that's just the tip of the iceberg.

As I got older it evolved more into just verbal stuff. Slurs, insults, screaming, gaslighting, etc. Not that that stuff didn't happen when I was younger as well, it's just that by the time I was about 15 he stopped causing any physical harm to me. And he says I deserve it all and everyone else has it much worse and no one else would be able to love me or put up with me and I still believe it most of the time. I did some really dumb things when I was younger (as in 12/13) that my dad still holds against me in any arguments we have.

Anyway, sometimes I feel like I don't deserve to be upset because he's at least changed a bit; and his parents were abusive, so I feel like I owe him sympathy.

Sorry this took so long to answer, it's a lot to cover and I have a few things I want to say.

1: if you are uncomfortable with the term "abuse" you don't have to use it. Go at your own pace, it's up to you. However, you do need to recognize the harm caused in order to process your trauma.

2: if you're asking for permission to call this abuse, ("I feel I cant say I was abused" reads more as not being sure if it counts than it reads as discomfort to me, but I wanted to cover that base too), then yes, what was done to you absolutely counts as abuse.

Abuse is what happens when someone with power hurts someone else, routinely, and the victim is unable to escape due to financial reasons, due to law, due to physical restraint, or due to conditioning.

Abuse can be physical. Abuse can be sexual. Abuse can be emotional and mental. Abuse can be financial.

A parent routinely doing things that hurts their child, for example, is abuse. It is impossible for the child to get away. There's a power dynamic being exploited and nothing the child can do about it.

To use another example; a romantic couple is abusive if one holds all the financial power and verbally assults the other on a regular basis, ignoring all protest because, well, they have the financial power and their victim can't leave. They can scream and yell insults all day, utterly distroy their partners self esteem, and there isn't a way to escape that.

Another example; a teen in school getting bullied by other teens. The other teens have numbers, and the victim is legally required to be there, and if the adults don't do anything about it and just let the victim suffer then that victim has suffered abuse.

3: if an abuser grows less abusive over time, or otherwise stops being abusive altogether, that doesn't make their previous actions no longer abusive. Your dad stopped hitting you- that doesn't make the fact that he used to hit you go away. Destroying your things, the physical assault, refusing to feed you. These things don't stop being abusive acts he did to you just because he's no longer doing them.

4: Verbal abuse is abuse. Screaming slurs at you and claiming you deserve it and gaslighting you is abuse.

5: Saying that no one else would be able to put up with you or love you? Abuse. My abusers used to do that, my abusers would threaten to throw me out on the streets whenever they were in a bad mood, to make me so afraid of abandonment that I'd put up with them and stop complaining. It's abuse. And it's awful, completely awful that he says those things to you. The fact that you believe it, that's something he did to you. He made you believe it. It's not true, there are billions of people out there and he has no fucking say in who would love you or not.

6: Being a victim of abuse is not an excuse to be abusive yourself. I was abused heavily, for decades, for what will ultimately be half of my overall life. If I go out and beat up a child and claim that I'm allowed to do it because I myself was abused, I'd be a terrible fucking person.

Your father being a victim himself in no way excuses his treatment of you.

7: You are not obligated to feel sympathy to your abuser. You do not owe someone who hurts you sympathy. If you feel sympathy regardless, if it is not something you can help feeling, remember that factually he does not deserve sympathy and you owe him nothing.

You're allowed to feel sympathy if that's what you feel, but don't let it cloud your judgment of what he has done.

8: You deserve to be upset. You have every right to be upset. I don't care that he's improved. He physically abused you and he is currently emotionally and verbally abusing you and the fact that you want to think it's okay that he does this is a symptom of being abused since childhood. He did this to you.

9: trying to exercise the "autism demon" out of you is shitty and ableist.

10: Overall, the things that your dad has done and is doing to you are, frankly, unforgivable, and you deserve to be angry at him for it. You deserve to be upset.

What you deserve, anon, is to be treated better. You deserve to be safe and loved and away from his abuse. He hurts you, regularly. Screaming slurs and insults and gaslighting you is hurting you. You don't deserve to be hurt. You deserve to be treated better than this, anon.

And I'm so, so sorry you've been treated this way.

You deserve better.

#defiant answers #cptsd vent #tw: ableism #tw: slurs

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teenwolffan-with-nolife · 3 years

Text

The Witch and The Wolf Pt.44

Word Count: 2,497

Characters: Derek Hale, Isaac Lahey, Rafael McCall (mentioned), Chris Argent (brief), Demon!Reader

Pairings: Eventual Derek Hale x Witch!Reader

Warnings: angst, some minor characters death, actual shitty writing

A/N: this is like third-person omniscient sort of but not rly i guess

A/N 2: blech, I still have writer’s block so sorry for this one :/

Masterlist Series Masterlist

“(Y/N), it’s me, again. Call me back if you get this,” there was the 10th voicemail left by Derek, calling you once again.

Stiles was at Eichen House, Scott, Isaac, and Allison were trying to look for some sort of scroll, talking about exorcising the nogitsune out of Stiles. Derek and Chris sat handcuffed in cells, while the entire police department was out looking for you. The two of them stayed there for the day before being released. Derek still had no idea where you were.

Your cellphone soon became out of service, no way of contacting you at all.

“Derek!” Isaac ran into the loft frantically, snapping Derek’s attention away from you for a brief moment.

“What? What is it?”

“(Y/N)’s a demon,” he started.

“What?” Derek tensed up, clenching his jaw as he uncrossed his arms.

“How do you know?” he asked, running to Isaac.

“Because Agent McCall sent deputies out to go look for her, three of them supposedly died from a heart attack,” Isaac explained.

Damn it, Derek thought.

“Well, we need to trap her,” Derek said.

“How?”

“Help me find her spellbook. There’s a way to trap her until we figure out something else…” Derek started, before frowning.

“What book?” Isaac watched as Derek ran across the loft anxiously, looking for an old book of yours. The only possession of yours left.

“(Y/N) planned out a way to trap herself, until we found a cure. It’s in one of her old spell books, but I can’t remember where it is. It has to be somewhere here,” Derek shook his head.

“Well, let’s say we find the book. Do you have an actual plan?” Isaac crossed his arms.

Derek paused, leaning against the counter in distress before frowning, hearing his phone ringing.

“Hello?” he answered.

“I've been trying to get in touch with (Y/N) for some time now. I found a cure,” Derek tensed up, picking up the call from Deucalion.

He looked at Isaac, before putting the phone on speaker.

“What do we need to do?” Derek asked.

“Here’s what needs to happen…”

---

You walked alone in the woods, humming a soft melody as your eyes were black.

You stopped in your tracks, sensing someone behind you and you raised an eyebrow, turning around.

“Yes, officer?” you recognized his badge.

“(Y/N), you have to come with me,” he started.

“Praefoco,” you rolled your eyes, watching him stop in his words, gasping for air as he fell to his knees.

You laughed softly to yourself, walking away from the collapsed body on the floor.

You had killed four more people, experimenting in different ways you could kill people, with your heightened powers. Everything felt better, everything felt free. You didn't have a single care in the world and you loved it.

You stood in front of the Sheriff’s station, using your magic to listen in as you tried to make out who was in there.

“Just find her. I don’t care what it takes,” you heard his voice, hearing him put the phone down.

He was all alone inside. Half the department was out, looking for his mysterious masked stabber, while the other half was looking for you and other missing deputies. A shame they’d only find their bodies.

You could feel more and more anger flood your veins as you took a step, walking into the empty station.

You spotted Agent McCall, sitting alone on his desk as he looked at the paperwork.

You opened your mouth before taken by surprise, feeling some wrap their arm around your waist, pulling you back.

Your eyes glew black as you pushed him off of you, seeing Derek standing behind you.

“Come with me,” he said.

“Oh, you found me. Great,” you said sarcastically.

“Yeah, I did. Now come with me,” he wrapped a pair of handcuffs on your wrists, pulling you out of the police station.

“What the hell are these? What the hell are you doing to me?” you tried to use your powers, trying to break free, but finding yourself unable to do so.

“Yeah, they're spelled. We’re gonna cure you, (Y/N),” he held onto your arm tightly, walking with you as you laughed bitterly.

“Yeah, not possible,” you rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, well Deucalion found something,” Derek said.

“You’re boring,” you sighed.

He ignored your remarks, taking you to the woods.

---

“You killed four people?” you sat in a chair, your hands and legs tied up behind you. There was a devil’s trap on the ground.

“Is that judgment in your voice, babe?” you scoffed.

“Those four people were innocent,” he shook his head.

“Oh, don’t give me that crap. Like you've never ruined an innocent life before,” you rolled your eyes.

“That's-” he started.

“That bus driver was innocent. That witch was innocent. Paige was innocent. Erica was innocent. Boyd was innocent. Don’t judge me for killing when you’ve killed too,” you glared at him, seeing his face drop slightly as he turned his back to you.

“That’s different,” he said.

“No, it really isn’t,” you made a fake pouty face as he walked over to you, holding a syringe in his hand.

“What the hell is that?” you asked.

He put his hand on your head, pulling it to the side as he stuck the needle into your neck, while you screamed out.

“It’s blood. It’s holy blood, and it’s the only way to cure you,” he replied.

You breathed heavily, slumping in your chair as your eyes glew black.

“You’re gonna regret that,” you yelled.

“Yeah, okay,” he crossed his arms, leaning against the wall as he sighed, looking down at you.

Several thoughts brown through his head, praying that this would work and that you would be okay. He already knew what would happen when you came to, all the nightmares, remembering all the people who you killed as they haunted your dreams.

“Derek,” you whispered.

He looked up at you, raising an eyebrow as he frowned, seeing your eyes water.

“(Y/N)?” he asked softly.

“Derek,” you sniffled.

He tensed up, seeing a tear slip down your face as he ran to you, putting his hands on your shoulders.

“I-I didn’t… I thought I’d need to do that a couple of times, i-is it… are you okay?” he immediately asked.

“Just get these off of me,” you said.

He stroked your cheek softly, before frowning.

Crap, he knew

“Derek, take these off of me,” you said.

“I almost fell for it,” he scoffed, before walking away from you.

“Ugh, I was close, wasn’t I? But really, that’s all it took? A tear? Weaker than I thought, Hale,” you smirked.

He picked up his book, leaning against the wall once more.

It was going to be a long night.

---

“Why do you care so much about getting me back? New and improved right here,” you laid back in the chair, leaning your head back.

“Improved? People are dead,” he walked to you, holding yet another syringe in his hand.

It was obvious that he wanted out of there. Tired of putting up with your tormenting remarks about him. You never seemed to give him a break, continuously insulting him. He tried to tell himself that you didn't mean it, it was the demon talking. You loved him and you would never say that stuff to him. As time went on, it became harder and harder for him to convince himself. But he still wasn’t going to leave you to suffer.

“Everything that you claim is wrong with me, is entirely your fault,” you said as he froze.

“What do you mean?” he stiffened.

“I lost control because of you. I killed my dad because of you. This whole thing started because of you. Don’t you remember that night? When I came to your loft? Don't you remember what you said to me?” Derek felt instant regret in his heart, remembering.

“You told me you never loved me, we only got together because we were lonely. Well, you were right, Derek. I never loved you. I never forgave you. We weren't meant to last.”

Derek ran his fingers through his hair, trying to hold in his emotions as he tried not to let your words get to him.

“I didn't mean what I said. I was under a spell,” he started, lowering his voice.

“That spell cost lives. That spell widowed a woman and orphaned her children,” Derek frowned, slightly confused.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he asked.

“Oh, right, I didn’t tell you. Yeah, my dad got remarried! To someone else, and he had some more kids. He left us in the dust, all alone, all fucked up,” you laughed softly.

“You didn't tell me that-” he started.

“Probably because I don’t still don’t trust you,” you shrugged.

“That’s not…” Derek was at a loss for words as he looked down at you.

“You broke my heart, Derek. You broke me. I won’t be able to trust you again,” you looked at him, giving him an annoyed look before smirking.

“Oh, I’m getting to you, aren’t I? You know I'm right, Derek,” you laughed bitterly.

He clenched his jaw, grabbing your head as he stabbed the syringe into your neck, hearing you scream out in pain as he dug his nails into his palm.

He pushed away from you harshly, immediately leaving the room before a tear fell from his eyes, letting out a shaky breath.

She doesn't mean it he tried to convince himself, but it didn't matter. Deep down he knew you were right, he never wanted to admit it to himself. You would be better off without him.

---

Derek’s head shot up, hearing a loud noise of something crashing. He ran into the house, immediately running to you, hearing someone yelling.

Isaac, he recognized.

You stood over him, as he dropped to his knees in front of you, struggling to breathe.

“(Y/N)!” he ran to you, grabbing the handcuffs before you pushed them away from him.

“I warned you,” your eyes were pitch black as Isaac whimpered softly, falling over to his side, unconscious. Derek could hear a faint heartbeat, knowing Isaac was alive.

You whispered something softly, as Derek struggled to move, finding himself pinned against the wall.

You grabbed the pocketknife, which sat on the table as you walked to Derek slowly.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for so long,” you held the knife against his throat as he clenched his jaw, looking down at you.

“Don’t do this (Y/N). I know you’re still in there somewhere. The real you, not this demon bitch,” he took a deep breath.

“I am (Y/N), Derek. This is me. I’ll save you the trouble of having to see me like this anymore,” he winced softly, feeling the blade break into his skin, drawing blood.

“Yeah, maybe not,” Derek heard Isaac’s voice, as he took a needle, stabbing it into your neck.

You dropped the knife, as Derek gasped for air, falling to his knees. Your eyes reverted back to their natural color, as your body went limp, falling over.

Isaac reached for Derek, helping him up before wrapping his arms around him, taking Derek by surprise. He stiffened first, before wrapping his arms around Isaac’s shaking body.

---

You squinted your eyes, groaning softly as you sat up, looking around cautiously.

Memories came flooding as your eyes watered, remembering everything.

“(Y/N),” you heard Derek’s voice as you jumped slightly, looking back at him in shock.

A son escaped from your mouth, before he wrapped his arms around you, pressing his lips to your head, trying to calm you.

“I-I’m so sorry,” you cried.

He remained quiet, his eyes red as he felt a tear stream down his cheek.

“I’m sorry.”

---

Your mind drifted off, remembering the events from the past day as you sat on Derek’s bed, wrapping your arms around yourself.

He lent you a shirt, seeing as all your other clothes were gone.

“Derek,” you said softly as he walked into the room.

He inhaled softly, sitting down next to you.

“Please, just say something,” your voice wavered slightly.

“I have nothing to say,” he whispered.

“I know you do. Just, please,” you begged.

“I just…” his voice drifted off as he shook his head.

“Derek,” you put your hand on his shoulder.

“We need to stop this,” he said, running his fingers through his hair as he turned to face you.

“Stop what?” you said, although you already knew the answer.

“This isn’t good for us anymore, I think we should call it,” Derek’s eyes watered slightly as he stood up, looking down at you.

“Derek, no-” you started.

“I love you, (Y/N), you know that I love you. But, I don’t… I don’t think you’ve ever loved me as much as I love you,” his voice was low as he looked away from you.

“No, Derek, I-I swear that’s not true,” you shook your head.

“(Y/N),” he started.

“It’s not true, you have to believe me. E-Everything I said, I didn't mean it, I swear,” your voice wavered as you looked up at him.

“You didn't say anything that wasn’t true,” he rubbed his eyes as he looked back at you.

“Derek,” you started.

“J-Just listen to me, (Y/N),” his voice broke as he looked at you.

“We don’t work together. We always argue, there’s always something in between us. We tried to tell ourselves we could get past it, but we can’t,” he said.

“We can get past it. We just have a few problems to work out,” you sniffled.

“Do you trust me?” he asked softly.

“W-What do you mean? O-Of course I do,” you let out a soft chuckle, trying to hide your tears as you frowned.

“Don’t lie to me, please (Y/N). Do you or do you not trust me,” he asked again.

“Derek, I do,” you replied, more and more tears streaming down your face.

“Then why didn't you tell me any of this before? About your dad and his family? That it was my fault you killed him in the first place?”

You bit your lip, holding back your cries as you shook your head, putting your hand over your mouth.

“Exactly. You need to… You need to go,” he whispered, looking away from you.

You could feel your heart aching, feeling your head pounding as more and more tears rushed to your eyes, blurring your vision.

You pushed yourself out of his room, running away.

---

You knocked at Chris’ door softly, blinking back your tears as he gave you a concerned look, opening the door.

“(Y/N)? Where have you been?” he asked.

Your vision blurred as more tears came to your eyes

“C-Can I stay with you?” you cried softly.

He nodded his head, wrapping his arms around you before leading you into the apartment.

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shirtlesssammy · 3 years

Text

3x04: Sin City

Then:

Dean killed Azazel

Now:

A nun wanders an empty church, replacing hymnals. The priest finds her and offers to walk her to her car. They both find a parishioner in the balcony who gets their attention by announcing that “God’s not with us.” He then shoots himself in the head. Ooof.

While Dean and Bobby work on the Colt, Sam informs them that he’s found sightings of demonic omens. Bobby stays behind to figure out how the Colt works while Dean and Sam take off for Ohio and the new case.

Interviewing the priest, the brothers learn that things changed in the town about two months prior --the same time they opened the devil’s gate.

The brothers then head to their motel room, where Dean runs into an old hunter friend, Richie. They banter and then they all talk shop. Whatever’s happening, doesn’t make sense. (Sidenote: Dean’s pumped that the room has Magic Fingers. Yay, bby) Dean asks about anyone in town whose whole personality has changed. Richie answers, “There’s Trotter.” He’ll be at his bar in a couple hours.

The town is anything but a boarded up factory town. It’s got coeds as far as the eye can see, and Dean’s ready to do some research. Trotter’s Bar is the epicenter of debauchery. They find the priest there.

Sam wonders what the padre is doing there. He goes where the flock is.

Dean then gets to flirt mildly with the bartender and fun fact: He likes Hurricanes. I feel like this is one part of Dean’s personality not explored in later seasons. Let the boy drink his fruity drinks, 202K!

Before anyone can react, a man walks in and shoots another man dead.

Dean tackles the assailant before he can off himself. Sam throws holy water on him, but he’s not possessed. The man admits that the victim slept with his wife. (Sam sees Dana Scully’s dad from across the bar. Man, things are REALLY WEIRD here.) (Natasha: Nooo he’s the general from Stargate!)

The cops later take the man away and tell Sam and Dean that the paper will be there shortly to take their pictures.

That’s the brothers’ cue to leave. Dean wonders where Richie is before they take off.

Richie is with the bartender. She’s taken him to her parent’s country estate. It’s secluded and has toys. Just when things are getting interesting for poor Richie, the bartender reveals she’s really a demon, and she knows he’s a hunter. WHERPS. He tries attacking, but she snaps his neck in two seconds flat. Richie!

Later at the bar, Dean forgoes eating his burger to track down the missing Richie. Sam decides to follow Trotter.

Bobby, meanwhile, is getting the Colt back into fighting shape. Ruby shows up and taunts him to test out the Colt. He does. The aim is true but the bullets aren’t right. She offers to help him with the gun.

The brothers practice seriously dangerous cell phone usage (Seriously Sammy? You didn’t put it on silent? Seriously Dean? You’re driving while not hands free? UGH.)

Dean’s back at the bar and a prostitute approaches him for a discounted good time. Dean doesn’t pay. (Or is that Sam? IDK, neither of them have to pay. Have you seen them!?) The bartender is back at work and saw the whole thing. It doesn’t deter her that Dean struck out with a prostitute and they head out for fun times elsewhere.

Sam watches Dana Scully’s dad leave his office and heads in himself to investigate. Dana Scully’s Dad Trotter appears again and there’s a slight tussle before Sam realizes that he’s also not a demon. Sam awkwardly realizes his mistake and makes his exit. Sweet dumb boy.

Dean, meanwhile, is heading down the same path as his dead buddy Richie. Dean’s no dummy though and sets up a devil’s trap. He pulls out his Latin book to exorcise her back to Hell. He doesn’t have it memorized yet and she starts up a demon wind machine. He loses the pages AND the basement door caves in. Worst Date Ever.

Later, Dean explores his new prison to the amusement of the demon trapped with him. She mocks him openly for not having an exorcism memorized.

The demon taunts Dean expertly. Dean Bean’s offended at being labeled the dumb one and I am OFFENDED on his behalf! They wait to see whose rescue is going to arrive first - Dean’s or hers.

Sam frets at the bar over his missing brother, and bribes the bartender for his whereabouts.

Meanwhile, Dean and the demon’s snarkfest marathon continues. She tells him that she didn’t even have to engage in mystical hijinks to send people in town into an evil tailspin. All she had to do was drop a few suggestions about the profit of vice to Trotter and humans took care of the rest. She describes humans as weak and corrupt.

For Constantly Weak for Dean Winchester and SYMBOLISM Science:

Sam heads inside her (other) house and finds sulfur. The game is afoot!

Meanwhile, Dean and the demon enjoy a little philosophical exchange. “Do you believe in God, Dean?” she asks him while I chew my own arm off. She sets up the apocalyptic battle from the demon perspective. Humans have wrought carnage on their world, so it’s the demons’ turn to “do it right this time.”

Sam’s back at the bar again, calling Bobby to report that he can’t find Dean. I guess the game is...not so afoot after all. The bartender offers him booze before downing a shot himself and, frustrated with the townsfolk, Sam zeroes in on the priest who’s still hanging out in the bar.

Demon Casey tells Dean that she’s faithful to Lucifer, light-bringer and the one who will raise demons up. She’s a believer. Dean oh-so-casually asks what Hell is like and the BRAVADO masking the FEAR! Jensen Ackles, your face hurts me sometimes.

For HURTSSSSS MEEE Science:

She sees right through him. “It’s a pit of despair,” she tells him frankly. “Why do you think we want to come here?”

Sam, meanwhile, is involved in a terribly awkward discussion with the priest at the bar. He’s worried about his brother and thinks he might be…..in trouble. The priest offers to bring Sam to Casey. His eyes turn black as he turns away from Sam.

The demon and Dean have settled into a friendly heart to heart at this point. She tells him that she actually likes him and thinks he did something good when he sold his soul to save Sam.

Dean tries to laugh off her real talk. He thinks it’s freeing to be damned - he can live his life any way he wants now. He’s totally not scared at all. Not at all!!!

The demon riding the priest interrogates Sam, asking him about his aspirations for the future. Yeah! Why aren’t ya in college, Sam!

Dean and Demon Casey continue to bond, and the scene takes the tone of a couple kids just chilling in the basement talking about life. Which is...actually sort of accurate.

Casey tells Dean that Yellow Eyes, a.k.a. Azazel, had a plan to bring the minions of Hell to Earth, but Dean killing him put a significant wrench in those plans. She tells him that Sam was supposed to lead the demon army. Uh. Wherps. Instead of Sam, there’s a power vacuum in Hell. Demons everywhere are fighting for the crown. “For the record,” she tells him, “I was ready to follow Sam.” And damn, if I don’t get the feeling that Dean likes her a little better because of that.

Sam and his demon priest arrive. Dean issues a warning to Sam, but Sammy doesn’t have to worry because Bobby shows up with the Colt! Bobby hands off the gun to Sam, Ruby smirking in the background. The priest breaks into the basement and smashes through the devil’s trap holding Demon Casey in. They kiss while Dean looks on in surprise.

Surprise, Dean! They’ve been lovers for centuries! Casey begs the demon priest for Dean’s life and it gives just enough delay for Sam to shoot the priest with the Colt. The priest flashes out. Dean tries to stop Sam from killing Demon Casey but Sam shoots. She flashes out as well. Remember, kids, there’s no room for love on Supernatural unless it’s DOOMED LOVE.

The next morning, Dean tries to figure out what they actually won from this hunt. There are two demons dead and one alive - and very bad - human. “Maybe these people wanna destroy themselves. Maybe it is a losing battle,” Dean opines to Bobby. He notes that Sam’s dispatch of both demons was “cold” and brings up Azazel’s words to him: When Sam came back, he might have come back different. They both agree (halfheartedly) that Sam is doing FINE and is definitely not at all concerning.

Sam and Ruby meet up in a hotel room. Sam’s suffering regrets and calls Ruby a “cold bitch.” She takes issue with this assessment, particularly since she’s saved his life a few times. I mean, knowing about Ruby aside, I fully agree here. Fun fact! The word “bitch” was used four times in this episode! Ruby continues to dangle the hope that she might be able to help save Dean from his deal. Sam levels the Colt at her.

Sam threatens to kill her, but it’s just empty words. Ruby warns him that the fight ahead won’t be easy, but she’ll be there by his side. A little “fallen angel” on his shoulder. (Shakes my head at this goddamn show.)

Where Everybody Knows Your Quotes:

Toys trump oils

A demon with a heart. Wow

You don't get it. All you got to do is nudge humans in the right direction

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #dean winchester #sam winchester #bobby singer #ruby #spn 3x04 #sin city #supernatural season 2

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skinsharpenedteeth · 4 years

Text

No clue what to call this one...

It’s PunkRock!Michael and Emo!Alex AU that pretty much no one asked for. That being said, it’s for @litwitlady per our previous conversation about the subtle difference with punk and emo kids. As a warning, it fluff n smut.

The ground vibrated under Alex Manes bright red converse and he wondered if he’d be able to hear anything once this night was over. He’d found the furthest wall and decided to hold it up for the evening as he waited for Maria to get done with her one-woman-mission to fuck SOMEONE in this derelict house that operated as a “music venue”. All the rooms were lit with harsh yellow lighting, bereft of all but the most untrustworthy looking furniture, and there were dents and holes in walls all over the place. Alex was a little afraid the second floor would cave in at some point and he’d have to find out that people actually lived here.

Looking back up towards the corner of what was once considered the dining room of the house, he was happy to see that he couldn’t see Maria anymore. Maybe she’d gotten lucky faster than he’d figured she would and soon they’d be able to get out of here. But that might still take a while, so Alex slid down the wall and took out the book he’d been reading about the perks of being a wallflower. He noted someone coming to stand next to him in this periphery but didn’t look up. He didn’t want to engage anyone here and the bouncing of their leg by his shoulder made him sure they weren’t looking to engage him either since they seemed to be enjoying the band.

When the band finally wound down, the figure that had been standing next to him practically fell onto the floor in a heap of legs and elbows. He turned to look and saw it was Michael Guerin, probably the most serious, mysterious, hard core punk kid at his school. His blonde curly hair had been streaked with green and slicked back from his face. He didn’t wear any make-up like some of the punk kids did or Alex himself for that matter. He had on a D.A.R.E. shirt with the sides and sleeves ripped off which showed off his lithe, strong body when he slumped forward. The shirt was tucked into tight black jeans with safety pinned holes up and down the legs. He wore the rattiest shit-kicker boots Alex had ever seen which were covered with patches, pins, and spikes. He’d left his spiked bracelets and collar that he’d worn at school at home for the evening and Alex felt like he was almost seeing him naked. Which wasn’t unwelcome because for all Michael Guerin’s faults, being unattractive was not among them.

“Having fun?” Michael asked, looking over at him in between nodding and slapping hands with various people milling around in the crowd. The band was breaking down their gear and everyone was moving to other parts of the house or out into the yard between acts. Alex pursed his lips at him and went back to his book. He was sure he was just fucking with him. Michael Guerin didn’t make small talk. He mostly just stalked the halls and kept his head down in classes. Alex couldn’t look at him without rolling his eyes sometimes, he was such a cliché.

“I, uh, don’t think I’ve seen you at many of these. Thought you liked fuckin’ Panic! At the Disco and shit…” he continued, sneaking looks over at Alex. Alex sighed through his nose loudly. Apparently, they were going to do this tonight.

“I’m here with Maria,” Alex finally responded, still not looking up from the book he was frankly only pretending to read at this point.

“Oh? I saw her leave with one of the guitarists from the first band. Was she your ride?” Michael asked, sounding nervous. Alex did look at him then, trying to see if he was just fucking with him or if he was being sincere. When he decided he couldn’t tell, he dug his phone out of his back pocket and saw a missed call and a text from Maria.

>Found something strange and hopefully wonderful. Won’t be back tonight.

“God fucking damnit, Maria,” Alex exclaimed, almost throwing his phone in frustration.

“So I guess that’s a yes?” Michael asked a little sheepishly.

“This is why you never see me at these things. I don’t have a fucking car and my ride likes to fuck strangers and ends up deserting me. I fucking know better. Ugh, fucking Maria,” he raged. Michael watched him at it for a while. Meanwhile the other band had finished setting up and people were starting to filter back into the room. Alex looked around at the people and groaned, just wanting to leave and get out of here.

“Hey, come on. Let’s go outside. It’s about to get loud,” Michael suggested, standing up and offering Alex his hand. Alex absently noted that his fingernails were painted, though the polish was cheap and had already chipped off in several places. At the first screech of feedback from the amps, Alex grabbed his hand and let Michael pull him up. He shoved the paperback into his back pocket and looked Guerin in the eyes, feeling a fluttery feeling in his chest when their eyes met. He was a bit surprised when Michael didn’t immediately drop his hand, but instead held it while leading him through the dingy kitchen and out to the backyard area. A group of smokers hung around the door chatting and they called ‘Hey-o!’ in excitement when they saw Michael. He waved and grinned at them but kept tugging Alex with him until they were past the property line. Apparently, someone had found a couch on the side of the road and had moved it out into the undeveloped desert behind the house to stare out at the dark nothing beyond. When they reached the front of the couch Michael finally let go of his hand and flopped down on the cushions at one end with a sigh.

“Uh, what are we doing?” Alex asked, looking over his shoulder to see if anyone had followed them. He shuffled a little and stared down at the orange and white plaid couch dubiously.

“We’re hanging out. Chill, sit down, enjoy the night with me. We’ll still be able to hear the band from here,” he added, patting the spot next to him.

“Oh, goody,” Alex remarked sarcastically before sitting himself down on the cushion farthest from Michael’s. He still didn’t quite trust his intentions, but he was glad to be out of the house. They could, in fact, here the band still, but the lyrics were muffled and it almost sounded like the songs had a melody this far out.

“So, what’s up with the finger bruises on your arm?” Michael asked, pointing towards where Alex’s shirt sleeves had ridden up when he’d finally sat down. “Girlfriend like to get a little rough?”

“Uhh…. That would be pretty remarkable since I’m totally gay and you know it. Like, everyone knows it,” Alex accused, deflecting his question about the bruises. He didn’t want to talk about his problems with strangers. As hot as this guy was, he was still a stranger. Michael smiled widely at him.

“I didn’t know if that was a rumor or what, man,” he replied easily, seeming to take Alex’s correction in stride. For some reason that threw Alex off. He’d been waiting for an attack.

“Oh,” Alex said, feeling a little deflated, “Well, it’s not. I’m gay. Does that make you want to run back to the party? Afraid someone will see you out here with the emo faggot?”

Michael’s smile fell and he looked a little insulted. Alex almost apologized, but he didn’t owe this punk anything and he kind of wanted to see how he reacted to some pushing. His tone was less congenial when he finally answered.

“I don’t give a fuck who you’re into. Love is love. What I do want to know is who the fuck keeps bruising you up all the time? Those aren’t love taps I saw on your ribs the other day in the locker room and you don’t skate or play sports. Who’s fucking you up?”

He sounded mad, indignant on behalf of a stranger. On behalf of Alex, who was not used anyone giving a shit about him. It was a new feeling for Alex to have someone pay that much attention to him and care that he was being hurt. But he couldn’t just say ‘My dad knocks me around because I crave cock and hate the military’ so he kept his mouth shut and Michael watched him stay silent, watched him tense up with his shoulders closer to his ears and wrap his arms around his body. He obviously wasn’t going to say anything so Michael tried a different tactic.

“The foster family I’m with right now… they’re alright. But the family I was with before them? Fucking meth heads. And meth heads get mean when they’re coming down,” Michael said, turning and pulling his shirt over his head to show Alex his back. There were long thin grooves over the middle of his back and little round scars like burns. “Not all that is the meth heads. The long scars were from the religious zealots I got put with a couple years ago. Being exorcised isn’t fun, but the lead up was worse.”

Alex stared at the skin in horrified fascination, moving closer to see them better in the faint light of the moon. Before he knew what he was doing, he was reaching out to trace along one of the scars with his fingers, but at the last minute came to his senses and brought his hand back.

“That’s awful, Michael,” Alex whispered. Michael pulled his shirt back down and turned to him, a bittersweet smile on his face.

“Well, it’s all healed over now. Right now, no ones hurting me. So, who’s hurting you? Are you getting bullied? I know that Valenti kid is a fucking homophobic piece of shit jock bully, but if he’s literally beating you up I will get my boys and we’ll tear his ass in two,” Michael threatened with passion. Alex looked at him, feeling his face soften at how serious Michael was.

“You can’t defend me like that. Kyle’s a fucking jerk, but he’s not doing this. It’s..uh… It’s my dad. He’s the one hitting me,” Alex admitted quietly. Somewhere in the middle of his confession, he had started to find his own hands fascinating. So fascinating he couldn’t look up to see Michael’s expression over his confession, but instead just kept watching the way his skin pulled taut when he interlaced them and twisted one way or the other. One of Michael’s hands came into his view then and covered his own, stopping their anxious twisting. Alex froze and waited. He didn’t know what reaction he was hoping for but he felt himself bracing for it.

“Do you have somewhere to go to get away from him?” Michael asked, his voice now quiet next to Alex’s ear. The hand not on Alex’s came to rest between his shoulder blades, thumb rubbing soothing circles through the cotton of his shirt. Alex felt his body relax a fraction, slumping a little as he realized he wasn’t about to be attacked.

“Yeah, yeah. I have friends who will let me stay with them,” Alex managed to get out through the thickness in his throat.

“Add me to that list,” Michael said. Alex’s head jerked up to look at him and he realized he was only a couple breaths away from him. “I’m serious. Add me to the list of people you can call if you need an out. I’ve got a truck, I’ll come get you. No questions asked, nothing owed.”

“You don’t know me, Guerin,” Alex said in the stillness between them. He couldn’t stop his gaze from moving from his perfect hazel eyes down to his lips. He suddenly knew he wanted to kiss this guy. Whatever happened after was fine, but he wanted to do something reckless. Michael was pushing a long piece of hair back behind Alex’s ear and looking at him fondly and it made Alex’s gut clench with want.

“Sometimes people do nice things without an expectations. It’s been known to happen,” he replied. Alex nodded and swallowed, suddenly filled with nerves again, though for a very different reason than before.

He saw Michael watching him, watching the way his eyes kept darting down to look at his lips, watching the way he mirrored licking them with his own. Slowly Michael leaned forward, closing the distance between them and pressed his lips against Alex’s. Alex was cupping his jaw and keeping him close before Michael could back away and end the kiss. Alex opened his lips, his tongue lickeding over Michael’s in a request and a question. This wasn’t Alex’s first kiss, but it was the first one he was adamant about pursuing further. Michael hummed deep in his throat and opened to Alex’s advances, letting him explore his mouth with his tongue before doing the same with his own. Alex felt breathless and elated. He didn’t care that the music in the background was hardcore punk being played so badly Syd Vicious would be rolling over in his grave. He didn’t care that he was kissing Michael on a dirty, half rotten couch out in the desert where anyone could see them and tell his father what he’d been doing with another boy. He didn’t care that Maria had left him to fend for himself so she could chase boys. This half-crazed make out session with Michael Guerin was making it the best night of his life so far.

Maybe it was the lack of oxygen or the adrenaline of being seen by someone he’d never admitted to himself that he’d always been hyperaware of, but Alex couldn’t stop his hands from falling from Michael’s jaw and starting to grope at the skin exposed by the open sides of Michael’s shirt. In response, Michael turned his body and started to pull Alex until he was sitting straddled across his lap. Then it was Michael’s turn to slip his hands under the hem of Alex’s shirt and let his hands slide over the muscles of his back and waist. When it became too much, Alex finally broke their never-ending kiss to gasp air into his lungs. Michael didn’t miss a beat, his mouth attaching itself to Alex’s neck with sucking, stinging kisses that made Alex want to go crazy.

“Fuck,” Alex groaned when he felt Michael’s fingers start to slip past the waist band of his jeans. It was so hot to feel him against his skin. It was too much, though, just too much with someone he’d really just been introduced to. “Wait, wait, wait! We gotta slow down…”

Michael groaned and buried his head against Alex’s shoulder, hands immediately coming out from under his shirt and wrapping him up in a hug. Alex slowly withdrew his own hands, resting them on Michael’s shoulders while they both calmed down and regained their breath.

“Sorry,” Michael murmured against his shirt before lifting his head and giving him a quick, close-mouthed kiss. “Sorry.”

Alex smiled and laughed a little, rubbing his hands up and down Michael’s upper arms while he gathered himself. He was nervous about having stopped them, but he was still so fucking happy about what had happened.

“It’s okay. All of that was okay, I just… Where did this come from? You don’t even know me, you’ve never talked to me at school or even, like, acknowledged my presence…” Alex said, eyes flickering over Michael’s face. He saw the way his expression went soft and slightly incredulous.

“I may not know your favorite color, but I’ve wanted to kiss your emo eyeliner wearing ass since my first day at Roswell High. You’re always being so snarky and bratty to everyone and then when you’re with your friends? Your smile lights up the place and it’s so rare to see, but so fucking beautiful. It’s just… man, fuck school. Fuck those people. Fuck the kids, fuck the adults, fuck the institution. They’re answering just enough of the questions to keep us from asking more. It’s a fucking joke. I’m not in the right headspace at school. You’re about the only good thing about showing up every day. Just seeing you makes me hate humanity a little less.”

Alex felt the heat of a blush infusing his face, but he also couldn’t stop smiling. This guy. This fucking guy.

“Your,uh… your smile is pretty great too. I think tonight’s the first time I’ve even ever seen you smile,” Alex commented, his arms wrapping comfortably around Michael’s neck. Michael’s lips widened into a cheesy approximation of a smile that really just showed all his teeth with his lips pulled back while he crossed his eyes.

“Oh my God, staaahhhp,” Alex said laughing at the stupid face. When Michael let his features relax back to normal, Alex darted in and kissed him. He meant for it to be one kiss, but it quickly turned into more as the heat which had been banked earlier, now came back to life with more energy.

“Can we lay down? My legs are going to sleep,” Michael mumbled between kisses against Alex’s lips. Alex jumped and was about to scramble back and off his legs when he felt Michael’s hands under his butt and then he was being tilted backwards until his back rested against the cushions.

“I shudder to think what’s on these pillows,” Alex grumbled even as he widened his legs and let Michael sink between them to rest his body against Alex’s. The weight and friction felt amazing. He suddenly didn’t care about the scratchy upholstery where his shirt at ridden up his back. He just wanted Michael’s mouth back on his and to keep feeling his body writhing on top of him.

“You want to add to the mess?” Michael asked after breaking their kiss, raising an eyebrow and smiling mischievously. Alex looked at him confused for a moment and then his eyes followed Michael’s hand as it slid down to his own jeans, flicking the button open and leaving his hand on the zipper tongue. Alex’s eyes widened and he shot up to meet Michael in a kiss before glancing back down between them. It was so hot. He could tell Michael wasn’t wearing any underwear and his pants were almost painfully tight against his own body. “Alex?”

“Fuck, yes. So much yes. All the yes. Enthusiastic conset given,” Alex babbled between kisses, his hands sliding down to start undoing his own jeans. Michael’s hand followed his, pushing his away so he could cup Alex through the black cotton of his boxer briefs. Alex felt like he could come just from that. His body was vibrating, breath caught in his throat as he gasped at the feeling of someone else’s hand so close to his own dick. He wanted to reciprocate. He wanted to touch Michael back so with shaky hands, he slowly pulled down Michael’s zipper and pushed aside the fabric of his pants. He felt the velvety skin against the back of his hand and then he pulled it out. Michael was uncircumcised. Alex felt like he knew this somewhere in his hind brain from talk or the locker room showers or something, but it was different when it was something you glanced while trying to hide as much of your own body as possible. Now it was thick and heavy in his hand. The foreskin moved in such a hypnotic way as Alex pulled and then pushed gently until he could see the wet, spongey head of Michael’s cock. It was giving him all sorts of scary, wonderful ideas of things he wanted to do and try that was definitely way too fast for a random hook up on a murder couch.

“Does it freak you out?” Michael asked, voice a little breathy as he held still and let Alex play with him. Alex shook his head slowly, still watching his own hand as he jacked Michael’s cock, thumb swiping and spreading the precome over the head. Finally, Alex’s brain came back online and he looked up into Michael face. His eyes had closed and his mouth hung slightly slack. He looked like he was in pain, but he was enjoying every second of it. Alex didn’t stop his hand movements as he raised himself up enough to capture Michael’s bottom lip between his own. Immediately Michael responded, returning the kiss hungrily. His hand had stayed over Alex’s underwear, but now he pulled and tugged at the offending garment until he could get it far enough down to sit under Alex’s balls.

“OOhhhhh my God,” Alex cried out as Michael’s hand finally grasped flesh and he was overwhelmed by the heat of his hand and the roughness of his skin.

“You alright?” Michael asked, keeping his hand still to make sure Alex was still game. Alex nodded and sank back down against the sofa cushions. Michael was giving him a curious look from where he was holding himself up on one arm. Alex laughed a little and moved his hand to grip the back of Michael’s neck fondly.

“That feels so much better when someone else is doing it,” Alex admitted a little shyly. Alex was afraid this was going to become a Conversation, but thankfully Michael just smiled softly at him and moved back down onto his forearm so he could kiss Alex while still having enough room between their bodies for their hands. Michael’s hand was a little dry on him, but he didn’t care. It still felt amazing and everytime their knuckles bumped against each other a zing of pleasure rocketed up his spine. He was doing this to someone else. Someone else was touching him. It was a-fucking-mazing. He started to feel a familiar tightness beginning in his core, his body winding itself tighter before it let go. He broke away from Michael’s mouth, panting and making pained little “Ah” sounds against his cheek.

“Fuck, Michael, I’m about to—I’m going to—” he was trying to get out, even as his vision narrowed and his body became a singular being of exquisite pleasure. He felt Michael’s mouth cover his and then his own hand was wet as well. When it was over they laid there, panting against each other and then Michael tipped sideways to wall onto his side between Alex and the back of the couch.

“Shit,” Michael said succinctly, cheek against Alex’s shoulder and breath still short. Alex just nodded and looked down at himself. There was come all over his shirt. His come, Michael’s come, marring the black in white, viscous stripes.

“Shit,” he repeated after Michael, his voice less in awe now that it was time for clean up. Michael looked down at his shirt and honest to god giggled a little. He brought his come covered hand up and wiped it over a clean expanse of Alex’s tee.

“Hey! I gotta wear this home!” Alex exclaimed, battling Michael’s hand away.

“No you don’t. Follow me to my truck, I’ll let you borrow a shirt. This one is fucking toast,” Michael snickered. Alex looked down again and had to agree. Soon after, they tucked themselves back up into their jeans and got off the couch. Alex found himself a little wobbly after the high of an orgasm. Michael caught him with a hand on waist and kissed his cheek.

“You get a little come drunk. Noted for next time.”

“So there will be a next time?” Alex asked, suddenly finding he was nervous to hear the answer.

“If you want there to be a next time, then yeah,” Michael said, holding out his hand to take Alex’s. Alex looked at it for a second and then up at Michael’s guileless face. He smiled then and reached his hand out to hold onto Michael’s. They slowly made their way around the outside of the house where the music was still rattling the glass panes left in the windows and out to the street where Michael had parked his truck. Alex stripped off his shirt and handed it off to Michael as Michael pawed through a backpack of clothes he kept under the passenger’s seat. Finally, he passed over a black Misfits shirt. When Alex put it on he noticed it smelled like rain, dust, and sage brush. It wasn’t a bad smell and in fact made him want to bury his nose in the collar to train it to memory. It was how Michael smelled and that wasn’t a bad thing.

“Want a ride home?” Michael asked a little shyly as he tugged the bottom of his shirt on Alex’s body in some attempt to ‘straighten it’.

“Sure,” Alex agreed, climbing in the passenger’s seat and buckling in. Michael closed his door for him and ran over to the driver’s side, climbing in and starting up the car. As soon as they were on the road, Alex slid his hand over the seat between them in a silent request for Michael to hold his hand. With a quick smile, Michael did.

#malex #malex fic #malex au #roswell nm #barely edited #no name #punkrock!michael querin and emo!alex manes #michael guerin #alex manes #high school au

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mcheang · 4 years

Text

Lila the evil witch

Inspired by the Disney evil sorceresses: Mother Gothel, Ursula, the Evil Queen...what if Lila was an illusionist...but what was she after? The Disney villains were literally after a physical component: hair, voice, heart... the exception was Queen La of the Leopardman, she wanted Jane’s Husband

WARNING: THIS IS A DARK STORY...involving religion and exorcism.

The Daughter of Mrs Rossi was dead.

Inhabiting her youthful skin was an evil witch’s spirit named Lila. She even legally changed the name of the diplomat’s Daughter.

In the past; Lila had posed as a sweet Wiccan in an American village, living humbly. But she wanted more! (Inspired by Sarah Ravencroft from Scooby-Doo)

Lila was in truth a witch, and she longed to have the materialistic desires that everyone else desired. She was just willing to risk her soul in the process.

Lila cast love spells on the richest boy, causing him to obsess over her. She stole the beauty of the fairest maidens in the land to heighten her own. And those that opposed her soon found themselves sick.

It was the second issue that got the reverend concerned. His own daughter had suddenly gone from pretty to having burned skin.

He prayed in the Church for wisdom and guidance.

And perhaps it truly was holy intervention that caused a hypnotizing ray of moonlight to lead the reverend into the woods where he found Lila the Witch preparing a bath in a sunken pit of dark liquid. (Inspired from the book Another Faust where Belle took a painful chemical bath to maintain her beauty and allure.)

It was a repulsive bath. There was nothing so horrifying as the smell of blood, but there were crushed butterfly wings floating on it.

The reverend had seen enough. Lila was no innocent Wiccan; but a witch!

He wanted to expose her right there and then, but Lila had the male youth population on her side and was engaged to a very wealthy lad.

The reverend left the witch to her evil bath salts without alarming her to his presence.

So, the reverend gathered trusted adults for a secret plot to drive out the witch to the community.

He waited till the next moonlit night to lead them to the sunken pit and there they exposed Lila as a witch.

Lila snarled at them and raced out, her stinking naked body painted red. The men raced after her, determined not to let the evil escape.

They succeeded when one of their own threw a pitchfork at her torso. Lila lay dying in agony.

The villagers gathered around her in grim triumph.

But Lila had the last laugh, while she mocked them about their daughters’ disfigurements, she secretly cast a spell so her soul would not leave the earth. She knew hell awaited her for her crimes.

But being a disembodied soul is no picnic. And yet Lila knew currently, the judge’s Daughter was wasting away in bed from her curses.

Lila waited until the girl’s soul had passed on, before moving in on the still warm body.

When the judge returned from the witch hunt, he was jubilant that his Daughter had been cured.

Lila played her role carefully, lest she arouse suspicion again. She waited years before deciding to move to another town. By this time, Lila’s stolen body was middle-aged. She kept her eyes out for young blood.

And so it went on, Lila looked for a body with a wonderful lifestyle for her to steal. With her acting skills, it was a breeze. The few who noticed were silenced.

Of course, there were the other magical folk who realized what she was. The goody kind sought to exorcise her. They never succeeded.

One day, she came across a diplomat’s Daughter. She had a good life. A sufficient allowance, fabulous travels around the world, and little parent monitoring. She became Lila’s next victim.

After a couple of countries later, she legally changed her name.

Then Mrs Rossi announced they were moving to Paris. Lila initially had some concerns. The Miraculous were ancient relics lost to time. But given Hawkmoth’s failures and the heroes’ inexperience, Lila suspected they were not well versed in identifying magical creatures.

She studied her talented new class, looking for possible new victims. Living a life of travel was fun and all, but it wasn’t fully luxurious.

Obviously those with artistic talent like Marinette, Nathaniël and Kitty Section were out.

To be fair, the only viable candidate was Chloe. The girl was served hand and foot and got to be mean! That sounded ideal to Lila.

But, with Hawkmoth around, Lila suspected the mayor would get akumatized trying to cure her. Or even Sabrina.

Ugh, she’ll have to wait till he is busted then. What a bummer. Who knows how long that will take?

In the meantime, Lila might as well have some fun. Her gullible classmates were her new servants. But Adrien and Marinette kept their distance.

You see, upon first sight, the kwamis saw her for what she really was and warned their holders to be cautious. Thankfully they were strong enough to counter whatever magic tricks Lila could come up with.

Lila didn’t do that though, she relied on her lying talents.

As a result, Marinette never got the chance to spy on Adrien once Tikki strongly told her to not raise the liar’s suspicions.

Also, Plagg thoroughly was alarmed by this Lila girl and warned Adrien to keep his distance while they were separated in the library, and don’t let her take anything that belonged to him. As a result, the book is safe. And Lila doesn’t have a chance to be akumatized.

Ladybug and Chat Noir discussed how to exorcise her. It would take joint efforts but the original soul inhabiting Lila’s body was gone. After the exorcisement, the body would be a corpse.

The action itself was simple, Lila was physically no match for them. All Ladybug had to wind her magical yo-yo string around her and let its magic nullify Lila’s own. (Tikki’s magic can’t do that for Nooroo’s akumas) then all Chat had to do was literally push her with his baton.

Plagg’s power would destroy whatever was anchoring Lila’s soul and force her out.

But how to go about it? In public? In private? How do they convince Mrs Rossi her real Daughter is dead and an evil spirit now possesses her body?

No, the real daughter of Mrs Rossi deserves to be given closure. Her Mother should be mourning for her real daughter, not the Lila ghost!

Ladybug and Chat Noir brought in Alya’s help for this, as well as tell her Ladybug is so not BFFs with Lila!

Lucky charm: an actual recent video of the real Miss Rossi at the zoo for her birthday. Apparently she has an intense fear of snakes.

Ladybug and Chat Noir visit Mrs Rossi at work and ask to speak with her in private. Mrs Rossi is of course, disbelieving, until Ladybug suggests they use the snake test. If Lila acts as Mrs Rossi expects her to, they won’t perform exorcism. But if she does not, Mrs Rossi will let them go through with it.

Mrs Rossi is still skeptical about this bargain before Ladybug points out that with all the akumas and superpowers, how can she doubt what was happening? Even New York has superheroes!

Mrs Rossi admits she doesn’t want to face the truth that her Daughter has been dead all this time and she never even noticed.

Chat consoles her that she can at least give her real Daughter justice.

Alya and Marinette organize a class field trip to the zoo.

Mrs Rossi disguises herself as a zoo attendant.

Lila is paired with Alya to study the snake exhibit. Lila shows no apprehension whatsoever.

At the dim, empty snake exhibit, Ladybug and Chat Noir act. Lila shrieks and demands to know their reason behind this. She pleads for Alya to intervene but Alya just stands back, with the zoo attendant. Both watching silently as Chat Noir gently pushes her with his baton.

Lila’s body collapses. And a visible spirit manifests, still trapped by the yo-yo.

The spirit of Lila the witch is no longer youthful, and they finally see what her real form looks like. An ancient, withered hag snarling and screeching in hatred and agony.

Mrs Rossi condemns Lila for killing her Daughter.

Lila spits at her. “What can I say? A Daughter with little to none parental attention? She was such easy bait! I’ve been here for years and you never noticed.”

Mrs Rossi flinched at the accusation.

Alya stepped forward. “And what about Marinette? Were you going to target her too?”

Lila laughed. “I target those with envy-inducing lifestyles. Marinette may have the connections but she’s no Chloe. I was waiting till Hawkmoth was defeated before I took care of her. Marinette though, was open game. I don’t tolerate people who call me a liar.”

Chat: you are a liar.

Lila glares hatefully at the heroes. “You won’t win. I’ll be back, and when I do, I’ll kill everyone you love.”

Chat: yeah, I don’t think so.

He plunges his baton through her spirit, into the earth. The baton channels the evil spirit away from the earth. In the afterlife, there are 2 paths. Lila obviously has shown no repentance...her destination is obvious.

Back at the zoo, Mrs Rossi weeps for her Daughter. The heroes assure her that Lila is gone and won’t return. Alya is preparing to tell her class the news. They decided to keep this matter private. Mrs Rossi isn’t ready for this to be public.

The fake story: Lila suffered a sudden stroke.

The class wants to hold a funeral but Mrs Rossi insists on going back home immediately. She can’t stand the thought of the class mourning for that horrible ghost. They never knew her real Daughter.

Oh, and btw, Plagg finally convinced Adrien to take pictures of the book and send the information to the Guardian.

#miraculous ladybug fanfic #miraculous ladybug fic #ml fanfic #ml fanfiction #ml fic #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #lila gets exposed #lila is exposed #volpina au #lila is a witch

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angstyaches · 4 years

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Ok so I freaking love belly rubs and now that we’ve seen Shayne receive a belly rub I want to see it reversed 😂 Charlie has an upset stomach for some reason and realizes that he just really needs to burp but he can’t and all day long the feeling just gets worse until he’s finally home and can lay down but still nothing will come up and when Shayne shows up and he lets him through the window he immediately knows something is wrong (p 1 of 2)

(P 2 of 2) somehow Charlie convinced him to help him by rubbing his stomach which of course helps and he burps into his fist a couple of times but it’s not releasing the pressure at all, actually it’s making him feel nauseous and before he knows it he suddenly vomits all over him and Shayne ( I know this doesn’t really fit with the plot you’ve got since the ending of the last fic with Shayne but i didn’t know how to make it fit 😂 you can ignore this prompt if ya want lol)

Milo, thank you, thank you, thank you. I had so much fun writing this. Baby’s first prompt.

Sorry if this is obnoxiously long; I have no idea how to judge length yet.

CW: vomiting

In the pub

Charlie had zoned out hours ago, upon realising that the three-year age gap between him and his oldest cousins meant a lot more when he was eighteen and they were fifteen. Whatever pop culture they were chatting about held no interest for him, and whatever gossip his parents, aunts, and uncles were engaging him would likely be just as boring.

He wished he could have gone and talked to Jonathan. He hadn’t seen his half-brother in months, yet he’d barely wanted to speak two words with Charlie all day. He’d brought two friends along, which Aunt Pauline had been annoyed about at the start of the day. She had gotten over it; Charlie, however, had not. The three of them had been skulking outdoors in the smoking area for hours.

Although, if he’d been given first pick, Charlie would have been chatting to been the pretty bartender with the gold lip ring. The guy looked run off his feet, yet had a smile for every one of Charlie’s relatives who had an order to bark at him, be it a chocolate-stained little cousin or his cane-wielding grandmother. He was so cute, but Charlie was too nervous to even look him in the eye. He also felt slightly… guilty, though he could think of no rational reason why he should feel guilty. He wasn’t spoken for by anyone; not even close. And that just made him sink further into his loneliness.

So, with no conversational opportunity, Charlie had occupied himself with the bar food that came out in waves. He didn’t often eat greasy food at home, and he ate exactly like a kid let loose in a store full of chicken goujons and potato wedges. His stomach started to feel kind of sloshy at one point, but that might have been from copious amounts of fizzy orange. More food would surely soak it up and settle everything down.

After the cute waiter dropped off a tray of drinks at the “adult” table, Charlie’s dad stood up and took a glass over to where Charlie was sitting.

“There you are, designated driver,” Trevor said. His cheeks were flushed red from drinking for pretty much the whole day.

“Thanks, Dad,” Charlie said, fidgeting with the keys in his hoodie pocket. “Can we go soon? I’m getting tired.”

“Of course. Last drink and we’ll hit the road,” Trevor winked, giving Charlie’s shoulder a squeeze. “You really are a blessing, son.”

He couldn’t tell if the flutter in his chest was because of the waiter still, or because of what his dad had just said. It might also have been indigestion, though he wouldn’t think of that until a little later.

“Maybe go and say goodbye to Jonathan before we head off, yeah?”

“Alright, Dad.” A blessing, he thought as his father went back to the proper adult table and sat next to his wife. Their half-demon offspring is a blessing to them. Part of him wanted to burst out laughing, the other half wanted to weep. He hovered somewhere in between, smiling despite the tightness in his chest.

He guzzled a few mouthfuls of the fizzy drink, stealing his courage as he stood up and went to talk to Jonathan.

In the car

The drive home itself was exhausting. Charlie’s energy was already spent after a whole day of socialising. His stomach was making some awful sounds, though it felt lazy and sluggish inside him after being fed such little amounts so many times throughout the day. The flavour of the fizzy orange kept repeating on him too, and he vowed never to touch the stuff again. He glanced over to see that his dad had fallen asleep against the passenger door. In the rear-view mirror, he saw that his mum was snoring with her head thrown back.

Charlie swallowed harshly. It felt like some of the fizzy orange was sitting in his throat, blocking his airways a bit. Gripping the steering wheel tightly at ten and two, he tried to let some of the air up from his stomach, but the bubbles stayed exactly where they were, gurgling amongst the sickly combination of food in his belly.

He slid his right hand from two to twelve on the steering wheel, glancing once again to make sure his dad was still asleep; Trevor would definitely yell at him for having one hand off the wheel, but it was a straight, empty road, and Charlie was decidedly below the recommended speed.

Besides, he could probably pull up enough strength to telekinetically steer the car, if he had to. Having acceleratingly strong demonic powers had its unexpected quirks, after all.

Charlie rubbed a hand across his belly, realising that it was filling out his hoodie a lot more than it should have been. He stifled a whimper as he pushed on the swell, hoping to force up at least some of what was making his stomach feel so bad. It gurgled under his hand, the pain shifting slightly but not upwards. There was a slight rumble in his chest, a fizzing in the back of his throat, but nothing more.

He put his left hand back on the wheel and sighed, surviving on the fact that at least he’d be home and lying in bed without the hour.

Back home

“Night, Mum, night, Dad,” Charlie called dully down the hall, though they’d probably both passed out on their bed in the time it had taken him to brush his teeth. He’d hoped the minty flavour would have soothed the burning acidity, but it had just mixed sickly with the fizzy orange reflux. He could finally hunch over a bit and rub his belly with a little more force, now he was alone in his room.

He reached for his bedside lamp, when a tap on the window made him jump. He almost knocked his little brown stuffed bear from the nightstand, and he rushed to straighten him.

“Sorry, Vincent,” he whispered before approaching the window. Another tiny pebble hit the glass and Charlie groaned under his breath. Couldn’t that boy learn how to send a text?

Charlie cradled his belly as he spotted the dark-haired figure in the back yard. Usually, the sight of Shayne gave him a very light, pleasant feeling, but right now he felt the furthest from light he’d ever been. He sighed and directed his gaze towards the back door, focusing on undoing the lock before ducking back into the room.

He leaned against the windowsill, rubbing his belly desperately. It was definitely too much to ask, that all of the burps trapped inside him come up in the time it took Shayne to get inside, take off his ridiculous boots, and creep upstairs. All Charlie succeeded in bringing up were a couple of orangey splashes that burned his tongue.

“Whatever it is, I’m not in the mood,” he whispered as soon as Shayne let himself quietly into the room.

The dark-haired boy frowned as he closed the door. “Hmm?”

Charlie sighed and sat down on his bed. “I don’t care if it’s a voodoo doll or a silver stake or a monkey’s fucking paw. Can we do it another time?”

“Okay, first of all; hi,” Shayne muttered. “Second; how would any of those things be useful in exorcising or communicating with a demon? And third; where were you all?”

“My cousin’s christening,” Charlie said, slipping a hand into his hoodie pocket so he could keep some pressure on his stomach. “It went on kind of late.”

“You’re telling me?” Shayne began to pace evenly back and forth. “This place gives me shivers on a normal day. Ten times worse when it’s all dark and unoccupied.”

“Well, you could try not hanging around on other people’s property,” Charlie grumbled.

“I caught three demons in the back yard,” Shayne said. “Three demons that will never possess your parents, so you’re welcome.”

“So, you’ve got fucking warding jars on you?” Charlie whined. He knew he was feeling awful for a reason, but if those jars were close-by, they certainly wouldn’t be helping.

“’Course not, I left them at the far end of the garden,” Shayne hissed. “Okay, you’re sounding more like me than me tonight. What’s going on?”

Charlie swallowed and looked up at his friend. His belly was groaning, and he hoped he was the only one hearing it. He pulled his hand from his pocket and started holding it a bit more firmly, giving up the secrecy.

“I don’t feel so good,” he whined, sitting forward. “My tummy’s really sore.”

“Oh. Well, why haven’t you taken any of those tablets you always try to force on me?”

“Because I’ll be fine once I can burp, but so far, nothing wants to come up.” Charlie’s face burned at hearing himself give so much detail. He lowered his head as he leaned towards his knees, curling around the knot of pain.

He felt the mattress take Shayne’s weight, and then a hand prying his away from his stomach. He took a sharp breath and looked up.

“Are you going to rub my tummy?”

“You’ll never hear me say it in those words, but… yeah.” Shayne was still frowning, though Charlie recognised a slight blush in his cheeks. “Here, straighten up. Stop sitting like an idiot.”

“That’s mean,” Charlie whined, slowly released his vice-grip on his belly and straightening his back. “Why do I feel like you’re going to be really bad at – mmm.”

Shayne’s hand could almost have covered Charlie’s whole belly if it hadn’t been so bloated and tight. His stomach churned uneasily alongside the movement of Shayne’s fingers, until Charlie felt gas bubbles press up towards his chest. He felt himself groan without deciding he was going to.

Shayne held his breath, pausing the motion of his hand. “What? Am I doing it wrong?”

“No, no, don’t stop,” Charlie groaned. “Can you rub my back, too?”

As soon as Shayne pressed on Charlie’s stomach and ran a hand up his spine, Charlie felt the gas bubbles release, making a deep rumbling sound in his chest. He pressed a fist to his mouth and turned his head away from Shayne. The burp was so loud Charlie worried it would wake his parents, and lasted about four seconds.

“Holy shit,” Shayne whispered. “I think I felt the room shake.”

“Shut up,” Charlie groaned.

“Feel any better?”

“Not really.”

“I’m going to lift your jumper, okay?”

Charlie almost squeaked as Shayne slid his hand under his hoodie, rubbing at the straining skin of his belly. Charlie dug his nails into the duvet to keep himself from wriggling. His skin was starting to feel prickly and warm, but that could have just been because of what was happening. Shayne was here and touching him, and not just through his clothes. He had his hand on Charlie’s bare torso. He was in pain, but he should have been enjoying this at least a little.

A weak smile twitched across his mouth as he nudged his cheek experimentally against Shayne’s shoulder. When the dark-haired boy didn’t flinch in any major way, he let himself lean a little harder, hoping his heart wasn’t pounding as loudly as he thought it was.

“What did you do to it, anyway?” Shayne asked, and it took Charlie a second to realise he was talking about his stomach. His fingers kneaded gently across it

“I, um, just kept eating, I guess.” Charlie turned his head to let out another burp, though this one sounded like it was strangled on its way up from his stomach. “And my dad kept bringing me fizzy drinks. Designated driver, you know? Aw – fuck, Shayne.”

Charlie frowned and winced as his stomach suddenly lurched under the pressure of Shayne’s hand.

“Shit – what is it?”

“I don’t know,” Charlie murmured, his cheeks suddenly tingling. A certain kind of panic began to ring in his ears. “Oh, god, I think I’m going to –”

He retched before fully realising it was happening, before he could do any kind of aiming or get his hands in front of his mouth. His hands did fly out, one landing on Shayne’s back, the other on his own knee. The majority of the thick, orange vomit landed down the front of Shayne’s jacket and t-shirt, the rest of it flicked across Shayne’s jeans and the duvet cover.

“Oh, my god, Shayne,” Charlie gasped. His hand was shaking as he brought it up to cover his mouth. Almost immediately, his head pitched forward again, another long gush of sticky orange liquid and chunks of bar food spraying over the sleeve of his hoodie as he tried to block it, but a lot still landed in Shayne’s lap.

Shayne sighed, though he really hoped Charlie didn’t hear it. He’d definitely take it the wrong way, thinking Shayne was sighing out of frustration when really, it was the only way he could release the intense sympathy he felt as the blonde boy clung to him and vomited. Shayne continued to rub Charlie’s back, though he wasn’t sure if it was helping or making things worse.

Charlie hiccuped into his sleeve, clearly forgetting that he’d just gotten sick all over it.

“Shayne,” he croaked, slowly lifting his gaze. “I’m so sorry.”

“Feeling any better?”

“Actually, yeah, I am.”

Shayne shrugged. “Then it’s fine. Jesus, if only exorcising you was so damn easy.”

#belly rub #belly rubs #shayne and charlie #sick charlie #emeto #my ocs #prompt #swallow the world #sickfic #nausea #emetophilia #tw vomit

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bakubabes-tatakae · 4 years

Text

The Demon’s Keeper (Part Three)

Author’s Note: If anyone wants to be added to the taglist for this feel free to let me know ! Happy to add anyone !

(Rin Okumura x Reader)

Summary: Rin Okumura is a hot headed demon who is hard to keep under control, only one person seems to be able to do it better than anyone, Y/N. For that, she’ll be known at the Demon’s Keeper, but what exactly does that entail for them?

AO3 Link

Part One, Part Two: *NSFW Ahead!*

Part Three:

Rin rolled over and wrapped his arm around my waist the next morning. He raised his head to look at the alarm clock to see the time and noticed there was a piece of paper sitting on it. He slowly stood up and my attempts to pull him back into bed were to no avail. He grabbed the paper and started reading it. He walked over to the window with it “Man that’s cold.”

My attention peaked with that so I sat up to look at him. “What cold?”

He lifted the bottom of his shirt, scratching his stomach, the small happy trail he had peeking out. “Yukio left, he couldn’t even wake us up and say goodbye in person.” Rin turned to stare back out the window when he stepped back a little. I stood up from the bed and walked over, noticing myself as well. There were small black things flying through the air, they looked like little black blobs with eyes and tails. “What’s that?”

I buried my face in Rin’s back. “I’ve never seen anything like that before.” Rin grabbed his sweatshirt and jeans, throwing them on while I did the same. We ran down the stairs of the monastery and out the door, spinning around.

Rin couldn’t believe his eyes. “What the hell are these bugs?” They were everywhere, but when people were walking around in front of the monastery they didn’t even seem to notice them.

“Why is no one else reacting to them Rin?” We both walked to the edge of the property and watched. “I don’t understand why no one else is seeing them.”

As we watched the small bug like creatures we heard a voice coming from down the sidewalk. “Okumura, my friend.” As we both looked over we noticed who it was. The kid that was shooting birds a couple days earlier was coming straight for us. “Do you have a second?”

Rin stared at him, growling some, not sure what he should do. They taunted him, his lackeys speaking next. “What’s the matter Okumura? You turn chicken on us? Don’t tell me you want to run away and hide behind your daddy. Or is your girlfriend going to save your ass this time?”

I tried to step forward and give them all a piece of my mind, but as I got in front of Rin he grabbed my arm and pulled me back to him, wrapping his arm around my neck and growling at them more. “Let’s go.”

The group of guys started walking, looking for a deserted place for us to talk. As we followed I spoke to Rin quietly. “You shouldn’t be doing this Rin. What’s Shiro going to say? You’re supposed to be grounded, remember?”

“I’m not worried about the old man. This needs to be done.” He was growing angrier by the second, something I knew was never good when it came to Rin, but now that I learned more about him, I was afraid of what could happen.

When we all entered the alleyway the leader spoke to us. “Sorry about the other day, my hand just slipped, you know? Anyway, I wanna know how much you want.”

We were both puzzled now. “What?” Rin kept one hand behind me on my belt loop and the other in his pocket of his jeans.

“My parents are somewhat famous you see. And as for me, I’m about to enroll in True Cross Academy. So I don’t want any unsavory rumors about me floating around.”

“You mean you’re going to the same prestigious school as Yukio? I see your problem.”

The boy laughed. “Now you got it. Consider it hush money, I’m buying your silence. You just have to keep this episode between you and me, and that girl too.”

Rin’s grip on my belt loop tightened. If anyone was protective of the people he cared about it was Rin Okumura. “Hah, you threw me for a curve there. Keep your money, I won’t tell.” He took his hand out of his pocket and grabbed another one of my belt loops with it, turning me around. “We’ve got a lot of things to do.” He pushed me forward, our queue to leave.

The boy was getting enraged. He laughed in annoyance. “Just take the money. Everyone knows you’re so damn poor that you can’t even get into school without help.” Rin stopped walking and turned around. The boy was standing with a bill in his hand. “Take the money. That brother of yours, Yukio is his name? The only way he got into that school was by cramming like hell and getting a scholarship. Isn’t that right? I feel for you. Use this to help pay his tui-”

Before I could grab Rin to stop him he was running at the boy, cutting off his sentence with a punch to the jaw. As the boy hit the ground Rin spoke through his teeth. “Scumbag, you can say what you want about me, but never diss my family.”

The boy turned back at us, hollering. “Man that hurt. I wouldn’t try my luck if I were you!” When he turned back to us he had sharp fangs and his face had changed some. The black bugs that were flying around started to circle him. Horns started to sprout from his head and like in some horror movie his nails started to change into claws.

Rin grabbed onto me and pushed me behind him. “I don’t know what’s happening, but stay behind me.” He stood more at attention and watched the boy, waiting for his next move. “If I tell you to run, you run.”

One of the boys with him ran behind Rin and grabbed onto me, the other two grabbing onto Rin and slamming him onto the ground, face first. I fought and fought against the boy, but he was so much bigger than me. Rin struggled under them. “RIN!”

Rin struggled more. “Get your hands off her!” He tried to lift his arms to fight back. “If you hurt her so help me god. It’ll be the last thing that you do.

The boy grabbed a metal rod from a barrel that was on fire. The rod was red as he stepped toward Rin. “An eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth. I’m going to give you back twice the pain you caused me.”

I fought more. “Leave him alone!”

One of the guys with him seemed a little unsure about what he was about to do. “Woah, come on. You don’t really want to-”

Before he could continue speaking the young boy kicked him in the face, sending him flying backwards. “Shut up!” He knelt down and grabbed Rin by the hair, lifting his head. “Now where would you like me to burn you?”

I tried to bite the person holding me. “Stop it!” I could hear the panic in my own voice. “Rin! What do I do?”

“Your nose, your mouth, or perhaps your eyes.” He lifted his head and turned it so he could look at me. “And once I’m done with you I’m going to make you watch as I do the same to your little girlfriend.” The boy wasn’t human, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing or hearing. “A human barbeque!” He laughed manically.

Rin started screaming. “GET AWAY!” The flames that surrounded the metal rod turned blue, just like the furnace had in the monastery. They grew so large that they blew all of the men around him away. Rin slowly stood up and walked toward the boy holding onto me. The boy shoved me forward as hard as he could and I stopped myself from falling. When I looked back up at Rin he was surrounded by blue flames. All of the boys ran off except for that one that had been taunting us.

The young boy’s voice changed, it was almost demonic now. “Those blue flames are proof you are the true son of Satan.” Rin looked over quickly at him. He stepped toward me, but I pulled away some. Rin remembered the flames surrounding him and turned his body to completely cover me. “I was right.” The boy walked in front of Rin. “My name is Astaroth.” He reached his hand out. “Come with me, my young prince. Lord Satan has long awaited you.”

Rin wasn’t moving anymore. He just looked scared. “Satan has?”

A voice from behind us caught our attention. “Evil is in their hearts.” We both turned to see Shiro walking down the alleyway. I had never ever been happier to see him. “Oh lord, give to them according to their works and wickedness of their inventions. According to the works of their hands render unto them their reward.” Was Shiro going to exorcise this kid? “Thou shalt destroy them, thou shalt not build them up.”

The young boy grew agitated. “Curse those words! Damn you exorcist!”

Shiro smiled at him. “Blessed be the lord.”

“I’ll rip that mouth of yours apart, so you can never mutter such filth again!” The boy turned his attention from him to Shiro and started running for him.

Shiro didn’t even falter. “He hath heard my supplication.” The young man reached him and swung for him, Shiro dodged no problem. “The lord is my helper.” Shiro grabbed his arm and flipped the boy onto the ground on his back. “And my protector. Thou shalt perish.” The young boy started screaming and black smoke came pouring out of his mouth. The boy became unconscious and Shiro dropped him, looking at Rin and I. “Are you two alright?”

Rin’s flames subsided and I crawled over to him. Rin reached out a hand and helped me stand up. “Forget us, is that guy going to be alright?” He pointed toward the boy on the ground.

“I exorcised the demon that had possessed him. He’ll come to in a moment.”

“Demon?”

“You guys can see them now, too. Can’t you?”

Rin looked around at the bugs and then back at Shiro. “All of these?”

“They’re called Coal Tars. They’re attracted to damp places and introverted humans.” Shiro looked at both of us with concerned eyes. “This world is made up of two dimensions joined as one, like a mirror. One is the material world that we live in, it’s called Assiah. The other is Gahenna, an empty realm inhabited by demons. Normally there can not be any contact between these two diverse dimensions, nevermind any travel between them, but having possessed all material substances in this world, demons are now intruding upon it.”

Rin moved closer to me and grabbed my hand, he could tell how high my anxiety was in the moment. “What’s all that mean?”

“Thanks to this uproar they’ve learned of your awakening. Demons of all species will come after you for all sorts of reasons.” Shiro looked over at me. “Y/N, do you remember what we talked about the other day.” I nodded at him. “You must hide before that comes to pass.”

“Hold on,” Rin was so confused he was getting angry. “What are you saying? What demons? And what the hell do you mean by awakening?” He started yelling. “Just what the hell am I anyway?”

“You are not a human being Rin,” Rin grabbed my hand tighter, hurting it. “You are the son of a demon, born by a human.” Shiro grabbed both of our arms and started walking. “And now just any demon. The demon of all demons. You are… the offspring of Satan.”

Rin stopped walking and stared with his eyes wide at Shiro. Shiro let go of our arms and turned again. Rin didn’t move. I walked behind him and put my hands on his waist, pushing him forward, trying to get him to snap out of it. “We don’t have time for this Rin, we have to get moving.” He slowly started to walk. “We have to get out of here, snap out of it!”

Taglist 💕 @thebookwormfairy @psycho-emily

Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

Updated: 5/12/2020

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acequeenking · 4 years

Text

Hadestober #6

6) Livin' it Up on Top - Hermes takes his sister back up, but her behavior worries him. (T; mention of Seph’s canon alcoholism.)

Of all his sisters, Persephone has always been his favorite. Always thick of thieves, the two of them, which seems only appropriate, given that thieves fall under Hermes' jurisdiction. Always had been, even as kids; if he dared her to do something, she would do it. If he challenged her to a race, she would run it. Thumb her nose at dad? 'Course she would. The other kids in their generation made excuses -- Persephone just set to beating whatever challenge was put in front of her. Made them quick friends, once upon a time.

Hermes used to joke that she and him were the only ones who got a drop of daddy's wanderer blood; truthfully, they were just the two who had the most to prove, being the only two living in the mortal realm. Either way, they looked out for one another: Persephone never saw a bit of Hermes' tricks, least so far as any parental unit who might punish him for such was concerned; Hermes certainly never saw her off to the underworld for a midnight rendezvous with the biggest conquest. They've both settled down now, but Persephone, well, let's just say he still escorts her to and fro.

Her little dalliance Hades may have been what turned her mamma's hair grey, but if she had known even half of what Persephone and her half-brother had gotten into in their travels together -- well, let's just say Miss Demeter's hair would be white if she had any left at all.

Which is, in short, to say: Hermes knows Persephone well. Knows just about everything a brother can know. So it's obvious, to him, when she ain't feeling too good. Not, he thinks, when she's mainlining three rum and cokes before the train even finishes it's first chugga up to the surface. Barely said a word to her dearest brother before she's deep into the bar: another sign she isn't feeling too good.

"Slow down, green thang," he says, watching her slam back drinks. "Got a whole summer to drink your fill."

"Doubt it. He was early last time," she says. "And the time before that."

Hermes frowns; that much is true enough. Been a few days earlier and earlier every year. But Persephone had greeted him with a smile each time, and he'd let them go down with the last few days of summers still hidden in her bag, because he'd thought his sister would be a bit happier with her man. Hermes hasn't been married, himself; that life was never for him, but his sister, well, wasn't a secret she loved her man, and that her man loved her.

"He'll be early again, too." She smiles sadly, adds a little ice to her drink. Probably because Hadestown has been hotter than hell lately, because he certainly can't imagine she wants to slow down her drinking. "Be early a bit more every time. Give'em a few more years and he'll be picking me up in June."

"He ain't gonna press it that far," Hermes says; Hades is unlikely to do anything that might ruptures the world order quite so badly. Always a balance between them, even if he tips the scale a bit. Hermes, being the god of rogues, cannot quite blame the man for trying to tip the scales a bit. Lots of times you can tip the scales without it quite being considered cheating.

"He will." She doesn't say anything more, and when he tries to offer her a bit of comfort in his words, she holds her hand up.

"Don't want to argue," she says, and there's an edge to sister-girl's voice, one he hasn't heard before. "Just pour another."

And so he does.

---

By the time they get up top, Persephone's had more than a few. Which...isn't so unusual; his sister has always been prone to her drink. She was never one for moderation, not in her drink and certainly not in her love life. He's sure that it must be hard for her, coming home, as she does, every year, to a world that relies on her more and more and more, as the human population grows and grows, and leaving a man who resents her absence more and more. An inevitable position, the one his sister has found herself in.

"HEY!" She shouts as they step off his train. She's stumbling a bit, and Hermes puts his arm protectively around her shoulders. "Let's find a party, Hermes, bound to be one somewhere!" Her volume is far too loud - alcohol working its charms, for sure.

"Why don't we go see see your mama?" He suggests instead. Demeter has never been one to turn down a visit, regardless of her daughter's sobriety, though it's been quite some time since she's been so soused. Probably have words to say, but odds are Demeter will say them to him, and not to Persephone, and he's willing to take that lecture.

"Do I look like I wanna be with my momma?" Persephone spits back. "I have been in hell for six months, brother, six months!" She grabs his hand with both her hands, the look in her eyes pleading. "I have been six months at his beck and call, and I ain't going straight to six months of being at hers. C'mon." She bumps his hips with hers. "I know you know how to dance, Hermes."

And Hermes is, indeed, a fabulous dancer. Doesn't mind tooting his own horn when it comes to the smoothness of his footwork. It wouldn't be the first time they'd gone dancing together, and Hermes knows damn well he's one of the few people who could dance with Persephone without her husband showing up in a jealous huff. He and Hades have worked together long enough that the man surely knows that for all he and Persephone have gotten along, they've never quite been tempted to turn their dancing horizontal. Neither of them has ever quite leaned in such a way.

"Please," she says, soft, and that sets all his alarm bells ringing, for Persephone has never been one to beg for anything. "I just gotta let off some steam."

"Alright, alright," he says, giving in. She laughs too loud, claps her hands in a childlike burst of drunken joy. "Alright," he says, alarm bells ringing in his head in seventy different percussive beats, all at once. But that said: it is unusual, but not entirely unexpected that she might want to blow off steam. Maybe it's been a rougher six months than it had looked. He'd talk to her about it, once she got some of that energy out.

He tilted his ear, listened for the best environment - ah. Found it. "Come on, sister girl," he said, strolling down to a bar where the booze seemed to be sweet on tap, and the jazz was, as was always his sisters penchant, lighter than air and darker than sin in its sound. "Good cabaret down the corner."

"Yes!" She pumps her arm in victory, and it reminds him of her younger self so much that his heart aches. He realizes, in that smile, just how rarely he's seen it, dropping off letters for the underworld's mister and missus, for the last couple of years. He swallows. Maybe this conversation is a bit overdue. But she's seemed to manage every other year so much better. Always got at least a smile out of her on the train, and a couple mimosas weren't anywhere near this six-whiskey-shots-and-still-going binge.

But he doesn't say anything. Just leads her to the club, where she disappears onto the dance floor. He joins her there for a time, but his bones - ah, they're old things now. Doesn't take long for him to slow down. The same can't be said of green young thang, however; she's still got energy for days in those legs. Makes sense, given how little she's been up top. Maybe Mr. Hades hasn't taken her dancing enough down there. Certainly seemed like he's been more than a little busy with his factories. Hermes tries to think of the last time he came in to them spending time together, and finds he cannot remember when it was.

"Save me a seat at the bar, handsome," his sister purrs, reading the furrow on his brow all too clearly.

"Let's talk when you tire out, sister." He gives her a look, and for a brief moment her composure breaks: the chin wobbles, the eyes look soft and wet for -- just a moment. And if he were not so good a friend, he doubts he would have seen such. He taps his eyes, and points toward her, turning the moment into a joke. The mood breaks, and she laughs and hits his hand in a friendly fashion, and he smile as he goes back to the bar.

He chooses his seat according to what Persephone tends to favor, and waits and waits for the little shoot to make her way over. Seem simple enough. He'll let her tire herself out, and speak about her troubles in a space too modern for her mother to frequent and too loud for her husband to snoop on them. But it takes Persephone a long time.

For a moment, his heart beats in hope as she comes closer; she comes to the bar, orders a vodka and cranberry spritz. Drops it down her gullet in one smooth move and winks at him, hoping back into the crowd without a word. His eyes follow her.

He watches her move on the dance floor - never really interacting with another else, but dancing so hard that she's sweating, like she can exorcise demons even her husband can't get out by moving herself on the floor.

"Your friend?" The barman asks, watching Hermes watch Persephone. He sees the concern in his eyes; Hermes looks a lot older than green thang, even if she's not any less ancient.

"My baby sister," he says; when the barman looks skeptical, he turns up the charm. Always has been a charmer. "Same father. Different mothers, obviously."

Bar man whistles. "Your daddy sure was punching above his weight, to get a girl like that at such an age."

True enough, and Hermes honestly laughs. "You don't know the half of it, brother. Not the half. My daddy could charm the wimple off a nun."

The barman laughs with him, and Hermes shifts his attention to flirting with the bar man, still keeping one eye out for his sister. Persephone keeps dancing, only runs to the bar to get another drink, and then another.

He keeps waiting for the talk, but before he knows it, the bar is closing, and the bar man's number is in his pocket, and Persephone is still dancing, still drinking and dancing, and he is very, very worried about her.

"Closing time!" She shouts into his ear; he winces.

"Sure is, baby." He squeezes her hand.

"Let's find another cabaret!" That's the thing about the big cities; never do sleep. He could certainly find her one.

"What about our talk?" He asks. "Besides, got to get you to your second home." She scoffs, and he ignores the scoff. "Orpheus has to be wondering where I am. You don't want to make him worry." Persephone has always had a soft spot for his boy.

But today she wraps her arms around his neck and gives him her biggest, widest smile. "Just one more, please?"

He frowns. He doesn't like the idea of not talking about whatever bug has crawled under her skin, and he doubts more dancing is gonna shake it out for her. Still, they are gods, and they have six months to have conversations, and there are plenty of less-charged times to have them. If there is one thing Hermes has learned, it's that they have time.

So instead of insisting on talking to her about her old man, about her new pains, well, he smiles, and says, "I suppose one more won't hurt," and he holds her hand, and they go dancing.

#Hadestown #Persephone #Hermes #Hadestober #Hadestown fanfiction #This is less Hadestober ficlet and more Hadestober fic #and took two days to finish #but I quite like this one #even if now I have to write two ficlets to make up for the time #oops

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