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the-witty-pen-name · 3 years

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Tell Me Your Mine, Darling

Western AU

18+ ONLY

Lee Bodecker x F!Reader

Warnings: prostitution, mentions of smut, alcohol, cursing, violence, mentions cheating

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: Hey! As always, this is unedited! Please let me know if I missed anything to include as a warning. I’m on the fence if I should make this a longer story, I like the idea of this being a stand alone, but let me know what you think! I’d love to hear any feedback cause this is my first attempt at a Western AU :)

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The player piano echoed throughout the whole saloon, bouncing off the walls as patrons moved about the crowded room. The peppy music was perfect for dancing as a few of the men threw back shots of liquid courage and asked some of the women working tonight for a dance. It was a night where the people who came in through the batwing doors could forget about their troubles and the existence of sins, and partake in merry drink and debauchery. The night air hung heavy and the room smelled of sweat, cheap liquor and even cheaper perfume.

The women were scantily clad in dresses only slightly less revealing than their undergarments, and the men still in their clothes from long days of travel. Cowboy hats, rugged trousers, and boots that lost their shine years ago. Girls carried around large trays of shots and lagers, passing them around to the drunk souls who struck rich for a night and opened tabs at the bar.

It was a busy night both downstairs in the saloon, but also many of the girls were leading men upstairs to their beds, for a warm place to lay their head and anything else they can afford. That was the secret that kept this dilapidated building up and running. The music and the watered down liquor wasn’t enough to keep the sheriff from closing and condemning the building.

If the owner was honest, he knew what kept the sheriff from coming and toting him away to rot in one of the two cells down at the jail. Not only was the sheriff partial to a drink or a few each night after the sun goes down, but he was particularly taken with one of the girls who worked there. Sure, the sheriff must’ve had his turn with every girl in the joint, but there was something about you which made the sheriff absolutely smitten. Of course, no one dared admit to seeing his obviously growing affections but the owner knew as long as you were here, and his glass was refilled, he had nothing to worry about. No one quite knows what happened. He went from coming in every Saturday night asking for whichever girl is free and then it went to asking only for you, every week without fail.

People theorize that maybe it’s your honeyed smile or the sweetness in your voice. The ability to deceive every man into thinking they’re the only one to ever touch you. The ability to put on the act of the farmer’s daughter while having the dirtiest mouth on this side of the Mississippi. No matter what drew him in, the sheriff had declared you his girl and anyone with half a brain knew better than to try to say different.

Nothing was any different about tonight, you watched from one of the stools at the bar while the other girls worked the room. Sitting with your legs crossed, your dress skirted up high enough to show the tops of your garters, you sip on your drink stealing glances at the doors waiting for him to arrive. You can’t help but let out an impatient sigh, balancing your high heel on your toe as you watch the clock that’s mounted on the wall behind the bar.

“Slow night?” the bartender asked as she topped off your drink. You smiled, but it fell a little flat, not meeting your eyes.

“Every man here is scared to come near me,” you chuckle dryly. Not that you were necessarily complaining- but you worried more and more as the savings you kept under your bed dwindled. The sheriff was a regular who paid incredibly well, but he was feared. And no one else would touch what he called his. You wanted to save up to get out of this town, salvage whatever was left of this life and do something. You didn’t want to live cooped up in that room and in this town for the rest of your days. You were luckier than most, that you understood and never tried to forget that, but still you found yourself daydreaming.

You thought about the men you’ve slept beside and the wild stories they told you. You didn’t want to live a hard life, the tedious and unfulfilling work they told you about. But, oh, you were so envious of how they traveled. Seeing the naked lands of the country and going to different towns. You weren’t even sure what you wanted to do, but you wanted to have the option. So in a little cigar box under your bed. You scrimped and saved what you could from each week. But, being the sheriff’s favorite girl, meant no one else dared touch you, meaning you have been having to open that little box of savings more and more.

“That ain’t the worst thing in the world,” you heard a voice next to you. Soft, and velvety- you’d recognize the voice anywhere as Dottie, one of the older women who had been working there much longer than you. Middle-aged, but completely sensual in her mannerisms and her voice. She had the ability to captivate an entire room with her prominent curves and everything you know, you learned from her.

“I know, I know,” you try to explain, but she feels your frustration. She understands it, and she knows it better than you do. She’d been there herself. The restlessness, the feeling of being incomplete, the utter fear of your life being wasted away under men whom you’re never going to fall in love with. She knows.

But she also knows the harsh realities of this world and how it treats lost souls like you, and she doesn’t want to see how it can hurt you like it hurt her. She understood how demeaning this line of work is, and how from here there is no way to move up in the world. It’s a limbo, where you're stuck in this saloon, listening to the complaints of men who despite their hardships will always have it better than you. However, the alternatives for women like you are far less desirable outcomes for your lives.

“Appreciate the gift you’re being given, sweetness,” she chuckles, watching as the bartender makes her usual. “As long as that sheriff keeps coming around, you’re working less for the same room and board the rest of us pay.”

You know she’s right. You know there’s so many things wrong about this town you can’t change. You can’t afford to worry about things like that, while so many of the people in this little one room saloon are just trying to survive tomorrow. It’s never going to be an ideal, and the world is much too cruel for miracles to happen for a woman like you who sold their soul.

Jesus befriended Mary Magdalene, so it never made much sense to you when folks in this town claimed you were damned to spend your own eternity in hell. You weren’t sure if the people in this town actually read the Bible. Granted, you didn’t know much about religion yourself. But long ago you learned religion was a luxury only the wealthy people in this town could afford to follow, and they were the ones who could afford to participate in the sins you peddled. But, that was just one woman’s observation.

Dottie disappeared back into the crowd as quickly as she arrived, and soon you were back to watching the doors again, waiting for the sheriff to relieve you of your ever growing boredom. The place was in full swing as a posse of men you don’t recognize entered, talking about how they were on their way to the coast, to mine for gold and become millionaires. You can’t help but roll your eyes, and you keep to yourself as they whoop and holler, making demands of the barkeep to send out a round for the whole place on their dime. Their rowdiness makes you flinch, and for the first time tonight, you find yourself anxiously waiting for the appearance of the sheriff so you don’t have to entertain the likes of them. Maybe God does like you, because before one of the men staring at you has an opportunity to saunter over, the saloon doors open suddenly and you can be saved.

You know you shouldn’t find it thrilling, but there is something about being his favorite that fuels your ego on nights like this. The most commanding man in the town, calling you his- making you have this untouchable status for the night. It was the closest you think you can ever be to royalty. In that bar, on the nights he regulars, you’re a Queen. It’s a rush that's definitely spoiled you and yes, in the moment, you absolutely revel in the power you feel as he changes the atmosphere in the room- with his hardened blue eyes locked right on you.

“Evening, sheriff,” you coo and shoot him a smile, genuinely happy to see him.

“How many times do I have to ask you to call me Lee, darling?” He smirks, placing his hands on your knee so you uncross your legs and he can stand between them. The feeling of his hands on the exposed skin of your upper thighs sent a tingle right up your spine. His thumbs slowly rubbed circles on your skin, making you shiver.

You rest your hands on his chest, rubbing gently, your hands shamelessly feeling the strength of his chest under his shirt. You straighten out the gold sheriff’s badge on his chest, and you can feel him tremble slightly at your touch, which strokes your ego more than it already was.

“I forget,” you tease, straightening out his tie. He smirks, looking down at you as his hands trail up higher, resting on your hips under the skirt of your dress. “I need you to keep coming back and remind me,” you flirt shamelessly.

“Your usual, sheriff?” the bartender asks over the loud music, people settling back into their own business after the excitement of the sheriff arriving has died down. Lee replies with a quick thank you but doesn’t take his eyes off of you.

“Did you miss me, darling?” he quips, rubbing your sides, his thumbs trailing across the waistband of your undergarments.

“I always do,” you wink, leaning up and pressing a quick kiss to the side of his jaw. “It’s so slow when you aren’t here,” you practically whine, pouting your lips slightly.

“I’m sorry about that, sugar,” he mumbles, leaning in and trailing kisses down your neck.

“It’s your fault you know,” you tease, your nails scratching his scalp affectionately.

“Is it now?” he chuckles, as he nips at your skin.

“No one else comes near me,” you admit, and you feel him smile against your skin.

“Good,” he murmurs against your collarbone.

“Ice is melting,” you chuckle, referring to the drink he’s ignoring on the counter. He just chuckles, pulling away only long enough to finish the drink in one long sip, and you watch as his Adam’s apple moves, and how the condensation of the glass drips onto his knuckles.

After he places the empty glass on the counter, you pull his arm to lead him upstairs with you. He takes your hand and let’s you lead the way, he knows like the back of his hand, and at this point better than his own house.

“Impatient, darling?” he teases, “Not going to ask me for a dance?”

“You never say yes,” you giggle, “Figured you want to have some privacy.”

“I might’ve said yes,” he retorts and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“Would you have?” you counter and he shakes his head no with a devilish grin.

“One of these days, doll.”

“I’ll be an old maid,” you joke, continuing up the stairs and down the hallway towards your room.

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” he says. You don’t know exactly what he means, but you don’t push him for an explanation. As soon as the door clicks closed behind you both, Lee’s lips attach to yours like if he waits a second longer he’d evaporate.

“Been dreaming about this,” he mumbles against your neck, leaving a trail of love bites that send a shiver up your spine. “Think about you every night I can’t visit you.”

You noticed how much more intimate your interactions with the Sheriff were gradually becoming. You weren’t sure how much of it he meant. The way he fawned over you and treated you like something more. Plenty of times, men behaved this way, never admitting except behind closed doors that that craved a much deeper sense of intimacy. You had always assumed the Sheriff was no different.

He’d take care of you, and you saw over time the way he handled you changed. It used to be rough and impersonal, oftentimes as well relying on you to do all the work so to speak. But, overtime, his visits became more of a mutual endeavor, and soon he was kissing you like how he is now, or begging to let him settle his head between your parted thighs, saying he felt good making you feel good.

“I’m addicted to the feeling of your skin, darling,” he whispers as he lets his fingers linger as he pulls the straps of the dress down your arms. When the dress pools at your feet, he stares in awe like it’s the first time seeing you, and then soon enough his lips are on yours again and his hands are free to wander where they please.

“Most stunning thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispers as you work on taking off his shirt, teasingly slow at undoing the buttons.

“You say that everytime,” you point out and he chuckles, running his hands up and down your sides.

“Cause I mean it everytime,” he smirks, walking you back until the back of your knees hit the back of your bed and you lay down with him on top of you.

One time a month or so back, you were sitting on top of the bar counter with him settled between your legs. You were using a rag to wipe blood off of his face after a messy fight that happened. Well, a fight that he started.

“I didn’t like him looking at you like that,” he grumbled, still fuming and he winces slightly as you press the damp cloth to the cut by his brow. “Shouldn’t be touching you like that,” he slurs, and you can smell the whiskey on his breath.

“Just means I’m doing my job right,” you chuckle, amused at his possessiveness. “It don’t mean nothing,” you say.

“It don’t mean nothing when it’s me either,” he pouts, with his eyes closed like he could fall asleep standing up. You are convinced he’s just drunk and doesn’t know what he’s saying. He leans on you slightly to keep himself upright, and you move to wipe the blood that is smeared by the corner of his lips.

He’s so handsome, you can’t help but observe. From a distance, sure he’s gruff and rough around the edges but he’s got the most handsome face you think you’ve ever seen pass through. You’ll never admit to yourself that you were taking your time patching him up so you could just look at him like this for a little longer. It’s always nice sometimes to pretend a situation is something that it’s not.

“Tell me your mine, darling,” he almost whispers when his eyes flutter open again to look at you. His gaze on you felt heavy and you weren’t sure what to make of it.

“I’m all yours, Sheriff,” you can’t help but chuckle, thinking he’s just fooling. Just trying to tease you. He frowns and looks so sad, those damn blue eyes more expressive when he’s drunk.

“Tell me your mine,” he asks again, like a whispered plea as his eyes roam over your face.

“I’m yours.”

By the morning, he’s always gone. He always leaves more than necessary, insisting to you the night before not to tell the owner. He doesn’t want him taking a bigger percentage. He whispers not to worry, and to let him take care of you. He knows how much he affects your wages and he wants to do the right thing.

Lee doesn’t like to pay you. It’s a horrible reminder to him that you don’t actually care one way or another if he shows up or not. It’s the terrible wake up call come morning that you aren’t actually his, as much as he asks you to say it.

You’d just have to say the word and he’d do just about anything to make you love him back for real. But he knows that this can’t ever go further. You deserve to go off and see the places he hears you tell the other girls about. You don’t think he knows about you wanting to leave but of course he does.

The pictures of far away cities are hung on your mirror held up between the frame and the glass. There’s a picture of New York that sometimes he’ll stay up staring at, knowing your heart ain’t tied down yet to one place like his is tied here. He can’t leave and he knows he can’t in good conscience ask you to stay. He knows you would, but not for the reasons he wants.

Good god, you’re still young and have a spark in you that he damn well knows he doesn’t want to be the one to put out. He wants nothing more than for you to look at him and see you could be happy and be in love. But what life is that compared to the life you’re dreaming of. You have hopes, dreams, and Lee knows he isn’t at the center of any of them.

So for now, he settles for the time you share with him when he comes by like tonight. Where he hopes he can silently tell you with his touches how much he feels for you. Where he can carefully tread the waters of sweet sentiments in hopes you’ll return them without him asking. It’s not real, none of it is.

He can hold you close and touch every part of your body like it’s only his to see and feel. He can hear every noise you make and watch every reaction to his touches and it fuels him for now. It’s enough for now to leave bruises on your skin and pretend it’s enough to keep others from knowing you’re his. It’s not, because the marks won’t matter.

He can feel himself inside you, and feel how your body reacts to him. The way to him, nothing will ever come close to the feeling of you around him. He’s addicted and he can’t go back. He’s been ruined by you, and no one else will ever come close to adding up to you.

But it’s not real. He’ll go home in the morning, and lie to his wife one more time, swearing that it’s the last time he goes back. He’ll tell her he worked late and slept in the Sheriff’s office. He’ll make the promise that he’ll be home on the weekend. But it’s not real. Because, he knows that he’s going to find himself going back to you. And he prays to God you won’t be there.

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queenofimagines · 4 years

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Stranger from Out of Town

Summary: Arvin had no reason to be here. After the things he’d done, he had no reason to be blessed with an angel like you. But after spending so long on the run, after spending so long looking over his shoulder, he couldn’t help but fall in love with the one person who made him feel safe. All is well and good in Arvin’s life until one determined and obsessed sheriff decides it’s time to pay Arvin a visit.

Notes: Ya’ll, this one’s a doosey but I hope you enjoy it anyways. For the purposes of this pic, Bodecker is still alive.

When Arvin woke up that morning he could feel that something was different. Arvin’s life had been flipped upside down by his own actions that had ultimately been what forced him to live his life on the run. He had spent the better part of a year running, zigzagging across the country in the hopes of shaking the authorities off; first traveling down to Georgia, then up to Iowa, then back down towards Texas and so on before finally finding permanent resident. Arvin knew what the rest of his life would look like from here on out. He understood that he would spend the rest of his time on God’s green Earth looking over his shoulder and never finding the quiet life he longed for. Arvin knew that he was cursed, from the moment his mother had died he had been plagued with loss and he was sure he was one of the unlucky souls who had come to be the Devil’s plaything. Arvin had expected that his life would forever be riddled with rot and chaos, damned to suffer through conflict after conflict after conflict. But when Arvin opened his eyes today to the sun streaming in through window and the sound of bacon sizzling coming from the kitchen, he finally understood what it felt like to be at peace.

Arvin swung his legs over the side of the bed, hauling himself up and making his way down the hall. His steps were heavy with sleep, shuffling against the floor loud enough to alert the person in the kitchen to his presence. As Arvin drew closer, he began to hear the hum of a song that was unfamiliar to him, just barely covered by the sound of someone flipping an egg, prompting him to hurry his steps to arrive at the delicious smell and the lovely voice that had almost lulled him back to sleep where he stood. Rounding the corner, Arvin couldn’t help but grin at the sight before him. There you stood in front of the stove, still dressed in your nightgown, cooking a breakfast big enough for two.

Two. Such a simple word with such little meaning. An insignificant word that made Arvin’s heart swell with delight. It wasn’t just him anymore, alone and scared, no, now it was him and you. To Arvin, it was hope. Arvin watched as you plated the food you had prepared before turning around and flashing him an earth shattering smile. You would never know how much it meant to him, your smile, and that you were here, right now. You would never know the kind of stability you brought to him. And he planned to keep it that way, to keep you in the dark about all the things he’d done. To keep letting you believe he was just the stranger from out of town who stole your heart.

When you met Arvin, he was just a newcomer, a lost soul who had found your quaint little town practically in the middle of nowhere. He had stirred up quit a buzz when he walked into your parents’ little diner, asking if there was any place he could stay the night, but seeing as your town was so small, small enough that it could safely be left off of most maps and small enough that tourism wasn’t a main source of income, the answer was unequivocally no. Your father, who had been Arvin had the luck of plopping himself next to, informed him that the closest motel was almost a three hours drive away. Arvin remembered staring out the window, watching the last rays of light vanish, his hope along with it. It would be impossible for him to get someone to see him this late at night, let alone actually stop for him. Arvin felt like he could cry in that moment, but your mother, ever the good Christian woman, had offered to let him stay at your house until tomorrow morning. Arvin was grateful that your mother had been so kind, and in retrospect you were too, but you remembered how much you resented Arvin when your mother told you he would be staying with you. At first, you were all for it, one night with an attractive stranger from out of town in your house wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, but the next day both Arvin and your father came home in the afternoon after they had supposedly left to take Arvin to the next town over earlier that morning.

“Turns out this boy knows his way around a car,” your father had said, beaming. He had later told your mother privately that he had offered Arvin a place to stay with your family and a smaller than average wage in exchange for his help around the shop. Your father owned the only car shop in town and was in desperate need of a new assistant, and seeing as you didn’t want anything to do with being a mechanic, your father saw Arvin as a golden opportunity, someone to possibly pass the torch to. Your mother was more than happy to let him stay, finding his handiness around the house useful, but you were less ready to welcome him into your life. Arvin had garnered a lot of attention, especially from the female population, and most of the girls at your school would pretend to be your friend in the hopes that you would invite them over, just so they could get a glimpse at him. It only got worse when your parents had commissioned Arvin to pick you up and drop you off to school. The girls would stare, trying to get a closer look at Arvin, a few of them even having the courage to go up and talk to him. It made you sick, that attention he got and how much he seemed to enjoy it. You had convinced yourself that it was skepticism about his character, but now that you look back on it, it was nothing more than petty jealousy that bubbled in your stomach. It was stupid, really, to be jealous that a boy was giving other girl’s his attention, especially since you hadn’t seemed very keen on the idea of him even being in your town, but what you didn’t know was that it wasn’t the attention that Arvin enjoyed, it was the fact that in the people around him, in the kindness that people showed him, Arvin could see a future here; a future with you.

From the moment Arvin laid his eyes on you, he was smitten, he would even go as far as to say it was love at first sight. Arvin wouldn’t confess this to you until almost a year after you’d met when he tried to ask you to prom (with your parents’ permission, of course). It was honestly a train wreck and did not go at all how he had planned. Arvin had invited you out to the town’s gazebo, he had strung up lights as best he could and set up a nice little dinner for the two of you. He saw a figure slowly approach, thinking it was you, only to be disappointed when Susan Hall, who Arvin remembered you hated with a passion, stepped into the light and flung herself at him, telling him how sweet it was of him to do this and attempting to kiss him. You had seen the whole thing and, devastated, you ran away, Arvin chasing after you. He had caught up to you in the woods behind your parents’ property and explained what had happened, confessing that he loved you and only you. You believed him, and rightfully so, as you later found out that Susan had crashed your plans on purpose to try and steal Arvin from you.

Looking back on it now, with you leaning against his in the small house that you had bought the second you graduated high school with the little money both of you had saved up and some help from your parents, Arvin was glad he had ended up in your dreary town, no matter how complicated your relationship had been when it first started. He watched as you admired the ring on your finger, smiling at it as if you had been missing it all your life, the now empty dishes sitting in your sink waiting to be washed. It was times like this Arvin remembered why he had to keep his past life from you a secret. He loved you and often found himself wanting to tell you all about his past life. Every time you asked why he looked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders Arvin wanted nothing more than to tell you everything, but Arvin loved you too much to let you go and he couldn’t bare to think of what would happen if you knew what he did.

“Darlin’, I gotta get ready for work.” He said, lips pressed against the crown of your head.

“Why don’t you call in sick today,” you suggested.

“I would but your dad would kill me.”

“You know he loves you Arvin.”

“Yeah, that’s why I don’t wanna disappoint ‘im.” With one final kiss to your head, Arvin stood up and made his way to your shared bedroom. You began to clean the dishes, not having to go into the diner until later that day. As you began cleaning the last pan in the sink, a sturdy knock came from your door.

“I’ll get it!” You yelled, hearing Arvin begin to hurry to the front door. You had opened the door just as Arvin arrived at the end of the hallway. In front of you stood a tall man with a sheriff’s badge pinned to his shirt.

“Mornin’ ma’am, my name’s Lee Bodecker,” The man said. “I’m looking for a man named Arvin Russell and I heard I might find him here.”

“Arvin?” You repeated, confusion written all over your face. You turned to look at your husband, eyebrows furrowed in a silent question. From where the sheriff stood, he couldn’t see Arvin, his figure being blocked by the door, but if he leaned ever so slightly to the left he might be able to peer into the house and see there was someone else there. You knew something was wrong, you had never seen Arvin look as scared as he did now, so without a second thought, you had gently closed the door so that your body filled the gap it created, leaning against the door frame in an attempt to feign nonchalance.

“I’m sorry, Mister, but there ain’t no Arvin Russell here. Whoever told you there was must have been misinformed.”

“You sure about that?”

“Sure as the hair on my head.”

“Oh, alright. Then may I ask who it was you called to just before you opened the door?”

“My husband.” You said after a long pause, caught off guard by the man’s question.

“Mind if I speak with him?”

“Well I don’t but I’m not sure how you’d feel about seein’ him naked. He’s takin’ a shower right now.” You began gently tapping your foot, your nerves beginning to get the better of you. You had never been all that good at lying, something about it made you feel wrong, dirty. But you needed to protect your husband, after all, it’s what he would do for you.

“Then would you mind if I waited.”

“Actually I would. I have to leave for work soon and, with all do respect, I don’t much like leaving a stranger unattended in my house.”

With a small nod and a tip of the hat, the man bid you goodbye, getting into his car and driving off. You closed the door and turned to Arvin. It was silent for a long time, you waited for Arvin to explain himself but Arvin didn’t know what to say. His worst nightmare was coming true and he was terrified that your love for him wouldn’t be strong enough to survive this.

“Arvin,” You said, as calmly as you could, not wanting to spook him or yourself anymore, though it proved a lot harder that you thought. “Why was that man at our door?”

Arvin opened his mouth as if to say something but for the life of him he couldn’t find the words. He was frustrated with himself, and from the looks of it you were getting pretty frustrated at him to.

“Arvin,” you said more firmly. “I just lied to a goddamn sheriff for you. Please, tell me what’s going on.”

Arvin took a deep breathe before explaining everything to you. He told you about Lenora, and how hung herself. About the preacher and Bodecker and about Bodecker’s sister and her crazy husband. He explained everything he had done with complete and utter honesty. And he cried, longing to reach out for you but knowing his hands were too tainted to be worthy of ever holding something as beautifully pure as you. You didn’t know what to say. On the one hand, you understood his reasoning. To you, it seemed like the people Arvin had killed had it coming. But on the other hand, your husband had killed people. It didn’t matter what the reason was, taking a person’s life was a sin, something unforgivable in the holy book. Despite your better judgement, your decision ultimately came down to this: Arvin was your husband, and you loved him.

You slowly approached Arvin’s shaking figure, gently wrapping your arms around his shoulders and threading your hands through his hair. Arvin broke down into sobs, holding you impossibly close to him as if he needed you more than the air he breathed.

“Arvin,” You said once he had stopped crying, your own tears beginning to fall as you realized that there was only one option left for you both. “Arvin, we need to go.”

“What?”

“We need to go.” He gently pulled away from you, looking into your eyes, checking to make sure he heard you correctly.

“B-but this is our home.”

“I know Arvin, but that sheriff didn’t believe a word I said and he’s gonna be asking around town for you. It won’t be long until word of what you’ve done begins to spread. We need to leave before it’s too late.”

You gently ushered Arvin towards the bedroom and told him to begin packing a bag, unaware of the figure lurking at your backdoor. Bodecker had listened in on your conversation, hearing every word you and Arvin had spoken to each other, preparing for the right moment to make himself known. It was now or never, he thought, hearing you tell Arvin to pack a bag. As quietly as possible, Bodecker broke the lock on your back door, slowly making his way towards your bedroom. The door was wide open, he could see you and Arvin darting around the room trying to find your essentials. It was almost perfect, how unaware you both were. How wrapped up you were in yourselves that you didn’t even notice a 6 foot tall man practically right in front of you. With a sadistic smile, Bodecker raised his shotgun.

You froze when you heard someone pump a shotgun behind you, whipping around to find Bodecker standing just a few feet from you, gun aimed at Arvin. Your heart was beating so hard you thought it might burst, the thought of losing Arvin only increasing the adrenaline that was currently coursing through you.

“You thought you could get away, didn’t you?” Bodecker asked.

“Please, your sister and her husband, t-they were gonna kill me I didn’t hav-”

“I don’t care! You killed my sister. My sister! You killed the only person I loved Arvin. And now, I’m gonna return the favor.” In one swift motion, Bodecker turned to point the gun at you, raising his gun higher to aim at you properly. You closed your eyes before hearing the bang of a gun. You waited, standing stock still as the terror of the situation slowly got to you, but you didn’t feel pain, instead you felt a set of hands holding your face, a voice softly telling you to open your eyes. You did as you were told, seeing Arvin in front of you, eyes frantic. You looked at the ground next to him, an unfamiliar gun next to Arvin’s foot. You came to the realization that Arvin must have used it to shoot Bodecker, your suspicion being proven correct when your eyes landed on Bodecker’s now lifeless body laying in a pool of his own blood.

“A-Arvin-” Arvin softly hushed you.

“It’s okay, you’re okay now.” Arvin pulled you closer to him, cradling your head and shielding you from the body. Soon you could hear sirens in the distance, the panic slowly rising inside of you again. You could feel Arvin begin to panic too, his breathing starting to pick up.

“H-his badge.” You said, pulling away from Arvin, scared that he would be taken away from you. “We-we need to get rid of h-his badge. A-and any identification he has. It has to look like an- like an accident”

“R-right. Right, okay, uh...” Arvin began searching Bodecker’s body, quickly finding both his badge and ID and hiding them in a small hollow under one of the floor boards where you kept your savings. You and Arvin quickly came up with a cover, agreeing to keep it simple. The police arrived not long after, conducting an interview and putting you both through due process. You told them what you and Arvin had agreed to say, that the man broke into your house and tried to rob you, but thanks to Arvin’s quick thinking, Arvin was able to get to his gun and shoot the intruder. The policemen interviewing you were skeptical, wondering why neither of you called the police after killing the man. You blamed it on shock, saying that Arvin’s first instinct was to comfort you, the intruder did have a gun pointed at you, after all. The policemen eventually dropped the subject, seeing you begin to tear up as the adrenaline and shock of the day began to ware off. Your parents came to get you and Arvin, offering you both your old room at their house until they were able to get someone to fix your back door, an offer that the both of you readily accepted. That night you and Arvin held each other just a little bit tighter, neither one of you finding sleep to come easy.

“We can’t tell anyone what happened today.” Arvin said, rubbing your back in an attempt to soothe you.

“I know.” You replied, tightly clutching onto his shirt. “I love you, Arvin.”

“I love you, too, Darlin’”

You didn’t know what would come out of tonight. You didn't know if you were making a mistake by trusting Arvin after everything he had done. You weren’t sure if you were messed up for loving a murderer or if you were right in believing that Arvin was doing good, even if it meant doing some more than questionable things. But you knew one thing, you knew you loved Arvin and that he loved you, and that you both would always protect each other, no matter the cost.

#arvin russell #arvin russel #arvin russel x reader #arvin russel imagine #arvin russell imagine #the devil all the time #the devil all the time imagine #tdatt #tdatt imagine #tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland au #tom holland x reader

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wifeofkimtaehyungofbts · 3 years

Text

Chapter 6

Pairing: Jimin x Y/N

Synopsis: How do you help someone with their emotions if you don’t feel emotions? When your brother’s best friend dies in a tragic car accident and he spirals downwards in depression, you devote yourself to helping him out of his misery. But when his other best friend becomes suicidal following the loss, it isn’t merely about helping them. It’s about saving them.

Word count: 1400+

Previous / Next

*****

Hard.

The only word that can explain my situation.

Sleeping is hard.

Pretending to be okay is hard.

Breathing is hard.

Staying alive is very hard.

Every passing morning I wake up, I wish I didn’t. Waking up to an eerily quiet apartment, walking down the over crowded streets feeling alone and pulling through the day with all the energy I have is mentally and physically exhausting.

My therapist was kind, too kind for my liking. A young, dynamic woman interested in helping those who came to her. She suggested a lot of changes to my lifestyle that would help me move on.

I appreciate her efforts, but she did not see the bigger problem. It wasn’t that I was unable to move on, I refused to move on.

I was afraid of getting comfortable in a world without him.

The idea of waking up one morning, brewing myself bitter coffee that he hated, hustling through work and going for a walk in the park on a Tuesday evening with a smile on my face pretending like I’m alive and kicking made me sick. The day he died, I did too. The only difference between my dead best friend and I is that his body died too, whereas mine survived.

It survived when I tried to cut myself open, the pain on my skin barely felt against the pain in my head.

Watching the thick blood gushing out through the wounds I’ve inflicted on myself using the shiny kitchen knife was less horrifying than watching his wooden casket lowered to the ground.

My body survived the multiple drug intake that would’ve killed anyone else. Feeling my face hit the cold bathroom floor before the lights in my head went out as I blacked out was less scary than going to bed that night knowing every tomorrow then onwards would be a day away from our last day together.

I don’t know how long I was unconscious on the floor as the drugs attempted to slowly took my life before Jungkook found me in my apartment. I don’t even know how the guy let himself in. He probably used the spare key Taehyung let him borrow.

Taehyung.

The name pierces my chest. My mouth feels dry, my cheeks sunken in. If pain was a taste, it would be all-too-familiar for my hallucinating tongue.

I hate him for leaving us. But I hate myself for putting him in a situation where we lost him. I hate myself for being the first one to wake up in the toppled car that day. I hate myself for looking over at him and helplessly watching him draw his last breath. I hate myself for crying while my best friends were bleeding to death in the burning car.

By a miracle Jungkook and I survived. Neither of us sustained any injuries to the head, fortunately. Jungkook fractured his left arm and broke a few ribs. I broke a few ribs and fractured my right leg. With the help of a cast and rest, we both recovered in 3 weeks.

The doctors kept telling us we were lucky ones, to heal from such wounds in such a short period of time. They told us we were lucky enough to have survived such a crash.

The car had collided with an oncoming truck carrying wood and rolled 18 meters before coming to a stop.

It had been crushed from the side he was seated on. Paramedics said the car door had to be removed from his body. His insides were like water, his guts shapeless.

The blunt force of metal crashing against him had cracked his skull, causing internal bleeding. Doctors said he died a very painful death and I asked them why.

Why did Taehyung suffer that way? Why did Taehyung go through so much of pain?

The guy who plays with children on the street, the guy who helps the blind man cross the street to the bakery around the block every weekend, the guy who rescues stray cats and dogs and takes them to the vet, spending on their treatment with his own pocket money before taking them to adoption centres. The guy with the golden heart.

Why him?

The world is full of shitty people; murderers, rapists, abusers. They roam the face of the planet with blood on their hands and sin in her souls and Taehyung was taken away painfully?

I open my eyes to wake up from the thinking, to end the painful conversation I always have with myself.

Opening my eyes slowly, I take in the silent room. A slit of sunlight tears through the dark, not enough to illuminate the room.

It was very kind of Jungkook to take me in and as much as I love the guy, I wouldn’t say I am entirely comfortable sharing his space.

I want to be alone, to remember and regret.

The whole accident... I didn’t have enough time to process it with the funeral happening too soon and my mind poisoning me with guilt.

I keep telling myself there was absolutely nothing I could’ve done to save him, he died before help arrived. Had he survived by any miracle, he would live a miserable life; a half dead vegetable rotting away on bed till his body gets too old to live. We all know Taehyung would’ve hated that.

But thinking of all the things we could’ve done differently, like other ways we could’ve spent that day instead of drunk driving, sends a cold jab through my windpipe, not allowing me to breathe setting my lungs on fire.

I get out of bed, pushing away the dark sheets that cannot engulf me in enough warmth. I trace my fingers along the wall looking for the light switch.

Finding it I switch it on.

Blinding white light fills the room, my eyes squinting against the amount of sudden light.

It all happens too quick.

The light.

The dull silence of the room.

It all takes me back to the hospital room.

Bright white light. Too bright for me to fully open my eyes and take in the people silently rushing around me.

The only sound the beeping of my heart monitor.

My ears pick up inaudible voices. Someone with a deep voice. Someone with a raspy voice. A female voice.

“He was dead when they got there”

“..... they had to remove parts of the car from him. The entire door was jammed into his side”

A few gasps echo in the room.

“...... internal bleeding [inaudible] painful last moments”

More murmuring.

“He’s stable I just checked”

He, who?

Dead?

Stable?

Breathing was hard. I need air.

The beeping got louder, scarier.

Words were thrown across the room.

“Patient is crashing!”

“Get the doctor!”

“Oh my God his vitals are dropping”

Taehyung.

Jungkook.

Where are they?

I was screaming but no one seemed to hear.

The insides of my head were throbbing, my lungs begging for air and fear wetting my eyes.

I need them.

My friends.

Someone please tell them I’m calling for them.

I’m scared.

I feel heavy and light at the same time. I can taste bile in my mouth. I have a nasty gut feeling.

Why are people panicking around me?

I should be the one panicking! I’m all alone chained onto a bed that’s not mine with tubes inserted through multiple cuts in my body and I don’t see any of my friends next to me!

“Charge at 200 volts!”

“Push the tray this way!”

“Ask Henry to immediately get his ass in here!”

Static. The sound of a walkie talkie being turned on.

“Henry you are required in the theatre. It’s an emergency!”

Shut up shut up shut up somebody please make them shut up!

The voices make my ears bleed. My brain hurts trying to process what they are shouting to each other.

Taehyung! I scream.

Where’s my voice?

Why did no sound come out?

The light is too bright. I can’t open my eyes.

Jungkook! Taehyung!

Where are you?!

“Jimin hyung!”

Jungkook?

“Jimin hyung look at me!”

Why are you shouting Jungkook?

I feel someone roughly grabbing my arms. Pulling me down. Sitting me down on the wooden floor. My bottom shivers when it comes in contact with the cold floor.

“Hyung! Look at me”

Why do you sound so desperate Jungkook?

Where are the doctors and nurses who were here just a minute ago?

“Hyung, hyung! Just look at me”

Jungkook’s weak cries turn my face towards him. I blink as I take in his broken expression.

Why does Jungkook look so sad?

I look around the room.

I don’t see the hospital bed. Where is my heart monitor?

A girl with a horrified expression pasted on her pretty face looms over me.

I look at my friend confusingly.

“Jungkook, where’s Taehyung?”

I watched as a light go out in Jungkook’s eyes.

Where is Taehyung?

#bangtan sonyeondan #bts #bts fan fic #bts fan fiction #bts fanfiction #BTS jimin #park jimin #park jimin fanfic #jimin x reader #park jimin x reader #park jimin x y/n #jeon jungkook #BTS jungkook #bts jungkook fanfic #Steadfast #BTS v #kim taehyung #bts taehyung #taehyung fan fiction

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monchikyun · 3 years

Text

XVIII. bury a friend

It has been awfully quiet for about an hour now. As Connor ended his story with horrible dejection written all over his face, he turned around and initiated his stasis, refusing any and all comfort Gavin has been more than willing to provide. He did expect it to be something twisted and tragic like that, even imagined the worst possible scenario before being told how it really went down, just to be safe. If he’s honest with himself, the reality isn't very far from the most fucked up course of events his mind has been able to cook up. Still, it has been able to freeze the blood in his veins, which has paralysed his brain for the amount of time it took Connor to withdraw to his simulated sleep.

Gavin has already cursed himself for being so goddamn incompetent when it comes to emotional issues, blamed himself for the cold shoulder he didn't even have the chance to receive. He still does, as he lies glued to the bed, counting the cracks in the ceiling. His nicotine addiction is begging him to go into the cold and give it what it needs to survive, but the warmth of his current company is impossible to leave. His hand aches for the smallest touch, for some confirmation that Connor is still here with him. So he directs his sight to the body next to him, letting himself be mesmerised by the constellations of freckles decorating the android's bare arm. It's a painful view, knowing that he still doesn't have the right to connect those dots with his own defects, to interpose himself with this amazing, flawed being who has carved a hole in his chest and invaded his heart.

He remembers how the android was back when he found him on the roof, finally realising the enormous difference created by the months they’ve spent together. Last spring he dreaded going to work, feared that Connor just wouldn’t show up one day and he wouldn’t be able to see him ever again. Or worse, all that would remain of him would be the empty vessel that used to house his colourful soul, something that would kill his last hopes. He was tempted to become a well-meaning stalker then, to always be near for when a potential threat arrives, but that idea was too exhausting for him in the end, and so he left his worries to a silent prayer which guided him all through to summer.

With the warmth came the first smile and a myriad of gratitudes for his uncharacteristic kindness. That’s when they started having casual conversations, a big leap from the uncomfortable silences that filled their shared hours in the previous season. It was somewhere in July when he first regarded Connor as his friend, without his vigilant denial disagreeing that fact. Gavin has always found the android very attractive, like an eye candy specifically developed for his torment, but knowing there was a whole, unpolished person behind that plastic perfection has made his partner so much more appealing. He simply couldn’t stop himself getting drawn to him, despite all the countless attempts to emotionally distance himself from the one who lived inside his dreams. It was either letting himself be eaten by the monsters living in his past, or inviting in the one person who has the power to push them away from his corrupted mind.

For the longest time, he did neither. Though his inability to act on his feelings was due to more than just the inherent fragility of their source, he was simply afraid like he has always been when it comes to things that have the potential to hurt him. He'd rather be thrown in a paper shredder than to have his soul bruised again. Physical pain is easy to understand, straightforward in its healing. Time usually takes care of what needs to be done, but when it comes to the mind, sometimes even passing years will have little to no effect on the waste that has accumulated in someone’s innermost core. And Gavin didn't want to add onto the rotting pile of mess that has already been too much to bear as it is. But that was months ago, and as the earth was becoming colder, the warmth that had started budding inside of him turned into sweltering heat.

When autumn was nearing its end, he understood that he would soon burn up if he didn’t begin dealing with his problem. Maybe that’s how they got here, to a place where he doesn’t have to call his feelings inconvenience anymore, having breached the border that has kept them apart all these months. He wants to stop fighting it for good. This truth is sent to him from above as he puts his fingers on Connor's bare temple, tracing the ghost of the LED that used to signify his nature.

He'd like to say that the fact that one of them isn't human is what prevented them from giving into their hearts' desires, but that is far from the truth. Life is much more complicated than that, not as black and white as he wants it to be.

Gavin wishes their relationship was defined, so he could casually take the android in his arms and hold him away from the evil of the world, just for a short while, just so he can expand his collection of irreplaceable moments that he doesn't ever want to forget.

He considers getting just a bit closer, weighing all the pros and cons that ultimately mean nothing because deep down he recognises that their sentiments are shared. So he lowers his steadying hand down from Connor’s temple, ready to enfold everything his partner represents. But fortune isn’t on his side tonight, because as soon as he begins his movement, Connor wakes up with a jerk that betrays confusion lined up with its best friend, unease.

"Did you have a nightmare?" Gavin is more than familiar with the concept of being tortured by his own psyche as he lays it to rest, so he's aware of just how disorienting such illusions can be, how unrelentingly cruel and merciless they often are.

"No, no... I-... androids can't normally dream. I wasn't really sleeping, just… thinking. More than I should."

Gavin scoots over so their shoulders are just about touching, a decision his conscious mind has had no say in.

"Do you wanna talk 'bout it?" A quiet, tentative question just barely escapes his lips for fear he gets denied entrance into Connor's trove of dark secrets.

There is a short, excruciating period of silence before he gets his answer.

"You know how I can preconstruct any future scenario based on the information available to me?"

"Yeah? I mean… sorta. Can't really wrap my mind around your technical stuff most of the time." That's only partially a lie. He ought to tell him that he doesn't want to picture his inner workings because they kind of scare him, but maybe that would be too inappropriate given the frailty of this moment.

"Well… I saw you get buried…,” the android breathes out for reasons Gavin can only guess, “after you died, naturally."

"Naturally."

Why doesn't this even surprise him anymore. Of course Connor would paint himself the grimmest image possible, these are just his default settings. Give him the brightest colours and he'd draw you the darkest sky without a single star in sight.

"That's not… I'm sorry I,... I didn't mean to… I just couldn't stop it since it went that way and…"

"Hey, it's okay.” It hurts seeing Connor get like that, losing most of his coherency and feeling like he should apologise for it.

“How…," Gavin takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts down. Connor was the one who saw his funeral, not him, yet he feels like he’s been there already, among the dirt, not far from other decaying corpses. It’s an uncanny sensation. Not one he’ll be chasing any time soon.

"How did it make you feel?" A stupid question, really, and yet the best his brain has to offer.

"How do you think?" Gavin never knew that tears could fit an incredulous look, but the welling in Connor's eyes combined with the exasperation written all over his face is proof enough. Laughable, frankly, but he wouldn't dare. Not now, anyway.

"Guess it sucked then."

"That's putting it mildly." The android shakes his head and rubs his eyes before they have the chance to leak his sorrow.

"I… I don't ever want to go through that again,” he says, desperation piercing his voice through and through. It would be easy to dismiss these ungrounded worries if it wasn’t for the two flaming brown lights probing his own mossy pools like they intend to hypnotise them and seize control over his soul.

"You know that no one can force you to… be there... when it happens."

"You don’t get it! That's not the point. I don't want to live in a world where two of my best friends are nothing but a memory. I realise that’s selfish, but… "

Gavin does, by all means, get it, he just tried to help, somehow.

Connor’s eyes are turning into glass, threatening to melt again, so he closes his because God knows he does not possess the strength to witness it, not tonight at least.

"Maybe you should just relax Con, the future will come no matter what, but we still have the might to shape it as we like. To some extent. Anyway,... I promise…," he cuts the sentence midway to inhale a big gulp of oxygen, an action which results in a minor coughing fit.

"I promise to try my best to stay by your side as long as physically possible. " A statement which makes him want to cry instead.

"Does it mean you’ll stop smoking then?"

Oh, that devious android, of course this conversation would lead here, why wouldn't it. He glances at his nightstand, checking if the half-full box of cigarettes is still there, waiting for him to take its lethal fruit. Come to think about it, ever since their little trip his taste for cigarettes has somewhat diminished. Could be the fresher air just outside these thin walls, or the fact that Connor’s presence stimulates him enough already, so the need for nicotine is not as great as it is when he has to spend his time alone or surrounded by people who hold little to no significance to him, pretending like he doesn't crave something beyond the drug his body could very well function without.

"Yeah..., yeah, okay." Gavin buries his face in his hands, disbelieving his consent.

As he puts them away and folds them in his lap, he scroungers up a lazy smile meant to lighten up the heavy mood, to maybe clear Connor’s stormy sky a little.

"But only if you promise to try to be more optimistic… just a smidge.., " he makes a gesture with his two fingers to show how small of an effort would suffice.

Then he gives Connor a friendly pat on his thigh, after which he realises that he doesn't have to limit his displays of affection anymore, not after all the intimacy they have been willing to submit themselves to already.

So he lets his palm linger, allowing himself to rub gentle circles into the clothed skin. He doesn't have to be cautious with Connor, for the android isn't burdened with any biological organs that would make this situation uncomfortable for both parties.

"Life isn't all bad, I’m sure you came across that particular information at least once during your time on this Earth. Experienced it, even. No?"

"You're right."

A trace of a hesitant smile on Connor’s lips is all that it takes for Gavin to heave a sigh of relief. He’s too tired to think beyond that feeling. Everything inside of him, all the emotions and memories blend into a blurry mixture as he starts losing the ground under his feet.

But he must fight it, his friend still needs him awake...

"Let's go to sleep," Connor whispers, tugging him into a tender embrace. It’s warm and safe and he can't concentrate on anything but the wave of love pulling him under to the sweet slumber he’s always yearned for.

Indeed, life can be ever so wonderful sometimes.

@a-convin-new-year

#aconvinnewyear #convin #low-temperature burn #this one is long... comparably #also sorry it took forever to post #im trying my good

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puggledy-huggledy-is-not-a-pig · 4 years

Text

If You Want To Get Warm You Must Stand Near The Fire (Parts 8 & 9)

Warnings: Angst (most of it mine :P)

Very Important Note: I have been staring at this for hours and days. I hate, hate, hate, writing sex scenes. I just feel so awkward doing it, and I hate it, because I want Hope and Guy to make beautiful love :( If anyone wants to write them for me, I will be grateful, give you credit, send you puppies, or whatever else you ask. For now, after spending hours reading other people’s erotica trying to breathe some life to my fossilised imagination, I’m just going ahead and posting this. I’m not tagging anyone this time, because frankly I’m too embarrassed and cross at myself that I can’t even do this in the privacy of my own mind. If you think it’s not completely cringe worthy, throw me a comment or a reblog. I promise I’ll try to get over myself and tag people next time. Ok you’ve all been encouraging nd lovely so I will stop being a giant infant and tag people for this too. Thanks, and sorry if I seemed to be high maintenance compliment-fishing!

After that day, Hope was amazed to see a side to Guy that she never expected. That night he showed up in her bedroom, smiling like the cat that got the cream; she moved to make space for him and he spent the night draped over her, much to the disgust of Falkor, who had been displaced to the foot of the bed. He did the same again the next night, and the next, and it quickly became a routine.

During the day they would potter along companionably, Guy slowly exploring and learning more about how everything worked. Hope had imagined that he would have a hard time with a lot of modern concepts and inventions, but to her surprise and relief, Guy was stoically accepting of most things. It seemed like, once he had fixed in his mind the fact that this was the year 2020, he just expected that a lot of things would not make sense. Guy, thought Hope, was the most practical man she’d ever met. He was far from unintelligent, but surrounded with all this newness, he didn’t bother with the how and why -he just methodically collected every new skill she showed him and moved on to the next one.

She also discovered that he had a really dry sense of humour, when he let himself show it. He had this habit of looking up for a reaction when he made a joke -Guy was a man who liked an audience, Hope was realising.

He never offered her any words of affection during the days, although in unspoken ways he was behaving very differently than he had before.

From being stiff and distant he became surprisingly tactile, always touching her back, running a hand down her arms, breathing in her ear... Then, every evening, they got in the same bed, had sex, and slept holding each other through the night.

It was a fragile equilibrium, and Hope was finding herself holding her breath. She was very aware that things couldn’t stay like this for too long. One way or another, Guy would have to move on soon.

Chapter 9

One evening, Hope was sitting up in bed with Guy’s head on her lap. She was ostensibly reading a book, but in reality kept peering over the top at his eyelashes casting a shadow on his pale cheeks, his long nose, his thin, clever lips. He was drowsy, looking relaxed, but his fingers kept dancing just under the hem of her shirt.

I’m getting too attached... she thought to herself.

He’s not some stray you can adopt, Poppet, Gran’s voice was in her head again, spelling out her thoughts like she had when she was alive. Hope sighed, and closed her book.

“Guy?”

“Mmmmm?”

“Sing me a song...”

“Mmm.” His fingers travelling higher, playing with her breast. “There are better ways to pass the time.”

“Come on, sing me a song!”

Amused, she flicked his nose, and he glared at her.

“I’m not a minstrel!”

“And I’m not Freddie Mercury, but you still got me to sing.”

“Ah, but that was for your own good.”

“So is this. I’m getting bored, I might leave in a minute,” she teased him.

“I don’t know any songs,” Guy groaned, then gave up when Hope pretended to be getting up.

“Paura pichona,

Perqué plorar?

Lo niu d'ironda

Va s'envolar.

Paura pichona,

Cal pas plorar,

Ambe l'aureta

Lo niu vendrà.

Paura pichona,

Consòla-te,

Lo niu d'ironda

Tornarà ben.”

“That’s lovely,” breathed Hope. “What is it?”

Guy blinked. “It’s a lullaby,” he said, “my mother used to sing it. I didn’t think I’d remember it.”

“What language is that?”

“Occitan. My mother was French.”

“Tell me about your life, before,” Hoped asked him, and Guy was torn. On the one hand, having someone want to get to know him better was a very nice feeling, and not one he was accustomed to. On the other hand he really didn’t feel like going back, even just in his mind. What good could possibly come from it? Everything he had worked for all these years was gone, and all that was left was the taint.

He compromised by shrugging and keeping it short. “Not much to tell. I worked for the Sheriff for years, ran things for him. I was...” (Feared? Loathed?) “...respected,” was what he settled on.

“Do you want to go back?” Hope hated how needy she sounded, but she couldn’t help herself. Don’t go back...

Guy shook his head. “No. Things got... bad. There’s nothing left for me there.” There really isn’t, he thought bitterly. All these years of putting up with Vaisey’s whims and humiliations, all the bits of himself he had had to amputate and shed in the process of rebuilding the Gisborne name and fortune, and there was nothing to show for it all.

“No... family?”

“No.” None to speak of...

Guy had had enough of these questions, now. What difference did it make, picking at the past like a scab? He had lost everything and had to start from scratch before, and, although he would never have chosen it, it appeared he had to do the same again. So be it. Guy was surprised to find the thought didn’t bother him as much as it should have. All the ambition that drove him for so many years had been burnt away, turned to ashes in the blaze that was Marian’s death, and in its place a need for revenge had grown like a twisted, blackened tree that had survived a forest fire. But now, after being away for just a few days, his appetite for revenge had left him. Let Isabella have Nottingham, let Hood have Sherwood. They could kill each other, for all he cared, he was done. I want to stay here... With Hope, Guy realised. Why not? He liked being around her, she had the means to help him, and she responded to him in a way that was very... flattering. She sure as hell was a better choice of someone to throw his lot in with, than Vaisey had been, Guy knew.

No one would accuse him of having a poet’s soul, but Hope reminded him of the sun-drenched fields in France. She reminded him of the Earth. She was generous, and nurturing, and warm, and vast, and heavy, and, Guy thought, she grounded him.

“Your turn,” he said, changing the subject. “And none of those songs about the men you killed.”

Hope giggled. “I’ve told you, that was Freddie Mercury. We’ve got to do something about your musical education.”

“Now seems a good time to start!”

“Right, ok...” Hope scrunched her forehead, trying to think of a song. “I know, this is one my dad used to sing to me when I was a teenager and got in a strop.

#In the crazy world

Anything can happen

If you will it to

I'm just a hazy girl

Blurring all the edges

Only seeing blue

It's a wild hope

A wild hope

Everything will be alright.”

“Wild Hope, hmmm?” Guy murmured against her neck. “I’d like to hear more about that...”

Guy is back in Locksley, about to get married.

“Are you married, Thornton?”

“I was. She died, years ago.”

“Did your wife... understand you?”

“I’d like to think so, yes.” The old servant’s kindly face twists into a mocking parody of itself. “We were both human, you see. So we could understand each other. No one understands you... because there is no humanity left in you, is there, Gisborne? No heart... Just the howling void.

Don’t look inside you Gisborne. You know what they say happens, when you look into the abyss... It looks back.”

Thornton’s face twists again, morphing into Vaisey.

“Lepers, Gisborne... You were always running after lepers. I wonder why that is, hmmm? Could it be -rot calling to rot? Like father, like son, eh?”

Maggots are squirming out of Vaisey’s eyes now, he smiles widely and his jeweled tooth winks at Guy. “My boy...” The Sheriff leans close, his carrion breath stroking Guy’s face like a promise. “I made you. I know you...”

“Nooooo...”

“What is it, Guy?” It’s Marian’s voice, and he opens his eyes and sees her smiling, looking down at him. “It’s just a nightmare, it’s not real.” She strokes his forehead with her cool fingers, and pulls up the blankets, tucking him in.

“It’s not real, none of it was ever real, you stupid boy... Only the sand, the sand is real and it gets COLD, Guy, I’m COLD, it’s COLD where you sent me.”

And the floor turns to sand, the bed turns to sand, it’s in Guy’s mouth, in his nostrils, and everything goes dark.

“Paura pichona,

Consòla-te,

Lo niu d'ironda

Tornarà ben.”

“Mother? I destroyed everything, mother...”

“Shhhh, Fiéu mèus. It’s fine. Nothing is destroyed, just changing. Lo niu tornarà ben, remember.

Look, the door is open. Go out in the sun for a bit, it will do you good.”

# It’s a wild hope,

A wild hope,#

“-everyone deserves to be loved-“

#A wild hope,

Everything will be alright.#

Hope started awake in the middle of the night. Guy was kicking her, tangled in the covers, obviously having a nightmare. She reached over to turn the bedside light on, intending to wake him up, but then he suddenly sat up, calling out her name.

“Hope!”

“Shhh... I’m here.”

Before Hope could ask what was wrong, Guy was on her like a starving man, kissing her desperately, cupping her breasts, pressing against her like he was trying to bury his whole self inside her. He was holding her so tightly that it was almost hurting her, but Hope couldn’t bring herself to care. Something had changed. Guy’s teeth and tongue were all over her, and Hope could feel him tremble. She had never realised how much he held back every other time she’d been with him. Instinctively, she put her hands on his face and kissed him back, keeping her eyes on his. She just felt like, more than anything else, he needed to be seen..

Guy pulled his head back and looked at her. His pupils were so dilated that his blue eyes looked almost black.

“Tell me you want to be with me,” he begged.

“I want to be with you.”

He moaned and reached between her legs, pulled her underwear aside and pushed inside her.

“Say it again.”

“I want to - Oh! - I want to be with you. I want you to stay with me. Guy! I love you...”

He rained kisses all over her face, thrusting, and it was all over so quickly; but that felt right, too. She stroked his face and kissed him, and Guy stared at her, lost for words.

“Hope... You deserve to be loved. I don’t know that there’s enough good left in me to do that.”

She kissed him again, and spoke his words back to him. “Hush. I know it’s hard. But it hurts more if you fight it.”

Notes:

*The Occitan lullaby is this one: https://www.mamalisa.com/?t=es&p=3877

Can’t say I’m sure how old it is, but I’m sure Ghislaine would have sung something similar.

*The song Hope sings is Wild Hope, by Mandy Moore.

*Fiéu mèus: my son

Lo niu tornarà ben: The nest will come back again.

Tagging: @whofriend @moony-artnstuff @fizzyxcustard @tigereyesf @guylty @xxbyimm @dumbassunderthemountain @aspookybunny @patanghill17 @ruthoakenshield

#sir guy #guy of gisborne #gisborne #richard armitage #fanfic #gisborne x oc #my fanfic #time travel #bbc robin hood #sorry Guy I tried #if you want to get warm you must stand near the fire

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trollhuntersshardborn · 3 years

Text

Act 3 Summary + The End

So, to make it a bit clear, Act 1 was called Shardborn. Act 2 was called Shadows. And Act 3 is called Killahead.

Let’s put this story to bed.

Act three begins thirty five years later! Yep, the ol One Piece “everyone go your separate ways and meet back in here in a few years” jump. And that’s basically what happened. Believing that they need to cover as much ground as they can to stop Gunmar’s rampaging across Europe and take in as much battle experience as they could. Alora and Nadia separate for a while from the group. Isabow continues to provide a traveling glade for surviving trolls to live in safely while Elisi trains Deya to the best of her ability.

During this time, Deya has reconciled that the Sword of Daylight, designed specifically to kill Gunmar, cannot kill Gunmar. So when she and Nadia meet again, they go towards a plan b. To exile him away in a place he cannot return from. Nadia explains that he’s too powerful for any other realm to contain. Deya asks if she can just CREATE a whole new realm powerful enough to hold and eventually kill Gunmar, and Nadia gets to work. She creates the Darklands and fills it with enough food for the future plan to take place and lots of deadly creatures that even Gunmar would have trouble with. (In the present day, 90% of those creatures went extinct to either starvation or being hunted to extinction). Nadia then crafts Killahead Bridge. Opening the portal to a whole new realm is extremely taxing on her own magic but she is successful in creating it. The price of this large amount of magic is rather light: the color of her hair. Nadia now has pale white hair forever.

In the year 1350 AD, the plan is finally put in place to exile Gunmar forever. Deya gathers the survivors to explain. In nearby Killahead Forest is an opening in which to build the bridge. They would spread the rumor as far as they could that past Killahead Bridge is a Heartstone of great power, and Gunmar would come running for it. Once he and his armies are inside, Deya would seal the bridge closed with her amulet, so only the Trollhunter can open it again, and all will be well. But since Gunmar would be arriving with his entire army and most likely wouldn’t just go into the bridge willingly, there would be a massive battle ahead. She calls forth everyone to fight, and boy does she mean everyone. Men, women, children, the elderly, the injured, the inexperienced. Everyone. This is immediately met with pushback, as bringing those who can’t or won’t fight is a huge breach in war etiquette. Even Gunmar doesn’t do that. Deya insists they have no army, and anyone able to fight is going to fight just to get the numbers up. The Shards talk her down from this, and insist on at least training everyone they can and any who are able will be drafted into the fight. Deya agrees.

Meanwhile, Nadia is working on making the Shards more powerful than ever. Angor Rot’s sigil got her to thinking, and using Alora as a guinea pig attempted to expand on the markings and what exactly they tap into. While she can’t erase the sigil, as its printed on Alora’s soul itself, Nadia could redirect its power and override it in a way. Shards have their own sigils on their arms which glow when their talents are being used, and she thinks they may have inspired Angor to make his own sigil. So when Nadia is able to make lines for both sigils to meet, they give Alora a huge boost in power, and she’s able to do more with her weapons summoning. Continuing to experiment, Nadia makes these sigil lines all over Alora’s body and show she has so much energy to channel and use, she’s become one of the most adaptable fighters on the growing battlefield. Nadia makes these sigils on Isabow, Elisi and herself and make all four of them much more powerful with their gifts than ever thought.

Preparations are soon done. Everyone is confident that Gunmar will be sealed away once and for all, and the surviving human population will write off his death count as more victims of the plague and all would be well. The rumor has reached Gunmar’s ears and he marches for Killahead Bridge. So everyone starts preparations for war. Two teams will go into the bridge and wait for Gunmar to reach a point they call the “Safe Zone” which is an area of the Darklands that’s a close straight shot back to the surface. Deya, Nadia and their chosen for the team would go into the Darklands and wait for Gunmar to come in and either chase him further in or stall him long enough to quickly run out and seal the bridge. Alora had put together her own team of redeemed or those-who-don’t-think-redemption-is-for-them as the Sacrifice Squad. This squad will STAY in the Darklands with no attempt to escape and make sure Gunmar and his men stay there for good. They are willing to die for this cause, and Alora wants to make her own revenge span for a very long time. They keep this a secret from Nadia. The rest of the army will stay outside the gate and be around to shove in the ones who don’t go into the bridge.

Soon, it’s go time. Both teams going past the bridge travel forth. The outside forces lie in wait past the trees. Gunmar rolls in and sees this is a Very Obvious Trap, and decides to go break it and show this won’t hold him at all. He goes in with half of his army, the other half being lead by Bular to watch the outside. Once Gunmar has met up with the armies of the Safe Zone, the fight begins. Deya’s party isn’t to fight, it’s to get the hell out immediately! Nadia casts spells to enhance her armie’s speed and strength. Alora’s team immediately goes in for the fight. Attempting to escape, Deya and Gunmar strike swords several times, and she’s holding up rather well. Outside, Isabow is causing the forest to close in on the clearing, forcing the Gumm gumms to retreat into the gate. Bular is swiping at trees as hard as he could to keep from being shoved in.

So, what’s Elisi up to? She’s actually..... not there. She went to hunt down Angor Rot and get revenge for her husband. It’s going as well as you think it is.

Bular manages to fight off the forest closing around him and reach Isabow. But Isabow, who still detests violence, has no choice but to “evacuate” him and underground vines rush him somewhere far from the battlefield. Deya, Nadia, and a few from the surviving team manage to make it out, and Nadia starts casting a spell to bring in anyone who didn’t make it out of the Darklands before the gate is sealed. They bring in who they could, and seal the bridge as the good guys mop up or capture whoever is left. But Nadia quickly realizes Alora and her team isn’t there. And that’s when its dropped on her what Alora had done.

Nadia is extremely distraught, encloses herself into a magic circle and through magic psychically contacts Angor, who has just killed in a not permanent way Elisi. Nadia tells Angor that she needs Alora’s true name to pull her out of the Darklands. Angor tries to talk her out of it, much like everyone else has. Alora decided to sacrifice herself. If Nadia is successful, and Alora was in contact or touching Gunmar at that moment, he would be teleported out with her and the war would have been for naught. While one could use a person’s true name to cast magic on them, Alora didn’t HAVE a name at birth. So, Nadia comes up with a deal. “You can have my soul when it’s time. My soul for Alora Darren’s true name.” He toys with saying no, but gives it to her, promising to come collect when he’s good and ready. Nadia starts casting the teleporting spell, with the other trolls (including Vendel, being extremely vocal about this) yelling at her to stop. Beyond their knowledge, Alora IS in locked battle with Gunmar right now, looking foreword to her next few centuries of battle at least. But once she is thrown back and about to be struck down by Gunmar, she’s teleported out. Gunmar is behind Killahead Bridge for the next nine centuries.

Nadia has a tearful moment with Alora, who seems disappointed, while all the trolls are yelling at them for even doing this stupid stunt. Blinky is crying, yelling at Nadia to bring his brother back since Dictatious got swept behind the bridge as well. It’s all too much for Nadia and she breaks down. Deya takes command, ordering the bridge to be dismantled, stone by stone, and each stone carried as far as it could be taken. Nadia opts to be exiled, but both Alora and Isabow insist it’s not necessary, but Nadia can’t get the cruel words to leave her head. She distances herself from the trolls from then on.

But it’s not over yet, as Bular and Angor Rot is still out there. Deya insists she can take care of Bular, but Angor is a threat to the Trollhunter AND the Shards. So, Nadia, Alora, Elisi and Isabow spend the next hundred years hunting him down. Soon, Angor collects Nadia’s soul as promised, as it was willingly given to him during the war. Nadia is left mortal and powerless, and has to stop the chase. Angor leaves her alone to grow old and wither. Nadia basically gives her life of magic and trolls up for the human world, settles down and finds love. The Shards go to visit her on her death bed where Nadia explains the trade. Alora takes this EXTREMELY personally. She’s the one who remains by Nadia’s side as Nadia passes away. Yep. Everyone following my rp blog, it’s an au. Nadia dies. But the story isn’t quite over yet.

Alora hunts Angor down to an old temple in India, and using her own magic, chains him up. She sits on the steps, watching him be powerless, repeating the words to him that he did to her when she was at his lowest. He laughs in her face, and rattles the temple so hard that rocks collapse on him. And that, Alora believes, is that. Isabow stays behind to guard this temple from all who would attempt to seek out Angor Rot. However, after a few centuries of letting the grief and toll of death wreck havoc with her, she loses the will to live and dies, but not before making the location of the temple a bitch and a half to get to.

With the threat of Angor gone, the remaining trolls set out for the New World, and Elisi goes with them with the remainder of her family. Alora stays in Europe to finally have her own adventures in the world. Elisi doesn’t settle in Heartstone Trollmarket once they get there, but goes up north to the cold so her family can be comfortable. They all live together happily in Alaska until the last of Elisi’s family passes away, and then she too, grieving from loneliness, passes away herself.

Alora travels the world, taking in life one day at a time, until in 1968 she settles in Santa Cruz, California, and lived her life as a beach bumming independent artist since. She doesn’t give much thought to the other trolls or Shards out there, she just focuses on her own happiness and existing. And it will probably stay that way until the end of eternity.

....AND THAT’S SHARDBORN! At least what I had originally planned for it. And now that I’ve told the story, I can put it behind me for now.

#Shardborn summary

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hobiwonder · 5 years

Text

Commissions

Hi everyone!!

As you can tell by the title, I’m going to be opening commissions. As my part-time job starts up in January, I have decided to try making writing my casual job to earn some savings before I run out completely. It’s quite expensive in Australia especially to be a student without a job lol. I am actively applying for summer jobs but it’s a fat chance i’ll get hired this late for christmas casuals !!! (kms). I had been thinking about getting a ko-fi page but never felt my writing to be good enough lol BUT desperate times call for desperate measures hhhhhh.

So if you enjoy my writing, I’ll be writing personalised little stories for a ko-fi each. Doesn’t matter how many you want to give (one is $3).

The drabbles will be between 1000 to 2000 words.

Send me an ask choosing your prompt from the prompt list below. You can choose as many as you like and i will try my best to incorporate them all if they fit in one story.

Basically let me know in an ask: Prompt, Your name (if you want), any triggers I should avoid, physical appearance details in case I need them, age. Birth year is fine. AND THE MEMBER OFC LMAO

If you don’t like a prompt, you can also just give me a genre and i can surprise you :) (college au, barista au, etc.)

Write a nickname or a name in your ko-fi note so I can identify you and get started writing on your prompt. https://ko-fi.com/hobiwonder

Prompt list:

“That’s not yours.”

“Rot in hell.”

“Take off your shirt.”

“Ugh, you’re sweaty- get off.”

“Can we just pretend like we’re normal for once?”

“I dare you!”

“A kiss for good luck?”

“Just this once.”

“There’s something I have to tell you…”

“You’re making me think that what they told me about you was right.”

“Don’t get up, you’ll make it worse.”

“Cute, but still fucked up.”

“I’m not drunk enough for this.”

“Be careful.”

“You owe me.”

“You never mattered to me.”

“Please don’t let me be alone.”

“How did you talk me into this?”

“That’s not good…”

“Don’t try to fix me. I’m not broken.”

“You’re cold.”

“Be you. No one else can.”

“You’re a horrible liar. I’ve known you far too long to be able to tell.”

“Don’t think I forgot about what you did last time.”

“I’m scared.”

“When was the last time you slept?”

“I’ll never forgive you.”

“Quit ignoring me.”

“You have my word.”

“Kiss me and i’ll forgive you.”

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

“There’s nothing I can do anymore.”

“Even when you’re annoying the fuck out of me, I still love you.”

“I’m just looking out for you.”

“I told you not to fall in love with me.”

“Why are you so stubborn?”

“It was supposed to be a secret!”

“You’re my everything.”

“You need to keep pressure on it.”

“It’s never too late to get back up again.”

“I can’t breathe.”

“Stop talking.”

“This isn’t like you.”

“This isn’t who I am.”

“Would you just hold still?”

“If I die, I’m never speaking to you again.”

“I don’t know who you are anymore.”

“Come with me.”

“My clothes look good on you.”

“I will always protect you.”

“Wake up, please.”

“Please look at me.”

“When I’m with you, I’m home.”

“I never meant to hurt you.”

“Eyes on me.”

“Please shut up. Just shut up.”

“I’m tired, just cuddle me.”

“This is new.”

“I’m not okay.”

“Is that blood?”

“Run!”

“I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

“That’s a lot of blood…”

“I immediately regret this decision.”

“You’re hurt, let me help.”

“That doesn’t look good…”

“Is that my shirt?”

“How did we get in this mess?”

“Move over.”

“What if one day I wake up and you’re not there?”

“You know me better than anyone.”

“You backstabber!”

“What happened to you?”

“stop moving, i’m almost done!”

“Are you testing me?”

“Please don’t shut me out.”

“You make me forget.”

“Just leave me alone.”

“I’m not moving, your lap is comfortable.”

“Just this once.”

“I made a mistake.”

“I SAW you with him/her/them!”

“None of this is your fault.”

“It’s so hot out!”

“Just breath.”

“We have to help!”

“I just really miss talking to you.”

“This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“I trust you.”

“Are you serious?”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Look at me.”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Can you stop thinking about yourself for once?”

“They’re gone.”

“It just… hurts.”

“I think we’re lost.”

“You deserve so much better.”

“I knew this was a bad idea.”

“I’m lost without you.”

“This is going to hurt.”

“I feel stupid.”

“I know you’re not talking to me…”

“What’s in it for me?”

“You’re everything to me.”

“I can’t do this anymore.”

“I didn’t want you to see this.”

“You’re safe now.”

“Are you going to talk to me?”

“You know me too well.”

“[text read thirty minutes ago]”

“I never want to see you again.”

“I know you lied to me.”

“Do you promise?”

“You know i’m not like that.”

“Am I dead?”

“It’s not what it looks like.”

“Do you ever mean the things you say?”

“I can take care of myself just fine.”

“You got this.”

“What are you hiding?”

“There is nothing wrong with you.”

“You’re sick.”

“I don’t know anyone else who can make me feel this way.”

“There is only one bed.”

“I can’t see anything.”

“How dare you?!”

“I’m sorry I scared you, I didn’t mean to.”

“I’m not even sorry.”

“can we just stay in bed?”

“That was kind of hot.”

“But I thought you liked this?”

“You… you never had a problem with it before.”

“I know it hurts.”

“What did you say?”

“How long will this go on for?”

“I’m just tired.”

“What have you’ve done?”

“Go back to sleep.”

More Prompts...:

Angst

“All I wanted was a happy ending.”

“Mistakes are easily made in the moment. Apologies are not.”

“I don’t want to feel this way anymore.”

“My emotions have been turbulent for so long, I’m not sure how to react.”

“My heart tells me to kiss you, my head tells me to walk away.”

“I don’t want material belongings! I want my heart back!”

“Until you can return the time I wasted on you, I don’t want anything to do with you.”

“Grief is natural they say. So is death. I don’t want either.”

“You can’t look pretty and dangerous at the same time. Not yet.”

“Kill everything dear to you and then you will know how it feels.”

“I don’t hold people close. It makes it easier for them to hurt you.”

“Don’t touch me. Your skin is poison.”

“Why won’t he/she/they call?”

“I’m dreading her/his/their call, I’m not ready.”

“I don’t like this, it feels weird.”

“Kill my feelings, kill my soul. Kill everything I am.”

“Don’t call me, I don’t want any contact with you.”

“Please don’t talk to me, I’m dealing with some stuff.”

“It’s not working out. We’re not working out.”

“Hey, I’m leaving for good. I’ll…see you around.”

Fluff

“I want to eat a yoghurt with you.”

“Can we make cake? I like cake.”

“I like your rainbow shoes.”

Please hold me. It’s been a day.”

“I’ve never felt such love.”

“The moon is high tonight, it frames you well.”

“I want to dance through an army of fireflies with you.”

“Stars pale in comparison to you.”

“My heart hurts when I see you and I find myself drunk on the pain.”

“I would give up everything for the chance to see your laugh again.”

“Monster Inc. was onto something, your smile and laughter runs my entire world.”

“I dedicated this nail to you, when I painted them.”

“All I want is to sleep by your side.”

“Cover me in badges of your love.”

“I’ve never enjoyed anything more than a hug from you.”

“You look yummy.”

“My hand was made to fit into yours. That’s all there is to it.”

“I didn’t get soaked wet through walking to your house for you to say no to pizza. I have beer too. I know you’re sad, so let me in.”

“This might sound so creepy but I want your skin. It’s so pretty.”

“You just dropped love into my heart and that’s all I needed.”

Soulmates

“It was a matter of time before we got together.”

“My soul sings when it feels you.”

“Please, please hold my hand, and make me whole.”

“My life missed yours forever.”

“If my soul had been cut in half at birth, it would have gone to you.”

“We’re two bodies with one soul only.”

“I couldn’t imagine my future without you now that I have you.”

“I feel like I’ve died now he’s/she’s/they’re gone.”

“Please take my soul and never let go.”

“I’ve never seen colour like I do with you.”

“All my soul yearns for is your presence.”

“We can’t win. Either I have you and my soul sings but your cries, or we’re apart and your soul rejoices but mine dies.”

“Time is what we don’t have, but you are what I need.”

“I didn’t think I could find someone as perfectly matched as you.”

“Please treat me with kid gloves, my soul can’t take much more.”

“Soulmates don’t have to be romantic. Sometimes your soul resonates with a friend.”

“This existence would mean little without you.”

“Why try to force it? If we’re truly soulmates, it’ll happen.”

“Please keep me close until the close of the final day.”

“Everything about you is amazing to me.”

Friendship Specifically

“Wow, that is a ridiculously bug watermelon. I love it.”

“Let’s drink wine and trash talk our co-workers.”

“What do you mean you’re sick?! You’re my partner in crime!”

Best friends are a rare breed and you are the best of best friends.”

“Everyone’s out on dates, want to each ice cream and binge watch (insert TV show/movie).”

“I’m here for you. I got your back.”

“Thank God for the internet. I don’t know how I’d live without you.”

“I’m the pun-master, you’ll miss me when I’m gone.”

“No one understands the effort of a long distant friendship.”

“They don’t approve of our friendship, but I don’t need them too.”

“In the end we migrate towards comfort. I am my most comfortable around you.”

“Why date when you can spend the night with me watching shitty TV and drinking.”

“Never underestimate friendship.”

“If you quote Yu-Gi-Oh’s power of friendship one more time I will kill you.”

“Even if we don’t talk for days, I’ll always be your best friend.”

“You can take as many breaks as you need.”

“Friendships can be difficult, but those that survive are magical ones.”

“You know I will be with you forever. Friends until the end.”

If they try to keep us apart, they’re idiots.”

“There’s nothing like a boys/girls/friends night.”

I would really appreciate anyone helping out. My writing definitely isn’t the best but i hope whatever I write for any of you; you will enjoy and feel it will be worth it. Even if you’re not interested, a reblog would be much appreciated!!

Thank you :)

Maria <3

#bts fanfction #bts x reader #comisionwork #hobiwonder

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clansayeed · 4 years

Text

Bound by Choice ― III.iii. Belief

PAIRING: OC x OC x OC (Valdas x Isseya x Cynbel) RATING: Mature (reader discretion advised)

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Choice ⥽

Before there were Clans and Councils, before the fate of the world rested in certain hands, before the rise and fall of a Shadow King ― there was the Trinity. Three souls intertwined in the early hands of the universe who came to define the concept of eternity together. Because that was how they began and how they hoped to end; together. For over 2,000 years Valdas, Cynbel, and Isseya have walked through histories both mortal and supernatural. But in the early years of the 20th century something happened―something terrible. Their story has a beginning, and this is the end.

Bound by Choice and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Choice is the only book in the series not based on an existing Choices story. It is set in the Bloodbound universe and features many canon characters.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Choice/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Some people spend their whole lives looking for something to believe in. They're lucky that they never had to.

[READ IT ON AO3]

Two months later…

Cynbel watches as Ambrose leans against the railing with hands braced on the cold metal. Colder sea spray lashes at their cheeks under the night sky but they pay it little mind. They have, perhaps, had enough heat and fire to last more than one mortal lifetime.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had such a fill in my life.” The American groans, and Cynbel actually feels bad for him.

“There is far more to this life than fighting someone else’s wars. Give it time — you’ll see why we were starving so.”

Together the man glance down to the depths below. Where the foam left in the wake of their ship fades pink from bodies already lost underneath the ocean’s current.

“If y’all eat like that every day I’m startin’ to get it.”

And true enough the last few weeks of travel have been positively lavish compared to the squalor of mine living. Even this limited food supply seems boundless when they remember the rot of starvation in their bellies. But that does not diminish how good it is — how good it feels to be, not unlike the sea, free.

Sayeed held up her end of the bargain, so it was only fair that Cynbel and Isseya do the same. The where of their journey did not matter so long as they were far from Virginia’s shores. The when was with haste — and for good reason.

With none left to lead them the remaining militia of the Order of the Dawn was made harmless. The comparisons of the sides were unfortunately fraught with similarities, some not even Cynbel could deny. As the Order had culled the Old Blood; the vampires who had survived centuries of their fruitless extermination attempts, so had the war turned in their favor. But with only the newly inducted left to lead them — and many with ties that bound them to communities, to families; to vulnerability — their ‘holy mission’ was made second to the more pressing matters of the not-so-United States.

He couldn’t care less about the Godmaker’s plans now, whether he chooses to retaliate against the Trinity’s desertion of him or not. Two decks below his beloveds pass the boring hours with card games and wistful possibilities of when they make port.

He needs nothing else.

Now imagine their surprise at the familiar sight catching the last call to board. His battalion may now be nothing more than ash but there was no reason for Ambrose to turn and run. In fact Valdas had a strong inclination to name him Gaius’ spy and cast him overboard.

With only a matter of days before they find Europe on the horizon… he actually can’t remember why they didn’t.

A life for a life.

In between shuffled decks and lavish feasting and their halfhearted attempts at breaking through the hull by way of their beds, though, the Golden Son has found himself fond of the man. Older in appearance and admittedly wise beyond his years — but still so very new to what this life could offer—would offer, now.

Habit makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand when Ambrose reaches inside the breast pocket of his coat; eases when he sees the tinder box and cigarettes rolled with absolutely no skill whatsoever in his hands.

Ambrose sparks the tinder. Cynbel swallows down nightmares of hellfire. They share a moment of quiet.

“I should have said this before…” Cynbel begins around a mouth of ill-tasting smoke, “but when we make port this — our camaraderie — will come to an end.”

He’s come to expect the long silences in between answers, so much so that it barely feels like any time has passed at all when Ambrose finally does speak.

“I thought as much.” And doesn’t that just make the older vampire laugh.

“Two millennia and only now do we meet someone who understands. Shame and pity.”

“Oh I don’t, not even a lick.” The eyes that meet his, though, contradict Ambrose in every way. Eyes that seem sure and solid despite the rocking beneath their feet. So he continues.

“You three — whatever you’ve got there is… it’s dangerous.” So they have been told, and by lesser men. “But through this whole fight I’ve seen men Turn, live, and die over and over again without even a drop of the conviction you two’ve got for your Maker. I’ll be frank with you, Cynbel. It’s unsettling.”

“It’s love.”

“Is that what love is? I’m really askin’ here. Because I sure as hell ain’t ever felt a love like that. Not in this lifetime or the one that came before it.”

Just like that the conversation takes a turn for the uninteresting. Cynbel draws his attention out to the midnight horizon, where one can’t tell the sky from the sea. “All the more pitiful are you, then. I will not justify what we are for your whims, Ambrose. Not for you, not for Sayeed, not for anyone.”

“You misunderstand.”

“I doubt that.”

“It ain’t your strange-like love I’m interested in, but rather what it makes you.”

The only reason he’d offered Ambrose company was because Iss’ refused to play anything other than rummy, and he’s terrible at rummy. And standing here he can’t help but wonder which is more of a torture.

“You and Isseya nearly died for him. And I think you would have should that have been what you needed to do.”

“Of course we would have.”

“And I couldn’t understand why — not really. Why you’d risk yourselves, risk anyone else, but not him.”

Cynbel doesn’t bother hiding the venom in his answer. “Because He is more than they were. More than Iss’ or myself could ever hope to be. That is the kind of devotion He inspires. Would you not do the same for Augustine? Or your First, to make a finer comparison of it.”

The same long pause — but this one drags out. Thin, fragile between them and quickly unraveling at the seams. Then—

“No.”

“Then you’re wasting time searching for answers when you would not even recognize them when found. We would have died for Him — of course. But that is merely part of it. That is what the rest of the world sees and takes us to be entirely. We are more than the death we bring and would bear for Him.

“No one seems to realize that we lived for him. Just as fiercely — perhaps even more so because we could have died, but we did not. That is what has driven our lust for living; not that we would fall to our knees and take the sword with our necks for Him, but that He gives us the strength to take the sword in hand and say ‘no more.’”

Perhaps it would be nice to be understood for once. For the ages not to seem so ignorant and dull as they always have because one person — just one, that’s all it would take — realizes their love is not about sacrifice. But that it is about survival.

In silence Ambrose takes out another cigarette, more flint. Offers him one but Cynbel declines with a small shake of his head. Four weeks he’s been able to put the events of that day behind him as he had always done. Left it in the past and continued on to a future where they need not worry about being apart.

Four fucking weeks, but that’s all.

Ambrose keeps the cigarette between his lips when he speaks again. “I lived human for forty-some years. Spent my whole young life livin’ just as most did; you understand,” —he marched the breadth of those states just the same, he understands quite well— “and Turnin’ gave me more than just the power to free myself. It gave me — well, I thought — somethin’ to believe in.”

“Immortality?”

“The First.” The way he says her name is wistful enough to strike up a curiosity in Cynbel, much like the small flame struck up on his tinderbox.

Wistful, and no longer so reverent.

“Won’t say I’m the only one, either. There were a lotta boys like me who heard about the First Vampire who rose herself up from false judgment, from bein’ put in chains on another’s lies, and not only struck her enemies down but wanted to make a place where all like her were just as free.”

They are words that draw Cynbel back to Charlottesville, to the barn and Ambrose with his little box of ashes and his little gathering and his little words of worship and meaning in their comrade’s death. Strange that the man from then is the same one who stands before him now.

“Faith does wonders in times of strife.”

“It did — ‘til I heard you two talk about your Maker, your Made-God.”

“And what has that changed in you, hm?”

“The first time I ever heard Augustine tell the story of the First Vampire he made sure we well knew that every death was a piece’a her power going home — just another drop to fill some vessel that would bring her back to save us.

“But you don’t think like that,” Ambrose says it like a revelation; like wool no longer being pulled over his eyes, “and it got me thinking about what exactly I’m keepin’ immortality for. ‘Cause I gotta say doin’ it for a love like that sounds a helluva lot better than staying around just so some day I can die for a myth.”

Cynbel narrows his eyes. “The First was no myth. She was very real.”

“I’m sure she was, Old Blood. To you and Isseya and even Valdas, probably. Just like she’s real to Augustine and Sayeed. But that’s all two thousand years gone now. Who knows if she’ll ever come back, or when. That makes her pretty myth-like to me.”

What does one say to that? He may have propositioned Ambrose for this their night of feasting with a bottle of cheap liquor in hand but it wasn’t nearly enough to bring this kind of philosophical debate out of him. Yet it’s affirming in a way—not that any of the Trinity would seek affirmation for themselves, for their devotion to one another—he didn’t quite expect.

“I honestly can’t tell if you’re trying to confess your love to me or not.”

“Ha!” Ambrose laughs so hard his cigarette tumbles into the sea not half-finished. Deserves it. “In your dreams. Though I’ll start rackin’ up a tally seeing as that’s the second time you��ve propositioned me.”

“You’re being terribly rude. And it’s a terribly long swim back to the colonies.”

But the other man just shakes his head. “Truth be told no one’s ever let me ramble on this long about anythin’. Ended up a little off the tracks.”

“A little?”

“All I’m saying, Cynbel, is you and yours —”

“The Trinity, respect your elders.”

“— yeah, sure. Whatever you call yourselves—that kind of devotion can be inspiring to my kind of folk. A lot more than prayin’ on ‘maybes.’ What was that thing, the one Isseya said in the caravan.”

“Which — oh, while she was eating your man for insubordination?”

There’s a clatter behind them and both men turn towards it. They had found themselves so deep in debate that neither took notice to the young couple stretching their legs under the moon. To the young wife who looks aghast and sullied just for hearing the words and to her young husband suddenly trying to pull her to some imagined safety.

Cynbel and Ambrose take the same moment to watch them scurry along before they resume. A needed break in the tension.

He remembers it of course. Clear as the daylight that had struck them down. Even in their desperation and fear for Valdas’ fate it was hard—literally—not to hear such things from her bloodied teeth and find himself aroused.

“‘I choose to believe in a God who walks beside me. Who will answer when I call.’”

Ambrose nods. “Strange and, pardon my French, fuckin’ insane as she was then, that’s the kind of stuff gospels are made from.”

“So you’re proposing, what,” Cynbel’s disbelief is obvious, “The Gospel of Valdemaras?”

Silence. Real, non-hesitant silence. The kind of silence that forces Cynbel to face the man for answers and finds them in a resolution unfounded in those strange, dark eyes.

Well… one person finally understands. If only he knew what that means.

#bloodbound #bloodbound fanfiction #playchoices #playchoices fanfiction #choices bb #oc: cynbel #oc: isseya #oc: valdas #oc: ambrose #oblv: bound by choice #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

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iamtrashhenceiamhere · 5 years

Text

Ghosts live on

It was a common enough legend; every small town had their own and Helsingør was no different. The foreboding abandoned castle didn’t help much either, but it was something for the occasional tourist to take pictures of. The children were told the story as bedtime stories and then in school in the form of Shakespeare. He may have called them a fictional city, but the name “Elsinore” stuck around like a loving nickname for the locals.

No one lived in the castle anymore. Out of respect and fear of what happened to the family of seven who lived there once. The Hansens. A good rich family who moved out when their youngest daughter of ten years nearly died in the forest at the outer parts of the small town. The castle now stands desolate, empty of all except the remnants of that family and the ivy that quickly took over and claimed it. They had an old caretaker whose job was to handle the children but he was let go before they all left when his bad hearing nearly cost the life of the youngest. He still lived near the castle gates and no one had the heart to make him clear off. After all, he only wanted company and the occasional conversation.

This whole incident didn’t help the case for the stories. Of course, the townspeople dismissed the whole “legend” as a simple story meant to keep children from wandering too far from home. The poor family was only an unfortunate coincidence. But everyone had a little fear in their heart

It was a beautiful small forest and a popular place, but you could never spend too long in it. It wasn’t safe was all the explanation people could provide when asked. How could they explain the off- feeling they felt when they went deep in? The urge to just remain in there, walking amongst the woods and trees going off the familiar path and follow the array of flowers that littered the place. people swore these plants seemed to be in bloom even in the harshest of winter. Bright dots of pansies, rue and daisies almost buried under decaying leaves and snow, but sure enough still there.

There was a stream that ran through the forest and led to a pond which looked almost like a picture. Reeds on the sides, little fishes and frogs shining near the surface in the light. It seemed other worldly. There was a large tree fallen tree across the stream near the mouth of the pool. It was almost like a gate keeper, covered in moss, ferns and multiple little critters crawling over the rotting holes created by time. The pond was a lovely place especially during summer but of course, no one stayed there for long. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t see the bottom of the pond. the water was clear but almost a never ending dark blue in the centre. It was safer to just not swim in it. There were stories of dead bodies being thrown in by murderers who will never be caught, people falling in, never to be seen again. Only stories they tried to reassure themselves, but it only strengthened the fear when the youngest Hansen almost drowned in the connected stream.

She lost balance walking across the fallen tree and fell on the stream side. The caretaker was with her and when she didn’t surface, he quickly went after her after. He’d searched frantically for her and found her floating unconscious lightly underwater a little way down. He quickly brought her up.

She recovered of course, but many say she had a chance only because she hadn’t fallen into the pond itself.

There was a family who lived in the castle. They weren’t royal, but Shakespeare took some artistic liberty. The tale of a nephew killing his treacherous uncle to avenge his father, the six haunting deaths in the castle were almost traditional. Almost each province had their own haunted mansion of unusual deaths. But the part of the legend that scared the town most was the fate of Ophelia.

A young woman, still a girl even, driven mad by the unlawful death of her controlling father by the hands of the man who used her like a throw-away doll. Her brother, who, like everyone else, could not look past the simple pretty face put on for the public and see the light of intelligent and awareness.

Ophelia went to the same forest, picking flowers and singing to herself and the trees around her. The trees who didn’t care who she was, didn’t judge or remind her of the rules she must follow to be a proper lady in her short stifling life. They just listened and silently appreciated. They didn’t care for her mad dances, her occasional screams between verses when she saw see the body of her father laid out flashing, the phantom blood still warm against her unstained hands. Her mind quickly pushed it out and she focused on the flowers, still singing to the trees.

There's rosemary, that's for remembrance; pray,

love, remember: and there is pansies. that's for thoughts.

There's fennel for you, and columbines: there's rue

for you; and here's some for me: we may call it

herb-grace o' Sundays: O you must wear your rue with

a difference. There's a daisy: I would give you

some violets, but they withered all when my father died…

She sang on and on, stepping daintily on the fallen tree and dancing atop it. Little jumps, turns and small twirls. The damp moss and slick wooden bark making slips almost inevitable, yet she danced on, for once in her restrained life, careless of any consequence. Falling wasn’t even a fear anymore, after all how could she fall when she felt so light? So, when the final slip did happen, she didn’t feel like she was falling. Ophelia was floating. She was free in the water, the coolness of it finally calming her. The clear water looked even clearer around her. Small fish tickling her hands and face as they swam around her. She felt peaceful. But she’d lost her flowers. Well that wasn’t good, she’d worked so hard to collect them! She looked frantically and saw they all were up at the surface, floating as free as she was. She could almost grab them.

Ophelia tried to reach for them, but her heavy dress felt heavier, water soaked up entirely. Now she felt the fall, the heavy drag pulling her and keeping her down. Ophelia tried to push herself back up, from the bottom of the pond. It was a lot deeper than it looked.

She looked around, the then clear water, now quickly growing murky by all the mud she was kicking up. The fish were gone, had enough of their home being disrupted by this outsider. She was alone and she couldn’t see. She tried to kick herself up again, the cool water now did nothing to chill the intense burn in her lungs. Her legs were entangled by hornworts, hardy pond plants that didn’t let go easily. Her large dress floated around her, restricting movement even further. Pulling whatever she could grasp, it eventually became too much effort, and she gasped for air. Instead muddy water flowed through. She was losing conscious quickly, she had to get her flowers, Laertes was waiting for her, she’d picked rosemary especially for him. and Hamlet, oh Hamlet would never receive her rues, they were such lovely ones. He would have loved it…

Ophelia’s body was found by the servants who went searching for her. Large torn pieces of dress fabric were floating alongside a bundle of wild flowers. But when they dove to retrieve her body, the pond bed seemed almost unreachable, going deeper and deeper still. Eventually they had to return with only the remains they found afloat.

There was a family that lived in the castle. But the story of revenge, murder and madness was all part of legend. No one knows really how they all died but it was so long ago. Fear is the hardest thing to kill though and it is said to never go into the forest on the anniversary of Ophelia’s death. They say she still haunted the pond, hoping to drag other souls along with her for company.

Little Clara Hansen was asked by other curious kids as to what happened to her. Most of them weren’t allowed to go into the forest on their own. Their parents explained it was only for rational safety reasons, “You could fall off a tree! Who’d help you if you break your leg in there?”, “Strangers could steal you away.” And the most common one, “You could fall down a hole and we’d never find you.” All ridiculous, the kids declared. Of course, the real reason was because Ophelia wouldn’t let you leave! They all knew the end of the story. If she saw any kids wandering in the forest, she’d keep them with her forever! Ophelia loved to have little children to dance and play with all day and night.

Clara said she didn’t have any particular urge to dance around or sing with anyone in the forest. She didn’t even see any ghosts. Just some walkers on the path and her caretaker alongside her to make sure she doesn’t get lost. Of course, they went off the path when she saw some lovely columbines and wanted to pick some for her father.

The caretaker followed her, listening to her talk about all the different types of plants she’d learnt at school.

“By the way, did you know that bamboo is the fastest growing wood in the world? I can’t remember the number, but it grows loads in a day!” she interrupted to boast of one of the facts she’d learnt.

The kids marvelled for a moment, exchanging further plant facts they had learnt before pushing her to continue.

Clara had reached a small pond area and exclaimed in delight at all the little fishes that swam in the clear blue water and reached to cup one into her hands. She leaned forward and as her hands touched the water, almost all the fishes swam away frantically. She tried to at least catch one but it was almost as if someone had grabbed hold of her and was pulling her gently. She could see her face fully now and it looked…weird. Different. She looked older…? Her hair was a lot longer. It was also black and curly but maybe that was just the water and light being weird. Maybe it had grown, and she just hadn’t noticed. Oh, she could do cool hairstyles now like her older sister Nora did!

Suddenly she was grabbed from behind and pulled back. Completely startled, water went flying from her hands right into caretaker’s face.

“Please be more careful there! You almost fell in!” he said.

She walked around the place as he set up a small blanket for them to sit on when she’d get tired. Clara didn’t go too close to the pond again, but explored the different plants growing. By the end she’d managed to pick many flowers and long leaves to take home as a trophy. The sun was now overhead and a warm stillness set in the area. The caretaker decided to lay down for a while and soon fell asleep on the blanket. Clara had relaxed before, sitting and talking to him. she was all keyed up now to just…do something! Anything was better than just sitting and sleeping around!

Clara spotted the fallen tree laying across the stream. The caretaker had said not to go on it because it wasn’t safe. Something about rotting wood and instability. But she wasn’t that heavy, surely the wood could take her. She imagined the pretty pictures she’d seen where girls in nice dresses swished their feet on water, sitting on moss and mushroom covered trees trunks. They looked like fairies. The water was so cool as well when she’d reached in before. Clara looked back at him. Light snores indicated he was truly asleep and not faking it. Just five minutes and then she’d come back, he wouldn’t even have to know.

She quickly went up the wood and looked at the stream. She could see the bottom, light sand glistened like sea glass. Small water plants danced around. It would just about come up to her chest, she decided and stepped up on the wood.

It had rained the day before, so it was a little damper than she expected but it was so smooth! Having kicked her shoes off before, it felt so weird feeling the moss snaking around her toes, tickling her. Clara grinned and walked until she’d reached the centre and sat down, facing the pond. It looked a lot bigger from here.

“Hello there.” A voice called. Clara turned her head sharply, startled to see there was a woman in the pond, swimming around. She had such lovely thick hair, like the reflection she’d seen before and a kind smile.

“Would you like to swim with me? The water is lovely and cool.”

Clara hesitated. Of course, Nora had told her not to be alone with strangers. She looked back at the caretaker, still fast asleep. She technically wasn’t alone.

“Sorry but I’m not supposed to go into the pond.” She hoped the woman wouldn’t leave because of her. She seemed nice.

The lady laughed and swam up to her. She was able to walk as soon as she reached the shallow ends and sat next to her on the wood. “Alright then, I’ll just join you then.” She looked even prettier but…

“why are you wearing a dress?” Clara asked. It was a beautiful dress even soaking wet and dripped water making the tree trunk even damper. But it wasn’t good for swimming.

The woman shrugged. “I was just walking around and saw the pond. Thought it was good enough for a dip. No one else really swims in here anymore so I suppose its like my personal pool.” She grinned. “Hey, if you want, it can our little pool! Our special pond.”

Clara beamed. A pond! She pictured coming here every afternoon now, sitting and talking with this lady, collecting flowers and maybe even berries in summer! It sounded wonderful, except… “what about Nero?”

The woman snapped up. “who?” she seemed panicked, worried almost. Clara pointed at her caretaker.

“Nero. He takes care of us while Mor and Far go off for business.” Now eager to show off her knowledge, “did you know Nero is a Latin name and it means timekeeper? Its so weird but makes sense I guess cause he’s always looking after us but he’s super strict about time ‘cause we need to go to bed at ten maximum.”

The woman relaxed a little, staring at him sleeping. “I had a friend like that. You know, his name also meant timekeeper. He was a good guy.”

They chatted a little longer about the meaning of names and Clara’s family.

“So you have an older brother? How does he treat you?”

“well, he’s kinda mean ‘cause he hides my toys but then I tell his friends embarrassing things about him and he always turns so red its funny!”

The woman was a quiet for a while. She smiled again, a little sad. “It’s strange, I had a brother too. He was always picking on me, but I knew he loved me. I loved him too. Maybe if things were different.”

“What do you mean?”

She smiled, “It doesn’t matter anymore. Anyway, I’m gonna go back in. You’re welcome to join whenever you wish.” With that she stood up and dived back in. Clara immediately stood up as well and looked for her. It was almost as if she had vanished.

Somehow Nero was still asleep. Poor guy must’ve been tired. Besides a little dip in wouldn’t be too bad right? It wasn’t like she was alone anymore…

The lady suddenly emerged up, splashing water joyfully. Startled, Clara gave a shout and fell backwards into the stream. The cold shocked her for a brief moment she could do nothing but stay still. She could hear distant voices. Squeezing her eyes, she tried to kick herself up. The water wasn’t that deep last she checked, and she did have two swimming lessons. So why was she having such a hard time getting back to the surface? Frantic now, she tried to swim back up but her feet seemed trapped by something.

The plants had wrapped themselves around her. they seemed to be growing and soon were folded around her arms and torso. Clara tried to tear them off but no matter how she tried, they kept growing. Why were there so many, she didn’t see this much before. Clara looked up. The surface looked so far off… where was that log?

The woman appeared in front of her. Relief filled her as Clara reached for her, expecting her to help her untangle this mess. But she just stared. She seemed different…her pretty dress was torn now in places and floated around her. Her skin seemed a pale blue-greenish colour. Her lovely hair diminished in wild knots and plants tangled up in it. she looked…menacing. It almost looked like there were even some holes in her face. Clara restrained from screaming at the sight.

Maybe this was all because she was underwater. An illusion. How long has she been under? She kept pulling plants off her. Where was Nero? He must’ve heard her fall. He’ll get her.

Suddenly the lady appeared beside her. She had a blank face and stared at Clara. Almost as if observing her as she struggled.

Nero awoke with a startle as soon as he heard a loud shout and a splash. He rose to see ripples in the stream which almost stilled immediately. He stared for a second before seeing air bubbles rising.

Shit.

“CLARA!”

Blood was now pounding in her ears and all she could hear was her own heart-beat going insane. Her chest was burning. She’d stopped kicking, her body growing tired from staying upright. She was slowly losing conscious.

No no nonononononononono this can’t be happening. She can’t die yet, not like this! She still had school to go to, her best friend was waiting for her, her brothers and sisters, oh God, her parents, they’d be so angry at Nero even though none of this is even his fault! He’ll be fired and then no one would play games with Andy or listen to Emily when she’s upset, and…and…

The woman has a strange expression, almost guilty. She leaned close to her face, gently cupping her cheek and finally gave a gentle kiss on her forehead. Her lips felt cold and slimy and Clara’s eyes closed as the woman went under.

She sat up coughing up water and looked around. She was sitting on soft grass, the sun still shining as she shielded her eyes. Nero was right there beside her, patting her back to help any remaining water come up. Clara lunged at him, wrapping her arms around him and burying her damp face in his shoulder. They sat there as she loudly cried the rest of the water out for around fifteen minutes. He quietly picked her up when she had calmed down to sniffles.

“How about we start to head back now?”

After she nodded vigorously, they began walking back home. Clara dared to look back at the pond again and she could see the woman, standing in the water, watching them leave. She never looked again. And she never went back to the forest.

Of course, a quick explanation was given about the drenched clothes. But she didn’t mention the woman. Clara didn’t know why but she felt if she did, it would… be worse. Make it real. Better to just say she fell in for a brief while until Nero got her out.

Of course, a few weeks later, she told the other kids in the town what really happened. They were the only ones who believed her when she said she thought it was Ophelia.

#hamlet #in a way?#just something came up in a conversation #story #ophelia #ghosts #short stories #Creepy danish ghosts are the best #creepy castles even better #I have good imagery for the forest scene #hope I was able to do good?#idk #im always nervous posting stuff on tumblr #I should be more active #I dont think there's anything in this #tw: drowning #I can't think of other warnings?

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

Love you to Death (Scyvie + others) - Vol. 2 - Saiphl

A/N: Here’s the second chapter and I hope you like it, please feel free to leave comments or contact me on my side blog @saiphl

@Mistressaq you really are the best beta ever.

=====================================

VOL. 2 - I’M DEALING WITH DEMONS LOVE, IT’S JUST A MATTER OF TIME…

Yvie forced herself to leave Scarlet sleeping. She forced herself to attend her sire’s call. The voice of her blood boiling through her veins with the urgent call of desperation.

She didn’t actually think before she bolted, running over rooftops, finding it easier to use her legs than trusting the traffic downtown. The house of her so-called mother rose up in front of her, more threatening than ever. For the people around it was a night like any other, with the usual rhythm of the silent house at the end of the street coming to life after the sunset. For Yvie and her sensitive hearing, the house was a beautiful symphony of chaos. She opened the heavy gate and casually walked to the door. A tall blonde bombshell was leaning on one of the columns unceremoniously smoking, Her baby blue eyes turned red for a moment while looking at her sister. “Let me guess… you overslept, right?” A sly smile spread her lips while she exhaled smoke. Even for a vampire, old habits die hard.

“Leave it alone Brooke… where is she?” Yvie looked at the other vampire defiantly. Brooke rolled her eyes and pointed with her face inside the house, which was barely open. Through the crack in the door they heard a high pitched voice roaring like thunder.

“You smell like her… Manila is so pissed she probably won’t notice, but I don’t think Raja will be merciful this time.” Yvie nodded in response, and Brooke laughed. “They almost killed her… she’ll never accept it, but she’s severely wounded” Brooke took another drag and then discarded the butt on the floor, smashing it under her pump. ”Naomi found her injured, disoriented and about to kill a mortal to escape. You know what it means, don’t you? Even if it was just a couple of streets from here she almost died… and she asked for you as soon as she regained composure.” Yvie nodded again, half mouthing a ‘thank you’. It took all of her willpower to not attack Brooke for looking at her with pity.

The door creaked when Yvie went inside, Manila’s loud voice filling the heavy atmosphere. “Where the fuck is Yvette? Call her until you get her, Naomi. And when the little brat comes here, she’ll have to deal with me!” A shiver ran down her spine. Manila had never been easy to cope with, but an angry Manila was something that no one was really prepared or qualified to deal with.

“I won’t call her Nila. It won’t be necessary. Just yell at her right now,” Naomi walked in slow motion, as if she had all the time in the world to just take a single step. Her limbs longer than the standard for even one of their kind, and the cruel smirk on her plump lips showed her already enjoying the torture to come. “The little brat is home… mommy.” Naomi said, faking an innocent tone. Manila growled, then sped down the stairs to face Yvie. Even though she towered over her sire, height had nothing to do with the fear of the raging bull Yvie was facing.

Strong as a bolt, Manila slapped Yvie across the face, the mark of her fingers blooming on the dark skin, and the scratch of her nails drawing thin blood lines that healed before they could actually bleed. “You left her… you never showed up… they almost killed her,” Manila hissed, threatening fangs on display and red eyes almost burning Yvie. “I don’t know what fucking game are you playing Yvette, but you better decide fast whose side you’re on. We can’t count on you anymore.” Manila slid her hand through Yvies exposed cleavage, making sure the sharp point of her poisoned nails cut the skin deeper than before, leaving blackish blood lines behind. “She’s waiting for you, and I hope she rips your heart out. Can’t wait to finally get rid of you and find a real member for this covenant.”

A sting of pain crossed Yvie’s chest, the scratches on her cleavage still bleeding, the skin on the sides of her wound a weird mixture between healing and rotting. A brief smile crossed her lips, sinking on the relief of that pain grounding her.

When she crossed the wooden doors, Raja was sitting on her vanity, her ethereal figure looking as beautiful and terrible as ever. “Again, Yvette? I can smell the shapeshifter on you.” Raja’s voice was calm, soft, a slight note of disappointment barely slipping through her words. “You can’t keep doing this baby, you know what you have to do to her.”

Yvie nodded, her mission was clear. It all happened less than a year before.

—

The covenant had been established in the city for almost five years, the neighbors fascinated with the gorgeous group of women living in the gigantic manor. Back then, there were seven of them.

Raja, the sire to all of them. Manila, her first creation and partner. Naomi the bratty little princess. Shea the beautiful and lethal huntress. Kameron and Brooke, the twins, were beautiful shiny trophies on Raja´s wall. Then there was Yvie, the youngest and the favorite.

The night when everything started, the gates of the manor opened to receive vampires from nearby cities and mortals, all gathered in a rampant party. A true voragine of sex, blood and decadence. No one knew there were other supernaturals present.

The faeries were never bold enough to risk their purity in mixing with the rough banality of the children of the night. The shifters had been in a weird kind of truce since the werewolves and the vampires agreed to coexist, as long as they never crossed each other’s territory. The hunters knew they were too weak to try to attack a place full of vampires; they were tough but not stupid.

Kameron was the first to spot them, all beautiful and hypnotic. Their graceful movements made them look ethereal, still the smell of shifter was present. They were different from wolves, their energy less hostile but equally predatory and dangerous. A short blonde with hair as wild as her nature was dancing with Kameron, a sequence of movements that seemed more primal than casual.

When they were close enough, Kameron and the blonde tangled on each other, a desperate need flowing through them, a struggle for dominance and pleasure. Falling for her instinct, Kameron bit the woman. It was short, precise, barely a sting of her fangs. The shorter woman jumped away, leaving deep claw marks on the waist of the vampire, who fell to her knees not even knowing what happened to her.

Shea was the first to lunge the blonde woman, who easily fell on her feet and bolted away from the vampire. Brooke bolted next, a fast streak of pure anger running behind the seven women that were fleeing the place, the fresh smell of vampire blood easy to track in the middle of the city night.

Three nights later, Brooke was back to the manor, hungry, exhausted, confused and showing signs of battle. She was disoriented and even though she perfectly knew why she left their nest, she couldn’t remember how she did to get back. In the other hand, Shea never came back. The last thing she could remember about her, was the terrible fight they’ve had with two of the shifters: a Panther and a Tiger, the marks of their claws still fading from the porcelain skin of the vampire.

Kameron was a whole other story, her wounded body difficult to treat and to heal, Raja and Manila spending long days and nights making sure their child will survive. Finally, her body started healing and even though she was ready to get back to the field, she hadn’t found the will to leave the bed she laid upon. Brooke was allowed to see her sister, their bond special even before the afterlife. The reaction immediate, as soon as the mixture of Brooke’s blood with the remnants of the shifter’s scent on her clothing and skin, made Kameron attack her twin sister in full force, with a power they’ve never seen in her before.

That was the night when Raja finally decided to cage Kameron away from the world. They didn’t know what happened to her, or what was causing such a violent reaction. Given that they lost Shea, they couldn’t afford getting killed one by one. The wounds in Kameron’s body may have healed and the wounds of her soul mended, but for them was clear that her mind changed and probably would never be the same.

That was the same night Yvie swore to find the haven of those shifters and kill them one by one… so she did and found them.But with them, she also found Scarlet.

—

“I know what you’re thinking Yvette… you can’t hide it from me,” Raja whispered, standing regally from her vanity. Claw marks half healed over her inhumanly beautiful face, scabby ridges breaking the velvety surface of her chest. “You made her fall for you, didn’t you? It’s been two centuries since I turned you and your mouth and fingers are still magic.” The tone of her voice softened, almost like the purring of a cat. “You like her… you want her, but you can’t my love. Her kind disrespected our home and cost us Shea and Kameron. THEY-CANNOT-LIVE!”

Yvie hadn’t felt cold in two centuries, but the sheer rage and pain in Raja’s voice sent a shiver down her spine. She knew Raja was right, she knew that was the law… blood for blood, fang for fang. “What if I can keep her at bay?” She asked, not even stopping to think on her words. “What if she’s different? She’s not a part of the pack– She’s only with them because she has nowhere else to go.”

“Then bring me the head of the blonde that hurt Kameron, bring me the head of the one who keeps Shea away from her family.” Raja demanded, her temper flaring. “Bring those bitches to me, the panther, the tiger, the ocelot and the one missing… “ Raja started pacing around Yvie, as if she was chasing her. “Bring them to me, first. Then we’ll discuss mercy for your pet,” Raja spat. Anger, disgust and the disappointing pain of a mother filled her words with venom.

#rpdr fanfiction #saiphl #love you to death #scyvie #yvie oddly #scarlet envy #raja gemini #manila luzon #brooke lynn hytes #lesbian au #supernatural au #vampire au

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perfectcreaturerarelyseen · 5 years

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To Fall for the Fae | 01 (M)

Pairing: Andrew Hozier-Byrne/Unknown Female

Genre: Fanstasy, Modern, Romance, Smut, Fluff, Angst

Words: Chapter 1: 1,774

Summary: Andrew Hozier-Byrne unknowingly searches for the woman that pulled him from the bog 3,000 years ago. Unknown to either of them that in this modern world their souls are still intertwined from the life they shared long ago. She is unavailable, he’s not giving up. Will the woman that inspires his music be wooed by his songs or will he lose his chance? That’s Wasteland, Baby!

Note: A/N: This is a story requested by my best friend to be written about her favorite musician. I have been inspiried by his songs and specific lines. Any reference to his music is use in the name of inspiration and creating art. I do not own any of his music. Any reference to Hozier in this story is fictional and used by the author in the name of crafting art. I want to thank all who read it. I have fallen in love with this story and would love to hear from you. It will be written in installments. The finished story should be well over 50,000 words. Enjoy.

To Fall for the Fae

The death had not been simple. It had not been easy. It had not been painless.

He spent his last days wrapped in sweat soaked clothes. Flushed with a fever slowly ravishing his tall lithe body like a tree dying from rot. They could do nothing more than wait for the merciful inevitable end.

It was not a quiet death. He ranted, he raved, he howled like a feral wounded beast. Then there were times when he sang. He sang the sad sweet music he used to before the draw of sin consumed him. Back when his nimble fingers would pick out slow sensual chords that matched his words that could be harsh one moment then kind the next. He would spend his days serenading the empty air. The trees his only audience, his only love.

He cried out a name, begging for her. A woman. They had never heard him speak this name before. It left them no idea where to begin to search for her. Still in his delirium he begged for her. Offering his soul for the very chance to feel her cool hand brushing his wet hair limp with sweat from his brow.

His death had not been simple. His funeral had.

A pine box. A trip deep into the bog. The wet mud sucking at their shoes. Trying desperately to drag them down along with him. It was Andrew alone destined to become one with the place he had loved most. He was the only one that wet ground would accept. It longed for him.

They laid him down softly in the cold dark earth as the bog took no time to swallow him whole.

They were still left with the ringing of that name in their ears as they trudged away from his final resting place. Perhaps now in death his soul would find a way to crawl back to her.

They could hear her name even now. It ate away at their souls. The plants whispered his forgotten love’s name.

He died alone but not lonely.

Such is the fate of the fae.

Yet as they headed back home to the warmth of their houses they could her his lyrical voice calling one last time.

One word only.

That damnable name.

He whispered it.

“Madison”

OoOo

He rolled off her neither tired nor satisfied. She moaned. Her eyes still rolling into the back of her head as the le petit mort consumed her.

She had taken him to church of that there was no doubt. Still with the sedating buzz of the deathless death he felt hollow inside.

Dissatisfied.

She was a lovely girl. A classic beauty like a heroine from an old black and white flick.

She was everything a man could love.

However, he liked them wild. Untamed, With a soul like a bird that could never be caged.

He could see her then in his mind. Eyes like emerald pools. Reminding him of the rolling hills of Ireland. Of a life clinging to his mind even though he had been far from it for too long.

Her hair was long. Falling to below her waist in dark locks. The strands would be baby fine so he could run his fingers through them for days.

Her nails...her nails he could almost feel grazing his scalp as she’d try fruitlessly to finger comb the tangles from his hair.

Dark brown most times his hair with a trick of the light would turn to a shade like copper fire in the sun.

He could never see her full on. Just a profile. Her individual features. Then she would turn from him and walk out of his mind.

Her name would be on his lips. Whispered under his breath like a prayer to a deity that he didn’t believe in.

“Madison”

He saw her like this only after that sweet release. Perhaps that was why he tried desperately to find her in the women he bedded. He did it rarely. Never cheap. Never fake. For those moments he loved them. The weight of them in the arms he never used to hold her.

He was not loose nor did he consider these women to be either. There was romance always. Seduction. A fondness that could be mistaken for love. Instead he always felt restless. They weren’t her. They never were.

“Is everything alright?” She asks. He looked at her then through the flame of his lighter as the tip of his cigarette began to glow red.

For a moment this beautiful lass, her eyes dancing in the flames, could be her. Just for a moment.

Madisonhis subconscious mind whispered. 

I wouldn’t know where to start. his conscious mind thought.

“Yes baby, of course.” He leaned over then and kissed her on the light flesh of her shoulder that peeked out from beneath the crisp white hotel sheets.

He pushed her from his mind and that was that.

OoOo

His fingers picked out the notes bit by bit.

It was 5 am and the city below him glowed on like a town on fire. Everyone was asleep but still those lights burned out the very glow of the stars above. Artificial blocked out the natural beauty. That’s the way of humans though wasn’t it?

The way of love too. You could fuck and mask it as making love all you wanted. Still she had groaned out “Baby...baby...baby” the whole time. As if she couldn’t even remember his name. It would have only been worse if she’d screamed “Hozier!” at that final peak of orgasm.

He’d convinced himself it was real, yet here he was bitter and unhappy on the roof of the hotel, guitar in hand, trying to get two women out of his mind. One a fantasy that would haunt him until the grave. The other asleep in his temporary bed, in this temporary home, in a city that would one day be swallowed back up by the earth. Then only then would nature have won over the fake. Perhaps if he was swallowed by the earth once again he would be free too. Free of her.

He always felt this way after. Always. It felt so good. That romance that seduction beforehand. Hands grazing each other across the table. Crooked smiles exchanged. Words, oh how the words wooed him.

Then the way they would kiss the skin that groaned from him. Play his body as expertly as he played the guitar. It felt good. It felt real.

After though he was bitter. Restless, dissatisfied, angry with himself.

Another girl. Another broken heart. Another attempt to get her out of his head. He could hardly stand it some times.

He allowed for just a moment his mind to drift to her and the words came easy. They always flowed from him like a language of babble spoken in tongues when he thought of her.

His fingers moved over the strings and he parted his lips letting the words slip from his mouth softly.

“Wasteland Baby...I’m in love...I’m in love with you...”

OoOo

“Love with every stranger, the stranger the better eh?” One of the roadies joked as Andrew descended the front steps of the hotel alone. Oh to be alone with you his thinking mind thought as his subconscious mind called her name.

Always, always searching for her. Never satisfied by the absence of her. It called out to her as if it could simply call her to him. It had been calling to her for 29 years and had yet to deliver.

He tried to not think about her by choice. Still the part of his subconscious that he had utterly no control of constantly called to her. Nonstop. Every moment. Every day.

Until he felt like his sanity was leaving him. The only time he felt sane was when he wrote his music. It was actually her music.

She was the muse that sent him the words. No true artist can create without a little tragedy. A little torture. A lot of torment.

“I know her middle name. Mother’s maiden name. Every school she went to plus the list of every pet she’s had over her lifetime. She was hardly a stranger.” Though now she feels like one he thought of their parting.

The throwing of things. The shattered lamp he’d have to pay for. He didn’t care about the cost. He simply felt if a lamp was going to be broken in one of his hotel rooms he'd rather it be in the middle of passion.

Slamming her back against the wall until the plaster cracked and rained down on them. Her foot as he slid inside twisting out in a spasm of pleasure knocking the cheap light fixture to the ground where it would shatter. A wave of moans creating a symphony soundtrack to the ripples of pure ecstasy flowing through them.

If he was with her that’s what it would be like.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to imply...” Andrew clasped the roadie on the back and offered him a wane smile.

“Don’t worry about it.” He was trying to prove more to himself than anyone else that it hadn’t been a meaningless pursuit to clear his head once again.

He ran a hand down his face and sighed.

“I think I could use a strong drink.” Andrew smiled at the thought of the cool liquid burning a hot path down his throat. He ran a finger through his tangled hair and looked quizzically at the guy.

“I know a bar a few blocks away. I don’t think anyone would recognize you there. Decent whiskey.” The guy shrugged apologetically at the last part.

“Tonight I’ll take decent over nothing.” They exchanged a knowing smile that imparted that silent unintelligible “guy” language that women would forever cease to understand.

He shrugged himself deeper into his denim jacket as they left the scene of that hotel with the room forever damned by the smell of sex with another woman that he was never meant to be with.

OoOo

A man like a tall tree stalked a path down the cool night streets of a city he only vaguely knew. His feet dragged. He was dead tired not from sleeplessness. No he dreamed of her every night. That alone lulled him happily to sleep. Instead it was the weariness of the day. The pain of facing the world alone in sea of adoring faces.

To be alone was the fate of the Fae. That is...until their path crosses with another of the winglessly winged figures...

#smut hozier #fanfic hozier #fanfic #fluffhozier #hozier #angsthozier

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yourinnerprimschoolmarm · 5 years

Text

RP Sentence Starters

Taken from various songs by Gillian Welch, The Secret Sisters, or The Wailin' Jennys. Feel free to change pronouns and other phrasing to fit your muses' own diction.

" nobody knows what waits ahead beyond the earth and sky. " " i'm not afraid to die. " " sometimes it finds me fast asleep and wakes me where i lie. " " i taste the living earth, the seeds that grow within. i'd like to be that earth-- a home where life begins. " " i'll be traveling far from home. " " i'll be crossing over a great divide. " " when i board, i won't be looking back. " " she says i wanna do right but not right now. " " i wanna do right but not right now. " " i wished i played in a rock-n-roll band. " " i have come back to you broken. take me home. " " i have shattered under midnight. " " there are no vultures in this clearing except the ones who brought me here, and i'll no longer feed them. " " oh i feel these lessons burn inside the person i’ve become. " " we will never get to hide from it no matter how we run. " " all things come to find us, and we'll do what has been done. " " all our stories some day go, dust from air and earth from bone. " " often i wondered why i tried hoping for an end. " " tomorrow will be kinder. " " it's true, i've seen it before. " " the wind has blown, but now i know that tomorrow will be kinder. " " a brighter day is coming my way. " " ruination day, and the sky was red. i went back to work, and back to bed. " " and the iceberg broke, and the okies fled, and the great emancipator took a bullet in the back of the head. " " tried to give her something like i ain't never had. " " we can not have all things please us, no matter how we try. " " when i'm dead and buried, i'll take a hard life of tears. " " i've tried so hard to keep saying you're mine-- now it's time. " " mark this one down as a lesson i've learned. " " it's the only way out of here. " " let there be daggers that tear through my skin, down to my heart where the whole thing begins. " " make me a new one, and i'll love again. until then... " " i dream last night that my time was done, and my soul flew up to the holy son. but the devil had a hold of me. " " there're those who'll laugh and not believe. " " there's only one girl for me. " " you should have seen me and my Morphine when we used to go dancing in the war-- spin me right off the floor " " you never used to do me like you do. " " where's that sweet gal i knew? " " scarlet town brought me down low as i ever been. " " you left me here to rot away, like polly on the mountainside. " " now you may hide in scarlet town for a hundred years or more. but the man who knows what time it is is knocking at the door. " " i think i lost my mind. " " i'm dreaming alone in a hotel bed that he's mine. " " they don't know what i lost. " " when i go to sleep at night, don't you call my name. " " i cried, ‘my god, i am your child. send your angels down.’ " " i drew that glass across his neck as fine as any blade. " " see the brightest ones of all early in october fall-- that's the way that it goes. " " do you miss my gentle touch? " " you belong among the wildflowers. " " you belong somewhere you feel free. " " i have seen no other that compares with you. " " you belong with your love on your arm. " " you belong somewhere close to me. far away from your trouble and worry. " " everybody's buying little baby clothes. " " i kissed you cause i've never been an angel. " " even so i try to be a good girl. " " it's only what i want that makes me weak. " " of all the little ways i've found to hurt myself, well, you might be my favorite one of all. " " what's a little sweetheart like you doing with a bloody nose? " " how could i expect to fly with only paper wings? " " all my life, i ain't ever been a lucky man. " " brought you in this world, and i can take you from it just the same. " " i bet he's never met a poor man's gun. " " can you bring my baby back to me? " " is it something in the wind? breathes a chill in your heart? " " does it whisper 'start again?' " " where is your home, restless wind? " " is your spirit everywhere? " " if there's no home, is there no death? " " you have known the kiss of sorrow. " " you have come by way of sorrow. you have come by way of tears. " " you have drunk a bitter wine with none to be your comfort. " " but you'll reach your destiny, meant to find you all these years. " " i've been waiting for the morning. " " i can see a brand new day dawning. " " everything's going to work out just fine. everything's going to be alright. " " i can see the light of a clear blue morning. " " it's been a long, long time since i've known the taste of freedom. " " do you love a laddie with curly brown hair? " " i'll always love him til the day i die. " " before i got married i wore a black shawl, but after i married i wore bugger all. " " when he makes a promise that he doesn't mean to keep, it burns like a flame inside. " " it's alright to spend your night in tears til the fire dies. " " for now your hope is faded. " " i've traveled that same road as one of the girls who cries. " " i'm sorry that your eyes are red. " " you will find in perfect time someone to cherish you. " " let it take how long it takes and soon it will subside. " “ time will tell the seeds i sow. “ “ who made you think i want to be with you? “ “ i never settle. i never cry. and whosoever told you told a dirty lie. “ “ your heart’s gonna break and it’s a crying shame. “ “ i never loved you baby, my, oh, my, and whosoever told you told a dirty lie. “ “ i sing a mournful song as i rush and ramble along. “ “ i bury secrets deep. i keep them down where the catfish creep. where the rolling tide can’t reach the things that i hide. “ “ even the tennessee river runs low. “ “ you can float in knowing, dear, that i was made to love you. “ “ river, carry me fast away. “ “ i am the tennessee. see you down at the stormy sea. “

#rp sentence starters #rp sentence meme #my memes #long post

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elizabethrobertajones · 5 years

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14x09 watching notes

jingle bells, bobo smells, It is no fun, for us to wait All christmas in hiatus

Berens... please...... I beg you........... don't kill the sweet precious moonchild that is Garth. Please. The joke is "how are you still alive!?" and it would be a disrespect to Bobby's memory, and he represents a stable post-hunting endgame that was a beacon in season 9. In this essay I will

They used Dean's dead-voice "we're the guys that scare them" speech about hunting monsters in 13x05 to open. I wonder if Yockey wrote that thinking it might be the logical open to 13x23 and instead they used "this is boring, got any music?" also from one of his episodes.

[i guess! meme]

The recap left us hanging about if Jack was alive or not for the Kaia recap which turns out to be rude even though I know that he's fine ("fine") now because I am so emotionally affected by this dumb lump of nougat that not seeing an instant "he's okay haha tricked you!" legit raised my stress levels a notch.

Maybe because it's 4am and I was demolishing a slab of toast before the December chill in my room got it first, but I don't think there was any particular art or storytelling to the recap worth mentioning or musing on, and this came across almost more like the recap AFTER the break because getting back to plot stuff like seeing Mikey things again... The 13x05 lines make me wary on Dean's emotional behalf but obviously these are for very different reasons so the only real thing that might come up is that Cas is hiding his deal from Dean and Dean sounded so dead in the feels because Cas was dead. Obviously the real stress right now is what's up with Dean re: obvious nerve-wracking things like the djinn bouncing off his head or his swooshy vision, things we've been collecting up to ask more pointed questions about when Michael's in the room.

Americans: "that's downtown Vancouver!/an actual American city!/the ACTUAL American city in the caption!" me: "hurrrr skyline"

How much budget for Christmas music

I hate this episode already

Okay the blood and screaming is improving things.

Listen, werewolves always have so much fun these days. We had the knock knock one in 13x09, the Kardashian ones in 13x23, and now we have wereSanta here, who just spotted the mistletoe. D'aaaw.

These halo-shaped lights in this apartment Michael picked sure are gonna come in handy if the director knows what they're doing.

GARF. Please say you're here undercover.

OH SHIT. Michael KNOWS. Being in Dean's head does that to you. All his peeps get embedded in your brain. Please tell me some 2 way vessel/angel nonsense happens and you can't bring yourself to harm him.

GARTH HAS A LITTLE GIRL NOOOOOOOOOOOO

She adores Mr Fizzles. Garth spends hours with them hanging out together.

I don't believe him though. I mean. He's just telling Michael what he wants to hear, right?

Having a little girl is such a way to die, though. I mean. Can we just... not do that?

Let Garth Go Home For Christmas

Those halos sure aren't landing over Michael's head no matter how many of them there are

Jack: eating gross cereal made of cookies at midnight in the dark

Me: I love and support you and have done the same

Cas: *SQUINT*

Dadstiel is the best

Sam being the "it will rot your teeth" dad is also the best. I love the Dad Heirarchy being established here. Sam is still Dad no.1 and the one who lays down the rules and gets disobeyed about midnight cereal, full on domestic dad-ing. Cas is the dad who hears you munching from across the entire Bunker and sighs and gets out of Dean's bed where they've been watching movies together (I extrapolate from missing data) and comes to investigate but ends up in the Secret Midnight Cookie Cereal Pact instead.

If Garth dies he may bequeath Mr Fizzles to Sam to help parent Jack, who is now keeping secrets about midnight cereal consumption and needs an expert lie-detector to help him parent.

Okay, so, in season 9 after Dean took the Mark of Cain he was up all night eating cornflakes and not sleeping. The corn was symbolic to Cain. Jack goes through all he did and has cookie cereal which is just his sweet tooth. But he had foreign grace implanted in him, and also is tapping a lil bit of his soul to be alive, meaning he's in a weird power situation and we don't know what's up with him at all. TFW are very much like "upright and not coughing blood is good enough for us", especially when with magic involved it's not like they might have an actual science explanation ever come their way.

Jack sitting in the dark is obviously symbolic of hiding things, his cookie cereal is disapproved of and a guilty secret from Sam in the first place, he's consuming something - willingly - that's bad for him and will rot him right after the sweet sweet probably not Gabriel grace he ingested 2 episodes ago, and added all up makes a secret - and he and Cas of course share Cas's deal secret so it's not like Cas can go stomping around complaining to the other dads what he found Jack doing without Jack being like yeah well guess what CAS did.

It's sure a fun way to parallel the beginning of Dean's dark dark arc and Jack's sugary sweet dark arc.

Dean: kid if you are going to sit in the kitchen at weird hours and eat cereal, at least self-flagellate a little *slams the box of cornflakes down in front of him.*

Jack also is wearing a lot of red lately.

Though his new jacket is santa-coloured not like... Mark of Cain doom blood death coloured like demon!Dean's infamous red shirt.

He's currently wearing Cas-coloured shoes and sitting in Dean's spot from 9x13 aka the iconic cornflakes scene in question.

"If you can't sleep, that's understandable, given recent events." "You mean dying and coming back to life."

Cas has been around the humans too long. He talks in euphemisms and gets called out by his too-literal son.

The tables turn.

Oh Jack... so full of worries about Heaven and if his mom is safe, and making Cas confront that nothing is perfect, even Heaven, and have to say it out loud because he can't lie to Jack and sugarcoat this.

Reminds me of 13x06 where he had to tell Jack that yeah sorry not all angels are perfect either. Sweet lil foetus!Jack sure picked the correct angel to be his guardian.

Naomi is "complicated"

Cas. Hon. *hands him a blanket and a bowl of cereal*

OH MY GOD Jack calling him out on why can't Sam and Dean know about the deal.

Having Jack around is so much a breath of fresh air that Cas is starting to regret ever kidnapping him in 12x19.

"They CAN I just don't WANT them to know" CAS. You've been forced to Verbalise A Thing Using The Correct Language. I am giving you an entire gold star. TWO GOLD STARS. I'm drawing a smilie face on them.

Jack is upset that Cas made the deal for him: "they don't need that burden. you don't need that burden" "of course I do. You did that, for ME" - the ole season 2 Dean thing, where it took until 2x08 to know for sure what John did and it basically killed Dean 3 times over and he was a Mess. Not knowing but not having all the answers and being worried/suspicious about what's up with the neat circumstances of being alive again is hooorrible. And this is calling out the whole Winchester cycle of sacrifice (conveniently now with us knowing that John will be dropping by for an episode to really hammer the point home) by addressing how Jack now has to carry the burden of knowing that Cas did that for him.

Cas is like, "Yeah don't worry I haven't been happy in all of Creation." Jack looks earnestly at him. "I'm sorry."

Cas diverts to eating the gross cereal, which he apparently also secretly indulges in, or else, as Mittens pointed out to me, Dean does too and either way Cas is being gross and adorable and hanging out with his kid and this is horrible I hate it oh god it's more sickly sweet than the cereal they're eating.

Garth hiding in the kitchen to panic and phone mom to get him from the party.

"THIS ISN'T YOUR MOM, GARTH, THIS IS AN ARCHANGEL"

And he's just learned to say "balls" appropriately too.

Sam immediately gets The Guilts because he's being leaderly and losing Garth would be his first major blow as a leader oh god oh god no oh Sammy oh GARTH I can't handle this.

Berens sure is invested in the leader!Sam stuff and telling this story long before anyone else was and had his minion Glynn tease us with Maggie earlier in the season D:

I'm calling mom to get me from the party

"It's Ketch" Sam raises his eyebrows like "I forgot he was in this season"

Does that mean Ketch skyped Cas first

that's hilarious all by itself

He has tea because of course he does

Oh my god he's skyping with Jack. Are they buds? HAS HE ADOPTED JACK?

Honestly of all the characters in the entire show he's probably resisted longest so far when it comes to adopting Jack if they ever met even briefly in Apocalypse World.

This is how you can tell he's the worst :P Rowena "I will never love again" MacLeod took all of 20 seconds to adopt Jack.

He's been in England for like a week and his accent is 100x more hammy. "ExPRopriATE"

He's rolling his Rs. I mean. Is that even in our accent? Not in mine.

Jack watching attentively while he tells his story with no judgement forthcoming, just pure interest in what Ketch says... good thing Ketch is too self-centred on his tale of derring-do or he might find Jack's sweet interest flattering and begin wondering if he has it in himself to be fatherly.

I'm suddenly legitimately interested in the unstoppable force of Jack's adoptability vs the immovable object of Ketch's ego.

He posted it. Around Christmas. Look I'm friends with a postie and she's hucking around a bag as big as herself.

Maybe he put a ribbon on it.

From BUDAPEST. Paying extra really is gonna speed THAT up

"Where is our weapon?" "It's been sitting in Guam for a week. I don't understand. Why is it in Guam?"

TFW all react with snark, side-eyes or despair at Ketch, and 2.0 doesn't even get a reaction because I don't think Jack understands how dumbass Ketch is because he's too smol to have fought the mail :P

"We appreciate the effort" "DO WE?"

Cas is staring into the void, meanwhile. Internally, "Well at least I can be sure I'm not going to worry about allowing myself to be happy any time THIS month"

Oh, sweet! The laptop is set up right next to Britain on the map table :')

Hey if they have to brave the post office to get the egg, they can find out Harper is still stalking Jack :D

Cas can't even work out which direction to start rolling his eyes, gives up and walks off. Dean gestures the screen, look what you made him do! You asshole!

"Only thing that can take him down now is the full Ichabod" "?" *gestures decapitation* "oh."

Poor Garth. Werewolves really are the worst. I can see why you were so upset about being turned.

Remember when Sam described him as an "ichabod crane alike" or something, I think in 9x12 when asking at the hospital about him? Maybe? I swear to god that might be a less subtle hint Garth is going to die than Charlie's "merry christmas"

Garth honey nooo

I'm pretty sure we saw Michael mind-controlling the werewolf in the cold open which means we're in for SOME sort of drama next

Oh good Cas is back, I guess he went to scream outside.

"Oh it would have made it if it wasn't closed for the holidays" Sam is being so withering I hope Ketch can feel it from Budapest.

Garth you are going to get in so much trouble and I'm so scared for you and your family at Christmas

At least in this scene Dean n Cas are playing footsie under the table if nothing else.

With Michael holed up in a towerblock for Christmas I am so worried that I should have watched Die Hard before getting here.

D'aw Dean teams himself up with Cas without even hesitating.

Holy shit they used a season 1 clip of the Impala driving past a field of cows.

"Hi we shot this for 1x06 it's practically an easter egg now"

God, it's the promo scene and we're 16 minutes in.

Not over Cas being like "you're happy" because he can't be happy but he's seeing Dean being, you know, cheerful. It's worrying because it's so close to endgame... if they kill Michael, Dean can be happy. And if Dean can be happy...

bye bye Cas

It's so easy with Dean looking away for Cas's silence to be "lol never" instead of "I ought to tell you the string that is attached"

*quietly climbs into the garbage pile as I think about how neither can be happy while the other is as a literal plot mechanism*

Them leaving the door open seems so significant I thought we were going to see Bad!Kaia comically hiding behind it

Awwwwww Jack wants to break into his first building with lock picks!!

I can't believe they're doing this in broad daylight.

I can't believe there was a Gish item to go to a post office after hours dressed as Santa's elves and that's what Jack is doing with that coat

"Who taught you to pick a lock?" "I did. And the internet"

Sam's "that's my boy" face.

"I wanted to stay useful"

that was your cue to tell Jack he's useful regardless

On the other hand he got the door opened and smiled up at Sam so I guess he gets the validation that way instead.

"HAPPY Holidays" Jack is SO PLEASED the box is saying something nice.

BOOM you have witnessed, once again, Sam being knocked out.

Wow, no. His skull is getting thicker, he manages to cling on long enough to watch his boy being abducted.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS, SAM.

Awww Michael came to oversee it. HAPPY HOLIDAYS, Michael!

Sam is way too concussed to deal with this. Or drive.

Michael has a really similar coat to what he had in the AU but for a fancy rich lady instead of a badass hot cowboy which really begs the question of why he dressed SO SO OTT for Dean, even given his fashionista tastes for the other 2 vessels we've seen.

I am sad we don't have the other Michael vessel just because he's off making out with Constantine on Legends of Tomorrow (meta textuality of THAT to be unpacked by fandom at length :P), but she's an absolutely uncanny female double for him with the coat and the ominous camera angles and her general scary vibe.

"You're going to kill me anyway" *MOOSE CHARGE*

I stan one concussed boy

Blorp

No fancy weapons for you guys, use your heads.

Not Sam's head, he's just taken his 3rd hit in a minute.

Garth gets caught snitching though I suspect Michael knew he was listening in and sent Dean to get attacked by Bad!Kaia anyways.

There's chess being played here.

Er, and you're the pawns.

I think Dean is the other player and everyone ELSE is a pawn in Michael's reckoning.

"WHY ARE YOU HERE? WHAT DO YOU WANT?" Kaia, they just shouted like 20 minutes of the plot so far at each other, you know as much as we do at this point.

I love Kaia's fighting stance but oh my GOD Dean walking up to the spear and having it put against his heart. He knows it's a power move but it's also a gentle one, and he's waved enough guns in her face and our Kaia's face... This is one of those moves you use both on frightened animals and also to show you are a good unarmed nice guy and it's an attempt to re-negotiate after all he's done to Kaias over time >.>

"if you're not going to give it to me, kill me" Dean says, at the end of his big emotional appeal to Family And Saving People as his divine guiding forces in the universe by which he sets his moral compass and acts as the best version of himself in the defence of.

Cas behind him like "I hope this works because I love this dumbass and if you ACTUALLY kill him I'm contractually obligated to murder you so like, pls don't escalate this"

"How do I know if you're telling the truth" well he's not so jot that down.

Cas like "can you please stop talking, Dean, I am not agreeing with any of your policies here" because not only did he drag Jack into it, he made a promise that Jack's completely unable to uphold since he, you know, doesn't have the power to get Kaia home any more.

Poor Bad!Kaia though. Spent her life running from monsters too. She and our Kaia have the same trama, but she's so hardened by it :(

"If you don't bring this back to me I will find you and kill you"

Yikes, magic weapons are having a bad run in these parts, I think Dean's pretty much a gonner :P

I love that the Wayward Sisters music plays around Kaia but it makes me so so so so sad

"So, what, is he playing us?" he's playing YOU Dean. Your move!

"Don't you go in there alone." "I know, drive fast"

Aka concussed bab is gonna go in there alone if you don't hurry.

I have literally no comprehension about the driving times involved in this episode because I don't know US geography like that, but it's Berens not Dabb but he's mentioned specific locations so he better have looked these all up on google maps because this is one heck of a fact checkable episode with 4 distinct known and named locations and you all driving to and fro.

I love Michael's new apartment. It has a dark Heaven aesthetic vibe which is perf.

Jack's here and he's immediately deposited under the halo lights.

I can not WAIT for a Jack vs Michael scene.

*chin hands*

"Why didn't you kill me?" *eyebrow raise*

Poor nougat is being made to feel useless again :( This is Michael grinding his heel into Jack while he has him on the floor, kneeling in supplication under those halo lights.

Michael is into villain monologuing. A terrible, terrible habit.

"Death from above," Michael says, the first time he's had halos over his head.

His concept of soul ownership intrigues me because he would get all the humans who died in an attack on this city in his original world. In this he's turning them into monsters but with his grace, so they belong to him. That means that somehow or other he's probably overriding not just their nature to be controllable by him, which overrides in turn Eve's control over all monsters. She totes isn't dead BTW she's just in Purgatory. I'm like 100% sure of it :P Anyway I do wonder if Michael's control over the monsters extends so far as accidentally granting them passage to Heaven by claiming them and overriding Eve's control. Who knows. The thought wandered by and really tickled me.

Because it's a long game with the real value in people for beings of this level just being in their value as collectibles after death, and season 5 was all about our Michael getting all the souls by killing all the humans and storing them away in Heaven and that was his Paradise he was fighting for. And if he's converting entire cities to monsterhood in order to gain control over the territory in a quiet no mess way, then his control and command of them is passed on through the bite thanks to whatever he did to them. At the very least he's managed to make himself into their new Alpha.

I mean unless this is a phase one and he's sacrificing getting the souls of these lot in exchange for a lot more souls down the line.

LOL Michael pulls "I'm your only kin" and Jack's like, uh, REAL Michael is in the cage, POSER.

I love how Jack's got the such simplistic child language of "I hate you" which comes out so honestly and fiercely. Jack's 1 layer personality is reaaally deep even if it is mostly 1 layer. A very very thick slab of nougat. Full of goodness. It's EXCELLENT character writing to balance a character like this. He has a good understanding of the world by now, evidenced by very clearly being able to distinguish AU!Michael from his living kin of our Michael in the cage, and yet at the same time his emotional range is still 100% whatever he feels about a thing and so for Michael it's hate. Because when kids get upset they can yell "I hate you I hate you!" in a tantrum, and Jack's personality is that but moderated and adult and reasonable, and that... What a good approach to writing a character. Om nom nom.

This vessel is definitely way more expressive than the previous two Michaels, which is something I've noticed in a looot of the vessel gender swaps, which really makes me go sociological on why gesturing and fiddling and so on is so much a part of presence for a female character on screen, while male characters are allowed to stand still and just kind of radiate presence. I mean, she HAS presence, but she's been moving her hands a lot and it's the main detail which makes her not match up as neatly. Jensen threw his whole personality into not moving Michael's arms, to follow on from Christian's portrayal.

I think Raphael's second vessel was menacingly still. That actress did a great job. That slow head turn after they hurl an angel blade at her in 6x22... Nice.

Lisa Berry strikes a nice balance at huge presence and only necessary gestures, and Julian Richings was always fiddling with junk food as Death despite his cosmic presence.

Meg was all in the voice and eyebrows, both actresses.

Why am I musing on this? Because it's 7am and I'm having a wave of immense sleepiness and I think I need tea to keep on watching but it's cold so I'd rather stay bundled in blankets >.>

... I have now turned on the heating and got tea and done some stretches to try and ward off the cold-blooded lizard stupor I was sliding into. Brrr. We get Christmas break on episodes because it's so hard to watch in the cold.

"Our relation is more a matter of scale, power." Ooohohohooo but you just said you weren't killing Jack because he was powerless.

I mean I'm crowing at Michael for maybe revealing a flaw in his monologue to me but at the same time that's terrifying for what he plans for Jack because that presumably involves powering back up but under HIS control. Nephew theft.

I say smugly having posted Jack being kidnapped by Michael in Andrea's Diner for his power/money last week so that I can just ride this one out with a "in before this plotline" raised eyebrow.

I mean I was using a hybrid season 8/14 set up with Naomi still being Michael's flunky but the important thing is that he was trapped in an office in a towerblock which may or may not now be exactly this one since I have eyes on it and Michael was gonna do whatever it took to get Jack's share of the company until Cas marched in and saved the boy.

Yeah my diner AU has corporate drama, deal with it.

NOW we're getting to the epic speeches. The time that makes mountains. Epic. And Michael is like hey you and me are the only ones left... And as your power returns and grows, we'll only become more alike. Cut to Jack being HORRIFIED by the concept of becoming anything like his AUncle and losing his human compassion and turning into this evil being that cheerfully talks about how not only to level cities but to improve on the concept.

Finally, we hit the epic tragedy level of Jack's story he's been hiding from in other genres from disney to rom coms to cute twee Christmas movies and even a detour into 1800s consumptive child drama to avoid it. But Hamlet's procrastination has to be challenged occasionally, and so they're face to face and Michael is taunting Jack with how he might be cute as a nougaty 2 year old but oh dear the terrible 2s are nothing to the terrible 2 billionties.

I think this room even has Heaven's furniture, as a riff on it. What's one world to another? One Heaven from another, as Michael says. Find a head office, treat it like a place of power and intimidation and it becomes one.

All Jack says is "Sam, Dean and Castiel. They'll come for me." Because he doesn't know much but in his 2 years he HAS learned who fights for him and considers him family, and who he will really set his morality by.

Of course if Cas ever allows himself to be happy, then ALL of Jack's family has an expiration date and no one can follow him through those eons to stop him straying.

Also: now eternity has a sense of horror to it. The reminder that immortality is awful and this is what it does to ancient eldritch beings. And as a result, that finite humanity may be better when it doesn't come at the cost of erosion of self.

To thine own self be true, to quote a terribly mis-used part of Hamlet and yeah yeah I studied it I know Polonius said that and it's meant to be a ridiculed line. But it's still emotionally relevant >.>

Jack's fierce sense of self and family is his only weapon here. Michael can't cast doubt on that. Maybe fear for the future, but in the immediate presence, Jack has a ROCK.

That red coat also makes him very distinctively the only real colour in the room.

Michael is wearing dark blue for the red vs blue coding, but it's dark enough to not stand out in the decor.

TFW are all wearing brown and tan.

I'm actually quite fond of this stupid jock werewolf.

Awkward silences with jingle bells in the background... why are they making werewolves inherently comical in Dabb era, I don't know. But I LOVE it.

RIP the sexy werewolf.

Dumb jock werewolf has already run off, which MAY be a reminder to panic about all the monsters in position, or he might get stopped on the way by TFW in a strategic position...

RIP other sexy werewolf.

Both, sadly, as hot as they were, die with amusing riffs of jingle bells to accompany their decapitations. No dignity in death for these fuckers.

Sam may or may not be doing a Red Meat by taking them on alone but he sure is in a better position with only a mild concussion leftover from the earlier attack rather than, you know, a barely-treated gut shot.

Man I hope Cas healed up the residual damage of that before the end of season 11.

Sam is indeed alone as he promised not to be while 100% intending to rush right in, which means that dumb jock werewolf did indeed run off into the city, which means that with 10 minutes left a whoops we let Kansas City turn into monsters cliffhanger might be a lark.

Merry Christmas everyone but Kansas City.

I mean Sam doesn't need to rush on the Jack rescue, Michael literally has eons of AUncle-nephew bonding planned.

The fact Alex has visible chicken pox scars on his forehead amuses me so much. While Jack fast-track grew in 12x23 he randomly inflicted the pox on himself as part of the childhood experience. Like, oh, I better get all my immunity from mom so when my 3 dads collectively fail to get me vaccinated at least I've got that. *boop* chicken pox scars appear.

S'gonna be Garth on the other side of that door

OH NO IT IS

Oh no Sam, it's a trap, he's gonna eat you. Oh no oh no you can't cut Garth's head off. He's a Beloved Sweetie Pie.

If this ends with watching Mr Fizzles get a hunter funeral I am sending Bobo a mountain of coal for Christmas.

Love that universal trope of the werewolf ducking away for an embarrassing uncontrolled transformation that looks somewhere between puking and period cramps. Moonsickness.

Michael is the moon controlling it in this case.

Cosmic bodies.

Don't touch him, Jack!!

Transformations with glowy eyes suck :<

This is just CRUEL to make Garth be like "I'm sorryyyyy" as he charges at Sam.

LOL THIS IS A CRYPT SCENE. He's in Garth's head!

"You don't have to do this!" "You can fight this, Garth!"

Me, staring at my mess of red string connecting crypt scenes: How did I get to Garth wolfing out while shouting apologies at Sam and Sam begging him to stop when this all started with Dean n Cas fighting over a lump of rock 6 seasons ago

Oh thank god they ended it with Sam vulcan neck pinching Garth to sleep after Jack took a rolling tackle at him and Garth ends up still controlled and shoved in the back of the car for later problems.

We'll file this under the failures section between bros and move on though I won't deny Berens had me in a cold sweat that I was going to have to throw years of work out because Sam would grab Mr Fizzles out of Garth's pocket and soothe him back to himself :P

Mr Fizzles x Garth as the Destiel parallel of the year

"Thanks for waiting for us," Dean says, angrily gesturing the alive and rescued Jack while uselessly holding the spear.

It's okay baby there's 7 minutes left and Cas still doesn't have fake blood all over him.

I think Mikey might come back around to gloat. He strikes me as the supervillain type to do that.

They figure out the last few chess moves that Michael made while sitting on the trunk that Garth is locked in. Rough.

In the background, Cas strides over to the brooding Jack.

Boop.

"I wouldn't bet against us."

In Which Dean Nearly Decapitates His Brother

Rousing family speech about no odds or element of surprise or fear from Michael, and they go dramatically walking off towards the elevator with blaring Christmas music.

I hate this

Everyone has a weapon except Jack, who just has a series of incomprehensible troubled looks every time anything happens.

The Boy Is Concerned. But is it about what's going on around him, or inner turmoil disrupting his nougaty centre?

He looks placid again during the dramatic walk, while everyone else has their hero faces, he's surrounded by his dads so he can just be like :3 and enjoy the adventure.

Michael is bored and pacing because they took too long having broments downstairs and walking slowly towards the elevator and he wants to do this great dramatic turn when they arrive but the elevator is craaaaaaawling up the building.

Fine, what if I'm not by the window but sitting down with my back to them.

Is Michael NERVOUS?

Big talk about being a zillion years old and then getting impatient.

What did Michael just see? Because he lit up his eyes and got a lot more confident...

"There... he... is" he smirks.

Me when Cas

Cas doesn't usually nearly get a killing blow on me, though. Nice move, bud.

HEY, RUDE. DOn'T HURT HIM

I know he just tried to stab you but I'm allowed to yell that. Also stabbing archangels doesn't tend to work on them but whatever :P

Come on Dean, GET HIM. He hurt the bae! And Sam and Jack now! But nowhere near as dramatically!

Ironically if Michael had just had any patience he wouldn't have fallen for being baited into coming to see Cas snooping around his front desk.

OH NOICE THIS IS THE SAME FIGHT WITH MICHAEL AND DARK KAIA BUT DEAN AND MICHAEL

Ow, Dean not doing so well after all.

Is that Sam or Jack inching a hand towards the spear. If Sam stabs Michael then it's a thanks in return for stabbing Lucifer. If Jack does... Badass, kid needs a big kill.

On the other hand, we're so near cliffhanger time territory that.. well.

Nope, Sam just did the slide a weapon back to Dean thing and Dean got in a hit on Michael in their duel.

Same arm he got stabbed on.

"trust me, that's gonna leave a scar"

Jack I hope you are paying attention to Dad no.3's use of one-liners because he is a master.

When he isn't, like, "you're the shortbus, shortbus."

UHOH Michael is standing with aaaaaall the haloes reflected behind him in the window and Dean is having Suspicious Killing Hesitation

aaaand there's the whooshy vision wow what a surprise

I KNEW IT WAS COMING AS SOON AS MICHAEL'S SHOULDERS WENT ALL CONFIDENT AND HE STARTED STARING AND I'M STILL UPSET.

I mean I knew it was coming as soon as Dean stumbled in like ??? I'm not Michael???

But in the short term, argh.

WHAT IS THIS BAR

It has a moose head, Jo's shooting game from the Roadhouse, and the old jukebox from 4x01's diner where Sam and Ruby hung out.

Aside from anything else this is a horrible ploy by Michael to get the spear.

WHEN DID MICHAEL BARTEND.

I am so intrigued.

But yeah, checkmate, Dean Winchester. Snapped your magic spear and melted to magic egg. What next?

Oh good and now he has the halos behind his head :< :< :< :<

Wanek I am so angry. You get coal too.

LOL Michael giving them a lesson on maaaaaaaybe asking important questions about things instead of just leaving them as soon as a character appears to be functioning on the surface, I type with this paused with Jack in the corner of my screen as a fortuitous example

Michael gloating about breaking Dean is the worst Christmas cliffhanger. I hate you Bobo.

You aren't seriously going to end the season on a snap and make us make Michael is Thanos jokes all hiatus? I mean he already fucked up one planet, decimating it in the name of a better world. Please. Don't do this, Bobo.

He did it.

Reminds me of the end of 3x10 as well, with demon!Dean lurking under Dean, waiting until before the credits to snap his fingers from within Dean's subconscious to remind us he was lurking and waiting.

Aw man this sucks.

Now Jack has to murder Dean after all.

#14x09 #season 14 spoilers #berens fanclub #my stuff

111 notes · View notes

sagemoderocklee · 5 years

Note

For the sweet moments I want all of them for our favorite pairing, but I guess I'll just have to go with 13 and 27 for Gaara/Lee please ❤️

so i actually ended up getting a bit carried away with prompt 13, so that’s under the cut. also like... sorry this sat in my inbox for like 2 years or something... maybe it was only a year and a half??? but still

[my kofi]

---

27. Accidentally Sleeping In [ao3]

There was a fog in his mind and his limbs felt heavy, strange, slow to move. He shifted against something warm and solid, something familiar and comforting, as his mind rose from the deep black of unconsciousness. Sound filtered into his awareness followed by a gentle touch against his forehead, fingers brushing back his hair to press lips against his scar. A gentle breeze, warm and tender, blew threw his hair as someone above him sighed.

He shifted, his mind moving slow, but his heart racing as recognition finally sparked: sleep had somehow overtaken him in the night.

Gaara’s eyes snapped open and his breathing came in ragged gasps. He jerked up, his head colliding with Lee’s nose as he tried to escape the confines of his drowsiness.

"Shh, it is all right,” Lee soothed, the hand over his nose muffling his words but not the affection in them.

“What happened?” Gaara asked, panic squeezing his chest.

“You fell asleep,” Lee said, wonder hanging on each word. “I have never seen you sleep before.” Gaara’s head spun, the rising panic subsiding as he looked around his perfectly ordered room. There was no sand scattered about, no pieces of wreckage nor drops of blood, no sign that anything horrible had transpired while he slept. He looked out his window to see blue skies and the sun shining, its rays barely peaking over the walls that surrounded Sunagakure.

All was peaceful and quiet.

Lee watched him, caught between concern and adoration, his expression soft as it only ever was when he looked at Gaara. “Are you all right?” Words caught in his throat, but he finally pushed them out, his jaw working. “I... slept.” Lee smiled, leaning close to press his face into the crook of Gaara’s neck, kissing a small bruise there that he’d left the night before. He hummed contentedly in response, kissing that spot again as though he couldn’t quite get enough. Gaara closed his eyes, lifting his hand to tangle in Lee’s hair, a small pleased noise escaping him. Lee’s mouth against his neck was soothing, comforting, grounding, and Gaara relaxed fractionally.

“You were quite tired,” Lee mused into his neck, an arm snaking around Gaara’s waist, a note of mischief in his voice. His next words came soft and sweet, the awe returning as he said, “I liked watching you sleep.” Gaara turned into Lee, looking into his face. “I slept,” he repeated, disbelief in the flat notes of his own voice. “You did,” Lee confirmed, pressing their foreheads together.

“Nothing happened.”

Lee laughed, the sound vibrating through Gaara’s chest. “I would not have let it,” he assured, a calloused hand against Gaara’s cheek. “I watched over you.”

Gaara frowned. “Did you sleep?”

“I was quite tired as well,” he said with a laugh. “I woke to find you asleep beside me, instead of watching over me. I thought I should return the favor, since you always take such good care of me while I sleep.”

There was a pleased note in Lee’s voice, as though Gaara falling asleep had been a particularly wonderful treat he’d never expected.

Gaara pressed a kiss to Lee’s mouth, quiet thoughts racing through his mind. He’d slept and nothing had happened, no one had died, nothing had been destroyed; he’d slept and everyone was still safe. The only major consequence that he could ascertain from falling asleep was feeling more fatigued than usual and a little queasy. The world still felt slightly fuzzy at the edges, but Lee’s mouth against his was quickly chasing that away.

“What time is it?” Gaara asked against Lee’s mouth, barely pulling away from the kiss.

“Just before seven,” Lee said, his mouth following Gaara’s to capture his lips again.

“We should get up,” Gaara said reluctantly. He didn’t particularly feel like moving, the heaviness in his limbs and the fog in his mind and his unsettled stomach were certainly good enough reasons to stay in bed, but more than that Lee seemed perfectly content to spend a lazy morning in bed, kissing along Gaara’s neck and darkening the already purple bruise there.

Lee groaned, shifting closer. “Do we have to?”

“Don’t you have training to do?” Gaara asked, amusement barely hidden beneath his fatigue.

“I can think of a much better way to spend my morning,” he said, voice deep and warm as he kissed his way down Gaara’s chest.

Gaara smiled, winding his hands in Lee’s hair. “I suppose starting our day late would have its merits,” he acquiesced, allowing Lee to push him back against the pillows.

Lee smiled down at him, his eyes shining in the early morning light.

Gaara didn’t want to make it a habit, but he decided that seeing the morning from this perspective might not be so bad.

----

13. A Sorry Kiss [ao3]

Lee believed in many things: love, determination, hard work, forgiveness.

He believed that belief alone could overcome just about any obstacle; he believed that love held infinite power--the power to heal, the power to change hearts, the power to transcend lifetimes; he believed that he was unstoppable; he believed that he was splendid; he believed that someday someone would see in him endless possibilities--universes expanding and unfurling on an infinite loop of impossibility.

He believed it with all his heart.

But some hearts are more easily broken than others. Though he tried always to weather every storm that came his way, there were some things he simply couldn’t take.

Falling in love with Gaara of the Desert, was not one of those unweatherable things, however, being rejected by him was.

It was not that Lee was a stranger to rejection. He’d been rejected countless times in his life, and each time he’d thought, “I will be stronger the next time. Maybe next time, it will be different.”

And it never was.

But with Gaara it was different. With Gaara, it was a deep, abiding love. It was an eternal blossom, petals unfurling like a kaleidoscope as it flowered over and over in new and exciting ways. It breathed in him, took root in his heart, made him feel like he’d never felt before; like he’d never thought it was possible to feel.

It had become too much to keep secret, though he’d tried for years, aware of the complications and the challenges, aware of the stigma and the scorn. He’d kept it to himself like his scars, but so much more precious and enduring.

And then it had spilled from him, a mistake of the reckless and rash.

Gaara had told him a flat and unequivocal no.

Lee’s heart had been devastated. Shattered. Wrecked. Ruined. The petals of his love wilting over and over. There was an ache in his chest where his heart should have been. There was a dead, undying flower rotting in his soul.

He cried. Not in front of Gaara.

He waited. He apologized for his impropriety, for his bluntness, for his presumption. And he’d left. He didn’t ask if they could retain their friendship after this. He didn’t think he’d like the answer, though in hindsight that was probably the musings of a wounded man.

Gaara had not been to Konoha since. Lee would never go to Suna again.

And then one day, in the ever expanding universe of his life, there came a letter. It was a peace offering, an apology, a plea for forgiveness. Lee didn’t know how to read between the lines of Gaara’s precise letter writing, not the way he’d learned to read his minutiae of expression over their years of friendship and the years of falling steadily in love with him.

Rock Lee,

I regret having left things the way we did. This past year, I have thought long and hard on what you said, and I have come to the realization that I was callous in my rejection of you. You spoke your heart, but your words fell on deaf ears.

I hope that in time, I can mend whatever hurt I know I have caused, but I will accept the consequences of my thoughtlessness should you wish to remain distant.

Your friend, Gaara

The edges of the letter were fraying now, its face dirtied by fingerprints and a desperate desire to understand. Lee wondered if he should reply, he wondered if he could bring himself to look at Gaara again.

The hurt had wedged itself like glass in his still beating heart, cutting deeper and deeper each day.

He tried writing letters in reply. Nothing ever sounded right.

He stared at his scarred hands, thought about the scars on his heart that Gaara had also inflicted, and wondered why he was doing this to himself. He could let this go. He could move on. He’d done it before.

Finally, biting back tears and fighting to keep his hand steady, he wrote a simple letter back.

Thank you for your concern, Kazekage-sama. I am doing well, and I hope you are too. I understand that I behaved incorrectly. I should not have said those things. It was misguided and foolish.

I do not begrudge you your rejection of my flights of fancy.

Rock Lee

He’d kept it short, afraid that if he’d spent any longer on it he would break and the lie would come spilling from him like his guts. He sent it before he could second guess himself, and he’d forced himself to forget the whole ordeal. He’d hidden Gaara’s letter in his room, beneath a potted plant.

And life went on, as it always did no matter the cuts and bruises he obtained.

His life fell into a steady rhythm of forgetting that he’d ever loved Gaara of the Desert. He told himself there were no flowers blooming eternal in his heart; he told himself that there was no glass to cut him and that the ache he felt was simply a pulled muscle; he told himself that when he woke up crying, it was not because he’d dreamed, once again, of familiar jade eyes and blood-red hair and the smallest, most wonderful smile he’d ever seen.

Eventually it would stop--the pain, the longing, the love. It would go away.

It had to.

Lee told himself that if he just believed it to be true, it would be. And so he told himself lies; told himself that he did not love Gaara anymore than he loved his other friends. Less in fact, he determined. Less.

And then one day Gaara arrived on his doorstep, and it all came rushing back. The flood gates threatened to break; his heart tried to escape from the old roots of the wild flower growing unattended in his heart; the glass cut deeper.

“Do you hate me?” Gaara rasped, as though he’d asked this question a hundred-thousand times.

Lee’s eyes burned. “Not even a little,” he said through tears and the gnawing ache of his heart. “Not even if I wanted to.”

Gaara’s expression shattered, something within him crumbling. “I--I don’t know how to love like that,” he said, his voice caught on the raw edges of his emotion. “I don’t understand how--how can you love me?”

Somehow, it all made sense in that moment. Gaara hadn’t rejected Lee. He’d rejected himself, he’d rejected the notion that anyone could love him, because somewhere deep in his heart he still held onto the agony of a little boy all alone in the world.

“How?” Gaara asked, begged, pleaded. He didn’t understand. He hadn’t understood all this time, and Lee, so caught up in his own heartache, hadn’t ever thought to explain.

“I am so sorry,” he choked out, reaching a tentative hand towards Gaara. He didn’t know if his touch would be welcome, didn’t know what he would do if it was.

But Gaara seemed to want his touch. His sand sloughed away, revealing darker skin beneath, as he moved in desperate, jerky motions towards Lee’s outstretched hand. Lee froze as Gaara moved into him, as Gaara touched his face with curious fingertips. He wanted to understand, he needed to understand.

“I wish it were as easy as words,” Lee said quietly, swallowing back emotion that tasted like blood. “I have only truly been in love the one time, you see.”

Gaara’s fingers did not stop skating across Lee’s face, touching and seeking answers within Lee’s skin. “Show me,” he breathed.

Lee took a step back. “I do not think that is a good idea,” he said, placing his hands against Gaara’s chest to keep him at bay. “I would not want to take advantage of your confusion.”

The tears that sprang to Gaara’s eyes were born of frustration as much as confusion. “I think about you,” he said, his voice a bare whisper. “I can’t stop. I don’t understand it. The things you said--how--what have you done to me?”

Tears rolled down Lee’s face in answer, his lip trembling and his voice shaking as he said, “I have fallen in love with you.”

Gaara shook his head, reaching for Lee, trying to pull him close. “I want to love you,” he said, the words like a gasp. “I just need you to show me.”

Lee closed his eyes, letting his arms drop from Gaara’s chest so he could close the distance between them. Gaara’s mouth was desperate against Lee’s, a million questions passing from his lips into Lee. It was not a particularly good kiss, it was sloppy and painful and lacked finesse.

He pushed at Gaara, as gently as he could, stuttering out words through the pain twisting in his chest that made it hard to breathe. “I am... so deeply sorry, Gaara.”

Gaara shook his head, mutely, trying to pull Lee back to him. But Lee stood firm. He could not allow this to go any further. “Please,” Gaara begged.

Lee felt that his heart was breaking all over again. “I am sorry, but... I cannot. I love you, I will always love you. But I cannot give you answers like this.” He stepped away, and the pain he felt was reflected back at him in Gaara’s eyes.

He turned away, unable to stand the sight of the pain he’d caused without giving in, without trying to heal what he’d done. “I hope you can understand. I do not want to hurt you. I think we both need time.”

“That’s all we’ve had,” Gaara snarled, but he didn’t move for Lee. “What’s the point of saying you love me if you won’t show me.”

Lee swallowed, his throat tight. “This is showing you,” he said quietly. “I know it does not make sense, but... please trust me. If you truly love me, then we can wait. I can wait.”

“And what if I can’t?”

Lee looked back over at Gaara, his eyes sad, his last ounce of strength fading. “Then I do not think you really love me.”

Gaara fled.

And Lee cried.

Lee believed in so many impossible and wondrous things. Gaara was as impossible and wonderous to Lee as anything ever could be. As impossible and wonderous as love; as beautiful as the unfurling petals of his undying flower; as splendid as the sky at sunset. Gaara was everything Lee could ever want and more.

And Lee believed, and Lee hoped, and Lee prayed that in time Gaara would be able to show him what this impossible feeling meant to him; that one day, Gaara would truly see the endless possibility of Lee and the expanding universes within him.

#otp: love is a foreign language i barely understand but when you speak it the words make so much sense #gaalee #otp: the ultimate otp #gaara #rock lee #naruto #shippuden #leegaa #my fanfics #naruto fanfiction #long post #turquoise-tumpkin

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