#/when bringing back this muse & his face it's like the law i have to use shirtless gifs lmao

[romanoffsdarling]

Summertime Sadness

Pairing: Dom!Wanda Maximoff x MILF!Reader

Summary: You hadn’t expected the summer after your divorce to be anything more than you simply getting used to being alone and drowning your sorrows in glasses of wine. The sudden homecoming of your daughter brings those plans to a screeching halt, but nothing could have prepared you for the woman that she brought along. Her best friend, the woman you’ve been hearing about in all of her phone calls home, offering you a glimpse into parts of yourself you never even knew were there. 

Word Count: 4,891

Warnings: Legal age gap, oral (R receiving), fingering (R receiving), and hints of possessiveness. 18+, Minors DNI.

Author’s Note: I’ve seen a lot of stories with Wanda being the MILF, rightfully so, but I wanted to spin it a bit and make the Reader the MILF in this instance. Hope you all enjoy! (Also, I’m so sorry for disappearing for so long, college has been absolute hell.)

You never truly comprehend how much time you waste, how much had truly slipped through your fingers, until it’s already too late to do anything about it. Until you look into the mirror and see the once youthful face marred by faint wrinkles, a sign of wisdom your best friend would tease, and hair speckled with the vaguest hint of grey. 

Twenty-five years... You had been married to your husband for twenty-five years; giving him your youth, giving him your heart and soul, and you never once imagined that he would have tossed all of that away for some floozy at his law firm. Never thought that you’d look down at your left hand and not see the delicate gold band situated on your ring finger. Of course, even now, you didn’t regret marrying him-- for it had given you the house you lived in now, the friends that had flocked to your side when the news of his infidelity spread through the neighborhood, and it gave you your darling daughter. Even if she was not yours by blood, you couldn’t imagine anyone housing the same space in your heart like your beautiful Natasha did. 

All you did regret was being stupid enough to trust him so much. For putting your faith, and your dreams, in his clearly incapable hands. It had hurt, and still does hurt, but it wasn’t because you had lost him-- your marriage, in truth, had been dead for years-- but for all the time you had lost in chasing smoke and mirrors; in staying for something that should have been let go of long ago. You hated him for what he did, for getting caught with his pants down in between his secretary’s thighs, but you hated him even more for not being man enough to simply let you go, to give up the fight when it had already been lost after his first thirty seconds with his new whore, and it’s for that reason that you were currently scrubbing every inch of his old office clean. 

You wanted to get rid of any reminder of him-- both in your home and in your mind. 

The smell of bleach and lemon disinfectant surrounds you, but you had long grown used to the cloying scent. Dark oak floors, and the matching desk, gleamed underneath the antique lighting of the room; it had been a long time since they had been given the proper care they needed. It seems that I have more in common with inanimate objects that I thought, you muse, a sense of bittersweet irony strewn within the thought. 

Settling back on your haunches, a sigh escapes your lips, and you roll your shoulders, wanting to relieve the tension that had been slowly building up for the past couple of hours. “I’m not getting any younger,” you mutter, tossing the damp rag to the side. “I just hope everything will get a bit easier.” 

Even to yourself you knew that was asking for a miracle. 

Before you could delve down into that specific line of thought, you faintly hear the sound of the front door being opened and the familiar sound of jangling keys with the slightly deadpan calling of ‘mom’ permeates the usual silence. The sound, although not unwelcome in the slightest, causes a small frown to furrow your brow all the same. 

“Natasha?” You call back, already making your way towards the living room, sure that your confusion rung clearly within your tone. An expression that only grows that much more pronounced when you’re met with the shimmering gaze of your daughter; tousled red hair cut short, falling to just above her shoulders, and her usual penchant of wearing darker colors being tantamount. “What are you doing home, sweetheart? I wasn’t expecting you for another month.” 

Her lips twist in a wry smile. “Are you not happy to see me, mother?” She tilts her head, faux hurt making an appearance. “I thought you’d be glad to see me.”

You gently swat her arm, before pulling her into a tight hug. “Of course, I’m happy to see you, Natasha,” you murmur, your lips briefly brush across her cheek before you disentangle from her completely. “I just know how you value your independence too.”

“I knew that you were alone in the house, mom,” she replies, a shrug calmly following her words. “I didn’t want you to wallow in self-pity while that fucker I call a father gets his rocks off with someone half his age across town.” 

“Language, Natasha,” you gently chide, well aware your daughter was in her early twenties now and didn’t need to be reprimanded for it. “You know that your father still loves you dearly, and I believe he’s excited to see you whenever you get around to going to his new house.” 

Jade eyes roll so hard you’re almost concerned about them getting stuck. “He should have thought about that before he stuck his tongue down someone else’s throat.” Natasha’s lips press into a line, clearly agitated, but she takes a deep breath through her nose and forcibly calms herself down. “But I’m not here to talk about him. I’m here to spend time with you.” 

Sudden movement from behind Natasha causes your reply to catch in your throat when you finally focus on the woman standing behind your daughter. Whose presence you were completely astonished you hadn’t noticed before, especially given how electrifying it felt to have her emerald eyes honed directly on you, but your gentle smile doesn’t fall away; even if you do feel it twitch slightly due to your surprise. Your hand, that was near enough to your daughter’s forearm, clenches around it in a silent reprimand, but you try your best to keep the pleasant tone to your voice. 

“I see that my daughter didn’t think it best to introduce her guest first.” You gently pinch Natasha once before stepping closer to the unknown woman in your home. “I apologize for not noticing you sooner.” 

The woman smirks, the light emerald of her eyes shifting to tantalizing jade as she observes you. “It’s quite alright,” she replies, her voice a husky whisper that’s enveloped in an accent you couldn’t pinpoint the origin of. “I’m not surprised that Nat was too focused on her mother to remember me.” 

Subtext is etched into every inch of that statement, but you didn’t have time to even try to sift through it before your daughter’s teasing voice cuts through. 

“It’s not my fault my mother is more interesting than you, Wanda.” She slides past you to stand beside the now smiling woman. “You just need to learn to get on her level.”

Wanda’s gaze shifts from your daughter to you once more-- the barest hint of her earlier smirk returning. “I don’t know, Nat,” she teases, amusement, mixed with something else you couldn’t put a name to, laced within her words. “I think I quite like my view from where I’m at.”

Your daughter, once again, rolls her eyes skyward but her easygoing smile doesn’t leave her lips. “Mom.” She turns back to you and gestures towards Wanda. “This is Wanda Maximoff, I’ve talked about her a bit when I’ve called home.” 

The name finally clicks into place within your head. Memories of your daughter’s exasperated voice, filled with hints of fondness, come forth from the recesses of your mind. All of the stories, all of the thinly veiled jokes, that your daughter had shared with you, and the clear warmth that she felt for the other woman, brings a fond smile to your lips. An expression that causes various emotions to flicker across Wanda’s face for the briefest of moments before it smooths over. 

“So, you’re the one my daughter kept talking about?” You couldn’t keep the genuine amusement out of your tone if you tried. “Her best friend?”

Wanda arches a brow. “I’m your best friend, Nat?” She playfully places her hands to her heart. “I’m honored that you think so highly of me.” 

You can tell your daughter just barely refrains from rolling her eyes. Not even bothering to deign Wanda’s teasing words with a response, Natasha turns back to you. “Can we go put our things away, mom?” She rolls her shoulders, and, for the first time, you notice how tired she looked. Of course, it was over a four-hour drive from your house in Westview to her college in Ithaca. 

“Of course, sweetheart,” you soothed. “I’m just going to finish up some work down here and then I’ll get started on dinner, okay?”

Natasha smiles. “You’re the best, mom.” 

Your heart flutters at her words, a simple compliment to most, but one that you’ve desperately needed in the last few months. Knowing that you may start crying at any moment if you tried to speak, you wave your daughter towards the stairs and step back towards the hallway to continue your work in the office. But, before you could a throat clearing behind you causes you to turn back around-- only to be met by beautiful emerald eyes that seemed to encompass you in a bubble you didn’t know if you wanted to escape from. 

“Is everything alright, Wanda?” Your gaze quickly flicks over her body: from the black skinny jeans with holes, to the simple red leather jacket, and the casually tousled way her dark auburn hair fell over her shoulders. “Did you need something?” 

Pale pink lips quirk for a moment, before a genuine look of something passes over Wanda’s face once more. “I don’t need anything.” She shakes her head, a low chuckle escapes her, but you weren’t quite sure what was so funny. “I just wanted to thank you for letting me stay here with Natasha. Especially since it was clear you didn’t know I was coming in the first place.” 

“It’s not a problem, Wanda,” you reply, a smile of your own playing across your lips. “I’m glad that I won’t be alone in this house for however long you both decide to stay. It definitely beats what I was going to do.”

“What were you going to do?” 

You shrug. “Just wallow around and get drunk off of some wine.”

Wanda considers you for a moment, emerald eyes cast in shadow. “I’m not so sure about the wallowing, but I’d love to have a glass of wine with you sometime.” 

“Oh.” You’re surprised by the simplicity in which Wanda makes the offer. None of Natasha’s previous friends, or best friends, had ever bothered, or seemed that keen, to spend time with you. Not that you’d ever fault them for doing so. Who would want to spend time with the parents of their best friend? “I’m sure you’ll have much more interesting things to do, Wanda.” 

A smile, much softer than the one’s she had shown you before, plays at the corners of her lips. “I’m not so sure about that, but the offer still stands regardless.” She looks over her shoulder when the call of her name from Natasha’s room spears through the house, an almost disgruntled look etching itself across her face because of it. “I think it’ll be fun to get to know the woman that raised Nat. Her stories of you haven’t done you justice in the slightest.” 

You’re not able to reply before Natasha’s annoyed voice from the upper-level calls Wanda towards the stairs, clearly impatient with how long her friend was taking. Conversation over then, you think, taking a small step back, towards the direction of the kitchen. The action elicits the smallest of frowns from Wanda, an expression that is there and gone before you could even blink, and you offer her one last wave before heading further into your house, vaguely aware that you didn’t hear the telltale signs of footsteps on your stairs until you rounded the corner. 

The following week passes quickly, and you easily grow used to having Natasha back home-- Wanda slipping in seamlessly throughout it all. It was nice to have some company in the large house, even if Natasha did tend to disappear to reconnect with friends she had left behind once she went off to New York and left Westview behind, but knowing that your daughter was there, and would continue to be, if you needed her soothed you in a way that you hadn’t even known you needed. 

Wanda, despite Natasha’s persistent pestering, seemed to enjoy spending her time lounging around the house, citing that she didn’t know anyone in Westview and didn’t plan on getting chummy with the locals, offering her help whenever she saw you doing something, with an ever present look in her eyes that you still couldn’t place. Although you didn’t exactly mind spending time with the younger woman, her perception of the world was enlightening, along with your shared interests in various topics that had never seem to intrigue anyone else except you-- until now, of course. 

You could feel yourself getting close to her, closer than you’ve allowed yourself to be in a long time. Not since college, you muse, taking a small sip of the chilled wine that Wanda had just brought you. Finally deciding, with Natasha going out for friend’s birthday party, that it’d the perfect time to finally share that glass of wine. You didn’t bother trying to argue with her, not when she looked so earnest in her request. 

Wanda settles next to you, causing you to shift your position, pressing your back into the arm rest, in order to be able to look at her. Emerald eyes were glued onto you, a smile playing on the edges of her lips, before she shifts into a comfortable position of her own. 

“So,” you begin, setting down your wine on the coffee table. “What are you planning on doing once you graduate college? Any idea on where you’d like to end up?” 

“I’ve always loved the idea of being a Producer, being the magic behind the scenes if you will,” Wanda replies, a charming grin catching her lips. “And, yes, I do believe there’s a place that’s caught my eye on where I’d like to end up.” 

You arch a brow. “Really?” 

Wanda simply hums in response, a spark of mischief dancing within her gaze-- a look that you had long since grown used to. It’s clear that she wasn’t going to answer you, not that you truly expected her to, after all what college kid has plans on where they’d like to end up? Ideas, perhaps, but nothing concrete as most go where the wind takes them. 

“Well,” you continue, a soft smile pulling at your lips. “I’m glad that you have everything figured out. I definitely envy you for that?” 

The younger woman’s brow furrows at that, bottom lip disappearing behind pearly white teeth. “Why do you say that?” Emerald eyes flit over the immaculate expanse of your house, one that you had strived hard to maintain through the years. “I think you’re definitely a few steps ahead of me in that department.” 

“I wouldn’t say that.” You wave the pseudo-compliment away. “All of what I have isn’t what I originally dreamed of, or wished for, myself, but when certain cards are laid out in front of you.” Trailing off, you run a singular look over the now empty expanse of your ring finger. “You either fold or raise, I wasn’t willing to do the latter. Not when it had so many other consequences attached to it.” 

“What would you wish for then?” 

You shift your focus back to Wanda, confusion etched across your face. “What?” 

She waves a hand. “You said that all of this isn’t what you originally wished for yourself.” Wanda shrugs. “What is then? What would you wish for?” 

“I wish I could find someone that’d treat me in the way he never did, that’d show me what love truly is, and make me forget about all that he’s put me through,” you sigh, taking another sip of your wine. “Of course, with my age, I don’t think that’s really in the cards for me anymore.” 

Wanda scoffs. “I don’t think that’s true. I think there are quite a few people that’d love to be with you.”

Something tells you, maybe some deeper part, a more sensible part, of your brain, that you shouldn’t continue forward with this conversation, that you should take her words as the compliment they are, but another, more needy part of your brain, one that desperately needs to feel some form of validation after so long, doesn’t want to in the slightest. 

Rolling your shoulders, you level Wanda with a look. “Really?” She hums in confirmation. “And who might those people be?”

“Me.” 

If it wasn’t for your back being wedged against the armrest of your catch, you’re fairly certain you would have reared back completely at the calm nonchalance in which she gave you the answer. “Y-You can’t be serious Wanda.” You shake your head, not believing at all what you were hearing. “I’m over a decade older than you.” 

She tilts her head. “So?” A salacious smirk tugs her lips upward. “I think that makes you even hotter.”

“You--” You huff out a breath. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Wanda. I think I’m going to get you some water because you’ve obviously had quite a bit to drink already.” 

But, before you’re able to even push up from the couch, Wanda’s hand grabs your wrist and tugs you closer. Noses almost smashing together, you’re only able to keep yourself steady by grabbing ahold of Wanda’s shoulder with your free hand. “I know exactly what I’m talking about,” she hisses, warm breath ghosting across your face. “I’ve wanted you from the first time I saw you on Nat’s phone and it only grew the moment I saw you in person.” Her hand lightly traces down your face, almost reverently. “You’re the most beautiful woman that I’ve ever seen. No one could ever compare to you in my eyes.”

The sweets words, coupled by the earnest expression etched across her youthful face, causes your willpower to begin to falter. How long has it been since someone looked at you like that? Spoke to you in such a manner? Have you ever had that? The thought makes something twist within your gut. 

“You’re my daughter’s best friend,” you begin, trying to force some semblance of reality into this situation. Trying to make yourself see reason before you did what this was no doubt leading to. “We can’t do this, Wanda.” 

“We can do whatever the hell we want. We’re both adults, I’m not some child.” She tugs you closer, nuzzling her nose against yours. “And what I want to do is kiss you the way you’re supposed to be kissed.” 

A hitch in your breathing gives Wanda all the information she needs, and seals your fate completely, but, even with that go ahead, at the clear sign that you wanted her as much as she clearly wanted you, her lips still descended onto yours at a snail’s pace, giving you the opportunity to pull away. 

You didn’t want to. 

Didn’t want to have this moment be ruined by what could potentially come after. For the first time, in what felt like forever, you were going to put what you desired, what you wanted, before everything else. So, when Wanda’s lips finally did meet your own, and you’re able to faintly taste the cherry chap-stick she seemed so fond of, you give your all to the embrace. Mouth easily opening to her questing tongue, a small moan escaping from deep within your chest at the feel of it entangling with your own, and Wanda seems to press even closer. 

At this point you’re not even sure where you begin and Wanda ends, being pressed so closely together as you are. All you do know is that you never want this to end, never want to go a moment without Wanda’s warm hands trailing down your body, slender fingers digging slightly into your sides to pull you tightly against her, never want to be without the feelings she invokes within your chest-- the butterflies she causes within your stomach. 

With a small snarl, Wanda rips her mouth from yours, making you just barely stifle the noise of disappointment the action causes within you, but the darkened emerald eyes leveled with your own renders you temporarily mute. Wanda’s chest heaving in her effort to get enough air, but she doesn’t once stop running her hands down your body-- seemingly not being able to get enough of touching you. 

“I want to see you,” Wanda growls, hands gripping the material of your flimsy shirt and quickly pulling it over your head. Darkened green eyes taking in each inch of flesh that’s been revealed to her-- on any other circumstance you’d be mortified by the fervor in which she was looking at you, but underneath all that hunger, you could see a sense of awe, a spark of reverence, as if you had just made a wish of hers come true. “You’re even more beautiful than I imagined.” Her head dips, pressing a hot kiss against your neck, tongue soothing the place her teeth had dug in. “I’m going to worship you, baby, I’m going to make everyone else before me feel obsolete.”

Your back arches on its own volition, pressing yourself further into the heated touch of the hand trailing down your abdomen. Burning kisses, that feel like they’d send the raging inferno coursing through your veins absolutely haywire, following the path her fingers had just traced-- sharp canines delicately nipping the flesh of your navel before her tongue sweeps over the flesh to soothe the mark that she had undoubtedly left behind. You’re barely aware of when Wanda had been capable of tugging your sweatpants down your leg, along with your panties, before tossing them in a random direction behind her, but you’re definitely honed in on the moment her tongue, that had just done such sinful things to your chest and stomach, made contact with the apex of your thighs. 

A breathy whine escapes you then, the feeling of Wanda’s tongue lapping at the wetness beginning to escape you, little hungry mewls escaping her throat, as if you were the most appetizing thing she had ever tasted, brings a whole new high to your pleasure-- something you had never felt before. Digging your fingers through her hair, tugging at the long strands to pull her impossibly closer, you’re rewarded by a breathy snarl, Wanda’s lips latching onto your clit and sucking it into her warm mouth-- slender fingers taking up residence where her tongue had just been, entering you hard and fast. Not giving you even a moment to get used to the new feelings before she’s pounding into you, the slender digits curling up just right to brush the spot within you. 

The sounds of your wetness, of the sloshing noises that Wanda’s fingers made every time she pulled out, would have normally made you embarrassed, and it probably would have, if Wanda hadn’t made sure to maintain eye contact with you throughout it all. Emerald eyes, blown almost black with lust, keenly observing every minute expression that flits across your face, tongue lashing across your clit in the precise moment that you needed her to, fingers scissoring inside of you the moment you felt your high coming that much closer. The simple fact that she already seemed to know your body so well, that she could already read your face, in a way that your ex-husband never could, makes the need to have her closer almost like a drug coursing through your veins. 

With the fingers still tangled in her hair, you tug her upwards. Seeming almost hesitant to leave, Wanda follows your wordless command after another thorough swipe of her tongue, her mouth latching onto your own the moment she’s within reach. And, the heady mix of yourself and something that’s inherently Wanda, fogs your brain, but you still have half the mind to wrap your arms around her back, arching more fully into her body-- needing to feel connected to her in some way. Moreso than you already were. 

Ripping her mouth away from your own, when air becomes a necessity, Wanda groans. “You’re doing so good for me, baby.” Nimble fingers are quickly accompanied by a third. “Taking my fingers so well. Fuck you’re so tight for me, aren’t you?” 

You nod, a soundless scream escaping. The stretch, the feeling of being so full, and the warmth of Wanda’s breath across your ear, a combination you never knew you needed until now. The cliff, that you hadn’t been able to achieve by yourself, and rarely ever with your ex-husband, seems to be getting closer and closer; you were more than excited to finally take the plunge. 

“That’s right, baby,” Wanda coos, thrusting harder into you. “Just feel my fingers in your perfect cunt. He never fucked you like this, huh? Never treated with the roughness you’ve obviously wanted?”

Something in her voice, in the darkened tone, tells you that this line of questioning wouldn’t be as rhetorical as the first. “N-No--” A sharp whine is pulled from your lips. “Only you. Only you’ve fucked me the way I’ve wanted.”

A sharp grin pulls at Wanda’s lips, her free hand gripping your hip in a possessive hold. “And I’m only ever going to be the one to do it from this point forward.” Her head dips, teeth digging into the sensitive flesh right beneath your pulse point. “Isn’t that right, baby?” 

“Yes!” Your back arches, your incoming orgasm nearly blinding you. “I-I’m so close. I-I can’t--” 

Wanda rolls her hips, shushing you gently. “It’s alright, baby. You’ve done so good for me. Be my good girl and cum for me.”

At her command your body finally releases the final coil that had been prepared to spring forward, as if it had been waiting for her words all along, and a keening cry passes your lips-- Wanda-- as your world is whitened by your pleasure. Only vaguely aware of Wanda’s lips pressing repeatedly against your cheek, her fingers gently guiding you through. 

When you come down from your high, from the toe-curling pleasure that she had given you, and your vision clears enough for you to see Wanda, still hovering over you, with that same look of reverence on her face from before, you couldn’t help the almost shy smile that appears. Something that causes Wanda to dip forward to place a chaste kiss against the smile, so tender from the hungry ones that she had bestowed on you only a moment before. 

“How the fuck could he ever leave someone like you?” It’s said in a low voice, one that you don’t think you were supposed to her, but her clear confusion fills you with warmth, nonetheless. Emerald eyes raise to meet your own gaze, softness suffused within it. “Will you give me that honor, baby? The honor of making you forget.” 

Your earlier words, said in a mournful whisper, come back to you instantly: I wish I could find someone that’d treat me in the way he never did, that’d show me what love truly is, and make me forget about all that he’s put me through. 

“I’m over a decade older than you, Wanda,” you rebuke. “Why the hell would you want to be with someone like me?” 

Her brow furrows. “Why wouldn’t I?” She lowers herself, finally pressing her body against yours, allowing you to feel the warmth of her skin, she places another gentle kiss to your lips. “You’re the only woman that’s ever made me feel like this. I don’t give a damn how old you are, I don’t give a damn if Natasha has an issue with it, I’ll talk to her, all I care about is that I get to have you like this again. That I get to love you in the way that you deserve to be.” Emerald eyes sharpen, her grip on your body tightening. “In a way that only I could ever give you.” 

Your eyes flutter shut at her words, something you’ve been wanting to hear for so long. Could you actually take this plunge? Allow yourself to take such a huge risk? Potentially cause a crisis with your daughter and Westview at large? What if it didn’t work out? 

What if it did? The gentle voice of your conscience counters. What if this is your chance at finally being happy? At finally finding the one person you’ve been searching for? Are you really going to let that pass you by? 

You didn’t know how this was going to turn out, how any of this would end up snowballing into years down the line, but as your eyes open and you peer into emerald green, a color that had enchanted you since you first looked upon it, you know your answer instantly-- have known it for longer than the question even being posed. 

“Yes.” 

Wanda’s answering smile, bright with her happiness, is all you see before she descends onto your mouth again, clearly wanting to show you everything that you’d now be experiencing from this point on. 

[aylacavebear]

Soulmates? Yeah, right, pft. - Ch. 25

When you turn sixteen, and your soulmate's name doesn’t appear anywhere on your body that you can find, you figure you had to be the only person on the planet who didn’t have one. Most of the town shuns you, so you stick close to family. Your Aunt Ellen raised you after your parents died in a car crash when you were two, but what happens when the Winchesters return to town and buried secrets begin to come to light?

Pairing: Mechanic Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You

Word Count: 7655

Warnings: Dean's "memories" from the night at the bar when he saw her again after leaving after graduation.

A/N: Well, here it is everyone, what Dean was going through over the course of the story. I hope it was worth the wait. Things will pick back up on 10/24 with Chapter 25 and you'll still get next Friday's up on the 25th with Chapter 26. <3

A/N: This is my non-Supernatural fic I'm attempting. Please let me know what you think, as I always love hearing from my readers.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 25

Dean’s heart skipped a beat, his body tensing, but Crowley seemed delighted. “Ah, wonderful. Show them in.” A few moments later, familiar faces flooded the dining hall—Sam, Ellen, Jodi, Bobby, Mary, and John. Dean stood, his eyes immediately scanning Y/N as Ellen moved quickly to her, pulling her into a tight embrace, both women in tears. Ellen’s voice trembled with a mix of sadness and relief as she reassured her niece.

Dean’s chest tightened as he watched the reunion, knowing just how much this moment meant to Y/N. She had needed this for months—the comfort and reassurance that only being around family could bring. Dean knew he hadn’t been enough to fill that void for her while the two of them had been in the bunker, but he had done what he could for her. 

Dean exchanged hugs with Sam. While Sam exchanged hugs with Benny, Dean embraced his parents, having missed them far more than he cared to admit. Even Jodi and Bobby shared hugs with the boys before turning their attention to Y/N, wrapping her in soft, relieved embraces.John’s voice broke the moment, softer than Dean had ever heard. “We’re here for ya, kid.”

Crowley, ever the perfect host, gestured to the empty seats. “Please, join us. There’s plenty of food, and we’ve much to discuss.”

As everyone settled back around the table, the atmosphere shifted. Dean felt it—the sense of a team coming together, united by a common enemy. It reminded him that even though Crowley was a lawyer, he was still just a man, a man who had to carefully tread that fine line of the law. He really was on their side, and he realized that with how his family interacted with the lawyer. They had gotten to Cali a day before Dean, Benny, and Y/N because they had flown out. So, they had already gotten to get to know him.

Just as Dean was about to relax further, feeling Y/N begin to relax as well, he felt her mark burn, that painful sizzle like it was his own skin on fire. He was already out of his seat and at her other side before the pained sound slipped past her lips.

Crowley snapped his fingers a couple of times, watching the scene unfold. He had already prepared for this, and the servant immediately left the room to retrieve the cream. Dean moved her dress a little, exposing her mark just as the servant returned, holding a tube of cream out for him. “It’s okay. I’m right here,” Dean murmured, applying the cream to her mark, his voice low and steady.

The room fell silent, all eyes on them as he tried to soothe her. He knew they all could see what he’d seen a couple of days ago, the last letter fully formed. Dean hadn’t had a chance to speak with any of them since they had gotten to the safe house. It had been one thing for him to state it in court during his testimony, but it was another for them to see that he had been telling the truth when he’d said it.

“Well, now, this changes things,” Crowley mused, leaning back in his chair with an air of amusement. “Why wasn’t I informed about that?” 

Dean shot a glare at Crowley, anger bubbling beneath the surface. He hadn’t had a chance, thanks to the FBI, but he couldn’t precisely say that at the moment. Y/N, clearly confused and in pain, looked at Crowley, her brows furrowing in frustration. “About what?” she managed, her voice laced with annoyance before Dean could open his mouth.

“With that,” Crowley began, gesturing toward her mark, “we’ve got a little more leverage.”

Dean’s heart sank. He knew what Crowley was implying, and he hated the fact that he still hadn’t told her everything. The guilt that he thought had been almost gone, hit him like a punch to the chest. He hadn’t even told her that the last letter had come in on her mark. He felt her frustration flare at the situation, at being left out.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, quite frustrated now.

Crowley chuckled lightly, a sound that grated on Dean’s nerves. “Dean, you haven’t told her yet?”Dean’s jaw clenched, heat rising in his chest as he shot another glare at Crowley. He was about to retaliate when Y/N spoke up, her voice sharp and demanding.  “Tell me what?” Her hands clenched tightly in her lap, mirroring the tension that filled the room.

“I was waiting,” Dean finally managed through gritted teeth, trying to suppress his irritation at the lawyer.

Y/N’s anger boiled over, and Dean could feel her frustration wrapping around him like a suffocating blanket. “Will someone tell me what the hell you’re talking about? I’m tired of this, of all of you keeping secrets from me,” she snapped, looking around the table, searching for answers that no one could give her yet.

When silence followed her question, she stood up abruptly, anger radiating from her as she slammed the dining hall doors behind her.

Crowley sighed, the moment she left the room. He nodded to one of his servants—a young woman with kind eyes. She rushed after Y/N while Dean just watched, feeling guilty, angry, and upset. He wanted so desperately to run after her, tell her everything, but he couldn’t.

Dean, still fuming, stood up, “We agreed to tell her when her mark came in more.”

Crowley shrugged nonchalantly, although he wasn’t pleased about his secrecy, “It slipped my mind. Besides, she has a right to know.”

Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. “This isn’t helping. How did she not notice one of the letters came in all the way?”

Dean sighed and sat back down, “She never looked in the mirror at it, and I didn’t have the heart to tell her to.”

“Son, she’s gonna be more hurt if you wait much longer,” John told him sincerely.

“Does she have at least an idea of how you’re connected to all this?” Crowley asked, although clearly frustrated, but needing further information.

“Not completely,” Dean reluctantly answered.

“Benny, did she even pay attention when Dean testified?” Sam asked, fairly puzzled how she wouldn’t have found out.

Benny sighed, “No. I was talkin’ to her. Tryin’ to help er’ relax a little.”

Crowley was usually a calm, collected man, but this frustrated him: "What does she know?”

Dean grabbed his beer, taking a sip before he answered, staring at the label, “I told her I know she’s my soul mate, part of the thing with Lisa, and that she’s an empath.”

“That’s it?” Bobby exclaimed in annoyance and frustration.

“That explains why she knows we’re hiding something,” Mary sighed, looking back at the closed dining hall doors.

“I didn’t want to make it harder on her,” Dean mumbled quietly.

“Dean, she has to be told, before her birthday, or it’s gonna hurt her more, and not just emotionally,” Sam told him, his tone soft but firm. “I know what I told you before, but she’s quickly running out of time.”

Dean’s attention went to the doors, his mind on only her and what she was feeling. He’d hated not telling, not letting himself get closer to her than she’d let him. He’d felt everything from the moment he’d seen her that first day at the bar, and it was tearing him up inside that she still doubted him. Sam had warned him of the risks of waiting too long, but he just hadn’t been able to find the right time and he didn’t want to do it once they had gotten stuck in that bunker. “Dean, are you even listened?” Crowley asked him, frustrated and now leaning forward in his seat, pulling Dean from his thoughts.

“Yeah, I mean, no. I wasn’t listening,” he grumbled.

An annoyed sound left Crowley’s lips as he leaned back in his seat. “Her birthday is in two days. Either you tell her tomorrow, or I’ll have to make sure the doctor is here.” His tone was of concern for her more than for Dean.

Dean looked down at his beer, “She’s gonna hate me, but… I’ll tell her tomorrow.”

“Son, she’s gonna be mad at all of us, but she’s not going to hate us, especially not you,” John tried to reassure him, feeling bad for what not only his son had to go through, but also what she had had to endure.

Dean tipped his head back, staring at the ceiling for a moment, then back to the label on his beer bottle. He could feel her emotions tormenting her, and her thoughts were a jumbled mess. Then, his gut knotted up, and he felt sick. “She saw her mark,” he groaned out, trying to keep the contents of his stomach from coming up. “She’s trying not to let herself believe that it’s my name trying to come in.”

Sam let out a long sigh. This had been his concern all along—that the unspoken truths would catch up to them—that her doubt could possibly cause Dean to go through a sort of rejection sickness. “Want me to go talk to her?” he offered, wondering if perhaps he could help.

“No. I need to be the one to tell her, but it would have been so much simpler if she had just heard what I said in court,” Dean muttered, his voice still tinged with the discomfort of his knotted stomach.

The silence stretched until Ellen’s voice broke it, “What is it she doesn’t know?”

With that, Dean looked up, meeting her gaze. There wasn’t much she didn’t know at this point. “She doesn’t know that it has to be her to let me in, to trust that I’m her soulmate, or she could end up in the hospital on her birthday when her mark does finally come in all on its own,” he answered as a frown found his lips at the thought of her in an induced coma due to the pain of the connection that would repair itself without her acceptance, thanks to the Vaughts.

“She also doesn’t know that she’s having premonitions or that if her mark comes in before she is supposed to marry Cole, it’ll nullify the contract,” Dean added quietly, as those were the two things that were supposed to wait until her mark had come in at least a little more—the things they were supposed to tell her together. “Or that if she has to go through with marrying Cole, it’ll be his name to show up on her instead of mine.”

It had been why he never pushed anything, never did anything more than she initiated, like cuddling on the couch while watching a movie. Or even holding her at night when she had nightmares so they would go away. Why, no matter how badly he wanted to, he had only kissed her the one time. She had to let herself believe, to hope, to love. For three months, he had waited. Waited for her to let him in. He had never crossed that invisible line she had drawn between them.

The others stayed for a little while, catching up with Dean and Benny while talking about the case together. Dean tried to enjoy seeing them again, but all he could think about was her, up in a room trying to figure it out on her own. His guilt was back in full force, like it was when he saw her that first night in the bar, eating at him from the inside. Benny tried to be there for him, but there was nothing his friend could say that would bring him any relief. Finding himself in one of Crowley’s sitting rooms, Dean sipped a whiskey when that familiar wave of emotion washed over him—loneliness. Her loneliness. Typically, back at the bunker, he’d go to her, hold her while she processed everything. Then, he would have done something silly to pull her out of her head. Right now, though, he couldn’t get out of his own head to give her the comfort he knew she deserved.

He’d allowed himself to relax in the last three months, even letting his guard down. But now, it was like reality was right back in his face. Right now, his thoughts were about how things were supposed to have gone after he got back. Dean took another sip of his whiskey, enjoying how the light burn reminded him of simpler times for now.

They were supposed to work together at the garage, get to know each other, and become friends. Then, all the adults were supposed to sit down with her, all the ones she trusted, along with John and Mary. They were going to tell her about things, their suspicions of the car accident being deliberate, the risk of telling her too much too soon and overwhelming her. Hell, even Sam had planned on flying back for that.Dean sighed and looked up at the ceiling as if somehow he could see her through the structure in her room. How did things get so complicated? He leaned forward a little, taking another sip. The stillness in the room kept his thoughts on how it should have gone while the weight of his guilt constricted against his chest.

He knew her now; she would have been eager to know everything, and he would have been there for her when it all hit her. And he knew it would have hit her hard, but she was a fighter, she was strong. She would have gone through anything to learn the truth, even back then. But now, they were in this mess, all because he couldn’t find the words to tell her what he needed to.

Her thoughts whispered through his mind, in pieces again. She’d kept her walls up, kept him at arm’s length, but her heart knew the truth, as did her soul. Dean had been grateful for at least that much. She was piecing things together like she did when it came to working on a car. The memory of watching her work pulled a small, almost unnoticeable smile to his lips.

Again, his gaze went to the ceiling, briefly, though, and with a sigh, he sank back into the couch. She’s questioning me, my actions, or lack thereof. “If only I could tell you, Sweetheart,” he whispered out to the empty room.

When he felt her finally fall asleep, without the threat of the nightmare, he went to his own room. He didn’t want to be around Crowley, and Benny knew he needed space. At least she was resting, and that gave him a slight reprieve from her whirlwind of emotions, like one of the weights had lifted off him. Now, it was just his own guilt.

Hours felt like days as they dragged on. He knew it was due to what he had to do, had to tell her. No matter how he worded it in his head or spoke it out loud, it just seemed so unfair. Hope had broken her so many times, and he had to ask her to trust him, trust that he was her soulmate, and let him in. She had to hope and believe. How could he ask her to believe in something that had caused her so much pain before? To let him in when hope had broken her so many times already?

After sunset, a servant knocked on Dean’s door, and then led him to a room that he hadn’t even noticed when they had come into the mansion of a house. It was a study, but it was also like a security room all wrapped into one. Bookshelves were along the walls, filled with books. There was a sitting couch, one of those fancy sort of ones off to the right of what looked like a very expensive desk. On the other side was a long desk with several monitors. It reminded Dean of the security room in Y/N’s bunker, but Dean didn’t smile, he looked back at Crowley, also ignoring everyone else in the room. Something was wrong, he could feel it.“What?” Dean snapped, harsher than he meant, arms crossed over his chest as he sized up the room and activity.

“We have a situation. It’s safer in here,” a man with a British accent responded to him, his focus on one of the monitors.

Dean’s heart pounded, his pulse quickened as he turned toward the door. Two men blocked his path, and he glared at them. “Move,” he growled, his hands at his sides, clenching into fists. He had to get to her, protect her like he promised he would.

“My men are handling it. They’re retrieving her,” Crowley frowned as he watched Dean.

“It’s not your job to protect her, it’s mine,” Dean shot back, stepping toward Crowley’s desk, the need to protect her was overwhelming.

Three of Crowley’s security team shifted, moving to block Dean’s path, but Crowley just raised a hand, locking eyes with Dean. “And who is going to protect you, hmm? You think she’s their only target. If they get you too, they’ll have all the leverage they need, and you’ll lose her, forever.” Crowley calmly told him, almost patronizing.

Dean froze, the memory of her nightmare flashing through his mind. His body remained tense, even though part of him knew Crowley was right. He wasn’t about to admit that, though. Silence filled the room, broken only by the occasional click from the men monitoring the security feeds. Then, a faint, eerie howling echoed in the distance before the quiet crept back in. Dean’s nerves were raw. He knew he had to get to her.

“Good, the hellhounds have found their target,” Crowley said, his voice dripping with satisfaction as Dean’s jaw clenched.

He hadn’t moved from where he had stopped, halfway between the door and Crowley’s desk. Then they hit him out of the blue—Y/N’s emotions—panic and fear, then concern for him. The force of them all staggered him, his body swaying a little as he took a breath, trying to stay upright. She was having another premonition. Damn it! He needed to get to her, but the how wasn’t coming to him with the suffocating cloud of her emotions mixed with his thoughts.A tug. Barely there, almost like a thread pulling at his chest. Even though it was so gentle, barely even there, it took his breath away. It was her, reaching out to him, but the walls she’d built around her heart were in the way. Her emotions poured into him like the waves of a tsunami. They nearly consumed him as she attempted to connect the bond between them without having chosen him. He felt like he was being pulled beneath the waves, down deep underwater, making it hard to breathe.

He fought to ground himself, though it felt nearly impossible without her there beside him. Her emotions and his concern for her safety muddied his focus. The sense of time seemed to disappear as any sounds were drowned out. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, sifting through everything that wasn’t his own, trying desperately to gain his bearings. 

Benny, leaning silently against one of the bookshelves, looked over a Dean. He saw the struggle his friend was currently wrestling with, even if he didn’t fully grasp the depth of it. Slowly, Dean’s gaze met his as the whirlwind calmed slightly, and Benny gave him a quick nod, a silent conversation letting his friend know that he’d help. A tiny, tight-lipped smirk formed at Benny’s gesture. He knew he could always count on him.

It happened in an instant, the two of them working together without having to speak a word. Benny moved first, distracting one of the guards, while Dean shoved the other aside, slipping through the door before anyone could react. Thank you, Benny. Words he didn’t have time to speak at the moment as he took in the silence of the dark mansion.

Dean took a slow, deep breath, centering himself amidst the storm of emotions that weren’t just his. She was looking for him, and he could feel her fear mixing with his own. He knew he needed to find her before someone else did. His steps were silent as he made his way toward the dining hall doors, glancing only briefly toward the window above the landing. She’s not in her room.

He closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on her again. Her fear and worry were stronger now, tugging at him like it used to back at the bunker.

Kitchen.

Quickly but silently, he made his way through the dark dining hall, glancing out the windows as he passed them. His eyes were adjusting to the darkness, making it far easier to see the tiny outlines of furniture and the doors on the far side of the table. Just as he opened one of them, he saw her, and the light outside the far kitchen window.

There was no easy way of getting her attention, and the last thing he needed was for her to scream and alert the intruders to their location. In one swift motion, he covered her mouth with one hand while wrapping the other around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest.“Shhh, it’s me, Sweetheart,” he whispered softly as relief washed over him. She’s safe. As he lowered his hand from her mouth, she whipped around in his arms, wrapping hers tightly over his shoulders. “I was so worried something had happened to you,” she breathed out in a quiet whisper.

For a moment, he just held her, trying to calm them both down as he kept watch at the light of a flashlight outside the kitchen window. It moved with whoever was holding it. “It’s okay. Come on, it’s not safe here.”

He didn’t let go of her as he led her back through the mansion, his focus sharp. When they entered Crowley’s office, Dean closed the door with his foot so he didn’t have to let go of her. Dean focused on her, letting her presence ground him while he attempted to calm her. She’s safe. Those words repeated in Dean’s mind. Dean mostly just glared at Crowley, a warning for the man to keep his mouth shut about things he wasn’t ready to talk about. He should have known that it wouldn’t have worked, though, and he knew it.

“You knew they’d come after me?” she asked Crowley, quite confused, pulling Dean from his thoughts.“Love, he’s not just after you. He needs leverage, to make you comply. Figured you would have realized that already,” Crowley answered smoothly while shooting Dean a knowing look. “That whole family knows they only have so much time before you’re useless to them.”

Dean knew what was coming, even before she pulled away from him and looked up at him. Her eyes swam with confusion as his guilt gripped his chest. “What haven’t you told me?” She was blunt, almost confident, but Dean knew better. He felt her fear of what the answer could be. 

The pain of what the truth could do to her hit him first, and all he could do was look down at the floor. She needs to know. As if that thought was a switch, he hid his pain, then answered her. “If Cole marries you before your mark comes in, it won’t matter who your soulmate is, your mark will change to his name, because you’re an empath.” The words slipped out quietly, a confession he hadn’t wanted to tell her. As silence settled on the room, he wanted to take it back, wished he could, as he felt the weight of his confession sink in. A new piece to the puzzle she’d been slowly trying to put together. He knew she thought it was the last piece, but it wasn’t. He knew there was another question lingering in her mind, and he prayed she wouldn’t ask it, not now. 

“How do I make my mark come in all the way?” she’d spoken it, even though her voice trembled slightly. She’d pushed past all her fears and asked the one question he hadn’t found a way to answer. 

Believe I’m your soulmate. Hope that I’m telling you the truth. Trust that I really can feel you, that the name on my shoulder really is you and not some other Y/N.

God, even now, it sounded horrible in his head. His eyes were on the floor, but he wasn’t really looking at it. He reworded it so many times, and was doing that again as the moments stretched in the silence of the room. Dean couldn’t even hide the pain that accompanied his guilt the answer to her question brought to his soul. If only things had been different. It’s not fair. He’d been trying to find a way to tell her for the last three months, but still, nothing sounded right.

“Bloody hell,” Crowley stated impatiently, annoyed at Dean’s hesitation, again. “If you don’t tell her, I will.”

Dean shot him a glare before he finally looked down at Y/N. Her eyes were so full of hope for an answer, while also just as terrified at what he might say. Somehow, though, he managed to take a deeper breath, even if it was shaky. She deserves the truth.

He hadn’t even been able to open his mouth before that damned Brit said the hellhounds had done their job. At the same time, though, Dean was thankful he didn’t have to give her an answer. 

Crowley took an annoyed breath, “Thank you, Ketch. You may all return to your rooms. The situation has been handled.”Y/N went to the door, slipping through it first. Dean let out a quiet sigh, feeling how heavy her emotions were weighing on her heart. The few servants who worked the night shift followed her, along with several guards, to return to their posts. Dean was about to follow them when Crowley spoke up.“Dean, your luck is going to run out eventually, and it’s only going to hurt her in the long run.” Crowley all but growled at him. His frustration and aggravation at Dean’s incompetence flared in his eyes. “You, Dean. You could have literally prevented all of this had you been competent in your task. One job. That was all you had, and you couldn’t even do that properly.”

“Crowley, it’s not that simple,”  Benny began, pushing off the bookshelf he had been leaning against, in an attempt to defend his friend, but Crowley shot him a glare, quickly silencing him.

“Had Dean told her the truth instead of playing house, we wouldn’t be in this situation!” Crowley snapped as he stood, still glaring at Dean.Dean flinched, but his anger bubbled beneath the surface, overshadowing his guilt at the moment. There were so many things he debated saying. Half of them just sounded like excuses and the other half just sounded like an argument of a petulant child. Dean ran a hand over his face, taking a deep breath.

“You have until tomorrow evening, Dean, or I tell her.” Crowley’s tone wasn’t quite as loud, but Dean could still hear his annoyance. 

He knew it wasn’t that Crowley had any ill intentions. If that were the case, Crowley probably would have told her when they showed up at his mansion. “I told you, I’ll tell her tomorrow, after breakfast,” Dean stated, his eyes still on the lawyer for a moment before finally looking away.

Dean’s gaze went to the door where she’d gone. Then, panic coursed through his entire body, his heart pounding, and his feet were moving before he even had a chance to think. Something was wrong. He’d gone from feeling her heartache to feeling absolutely nothing, like she was unconscious. Dean knew she was still alive, but this was something deeper than her just being asleep.

Crowley and Benny were hot on his heels, but when Dean reached her door and flung it open, he stopped breathing for a moment. Her room was empty, a breeze coming through the open window.

“Damn it!”Dean cursed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. His eyes darted around the room, taking in every detail, every shadow, every flicker of movement, searching for any sign of where she might have been taken or by whom. The sheets were rumpled, and a pillow lay on the floor, but other than that, the room looked untouched.

Crowley appeared behind him, his expression grim as he surveyed the room. “They were quick,” he muttered, moving to the window and looking out at the grounds. He knew he should have anticipated something like this; the other men on the grounds had only been a distraction to keep the hounds and his security occupied while the real threat made its move. 

“Sir, you’ll want to see this,” Ketch stated, now standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable.

Dean tore his gaze away from the room and followed Ketch, a sense of dread settling in his stomach. He could feel his pulse racing, his hands trembling slightly as he walked down the hallway. Each step felt like an eternity, the air thick with tension and unspoken fears. He could still feel her, so he knew she was alive, but that wasn’t what he was worried about most.

The three followed Ketch back down to the main room, then to a side room where there were three other men, their faces illuminated by the glow of computer monitors. They were all watching the footage, their eyes glued to the screen as they went through the recordings. 

“I didn’t think he’d send his best, but I should have,” Ketch told them, pausing one of the recordings from outside her room.

On the screen, it wasn’t just one man; it was a strike team, led by Asmodeus, the Vaught family’s tactical security lead. Alastair was there too, with two others, Ramiel and Dagon. It was the best the Vaughts had. Dean’s jaw tightened as he watched the footage, his eyes narrowing with a mixture of anger and fear. The precision with which they moved, the seamless coordination of their attack—it made his blood boil. His hands clenched into fists at his side, his knuckles turning white as he struggled to keep his emotions in check.

They’d come in through the window while she had been in the study, then hid in the shadows, waiting. The alarm linked to the window had never gone off. Once she sat down on her bed, Alastair approached her silently and, with a swift, practiced motion, injected something into her neck that knocked her out instantly. They then lifted her gently, as if handling a fragile doll, and slipped back out the window.

“Olivia has already been taken into custody and is being questioned,” Ketch informed Crowley, his tone cold and efficient. “I’ve also already sent out two security teams to retrieve your guests from earlier.”

“Good. Now, to make a phone call,” Crowley replied, his voice calm but tinged with a steel-like determination. He was pleased at how quickly his security team had gotten the job done. His next focus was to get his informant to find her before the end of the following day.

Crowley leaned back in his chair as he pulled out his phone, Dean’s eyes never leaving him. “I’m calling in that favor. Find her. Asmodeus’s team took her.” And with that, he hung up the phone. “Ketch, let me know the moment the others get here. They’ll want to know what is going on.”Dean couldn’t stay there in Crowley’s presence, knowing he was moments away from going off on the man. With his jaw clenched in frustration, he went to one of the studies, pouring himself a whiskey. It was only after ten, but he knew he wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight, not with her having been kidnapped. 

Even after the others got there and offered their support, Dean couldn’t relax. Watching and hearing Ellen go off on Crowley brought him a small piece of relief. At least he wasn’t the only one who was pissed at the man. Crowley had brushed it off, not phased in the least by the woman’s angry words and threats. Ketch, on the other hand, eyed her suspiciously, having a feeling that she would actually do what she’d threatened.

After they’d been filled in, there wasn’t much to do except wait. That was hard on all of them. The tension, worry, and anger that filled the air of the study was thick. “You don’t think they’d try to do the wedding early, do you?” Jodi’s question and the broken silence pulled their attention to her. It was the same question running through all their minds. She had been the only one brave enough to speak it.

“I wouldn’t put anything past that family,” John answered, running a hand over his mouth as the tension grew.

Sam sighed, his gaze going from his brother to the floor for a moment. His brows furrowed as he gathered his thoughts. Sam was probably the only one at the moment who knew how good Crowley was. “I know none of you want to trust Crowley,” Sam began before looking back up at everyone in the study.

“He’ll get her back, before the Vaughts can force her into marrying him. I know none of you trust him. But I’ve spent the last several weeks with him. I’ve seen his track record. Please, even if you don’t trust Crowley, trust me,” Sam asked, an almost plea.

Dean had once again been trying to follow that thread that connected them, but he still couldn’t feel anything from her. To him, it was like a part of him was missing without her emotions there, mixing with his own. “I’ll try, Sam,” Dean whispered, his gaze on the floor as if somehow the answer on when she’d be found would appear there.

Hours passed like they were days for Dean, each minute seeming to stretch on like a never-ending nightmare. No one emotion was strong enough to feel over the other - anger, heartache, worry, and the lack of feeling her. They were all restless, but Dean didn’t find comfort in their presence or the light conversation anyone tried to make. His gaze was distant, lost in his thoughts of what she could possibly be going through.

He hadn’t even realized how much time had passed before he felt her again as the goosebumps prickled along his skin. Dean swallowed hard - she was afraid. The glass of whiskey in his hand began to shake slightly as his breathing became shallow. Far too many thoughts bombarded him all at once. 

Sam’s hand on his shoulder made him jump. “You okay?” he asked, worry and concerned in not only his tone, but also his features.

“She’s awake,” Dean whispered in return, desperately trying to calm his racing heart. 

Dean felt the pain that ached through her body, the panic that hit her hit him, and then there was how it was hard to breathe. Sam said something else, but Dean was so consumed by his connection to her that he hadn’t heard a word of it.

“Dean, is she okay?” Sam repeated, this time a little louder, causing Dean to meet his brother’s gaze.

Dean took a breath, shifting his body a little to shake some of the weight of what had hit him so he could focus again. She’s at least awake. “She’s afraid, but it’s different, like she’s alone.” he tried to explain, desperately tracing the strand of the connection she had put her walls up to keep at bay.

Sam let out a sigh of relief. It wasn’t much, but it was better than if she was already being forced into a wedding ceremony. “Let me know if anything changes,” he told his brother, giving him one of those reassuring smiles as he gently squeezed his shoulder.

Again, the minutes stretched on as Dean focused on her. He felt every shift in her emotions. When she began worrying about him, a sad smile formed on his lips. I’m okay, Sweetheart, and I’ll be here when you’re brought back. Even though he knew she couldn’t hear his thoughts, he still hoped they would comfort her in a way. He felt her struggle, her determination which made him smile, and then, more worry. Dean updated Sam any time her emotions shifted  Dean loved how strong she was, despite how her life had gone. It was when slight relief washed through her that he finally let himself relax, after who knew how many hours every muscle in his body had been tense, waiting for the worst.

“Oh, thank God,” he whispered, leaning back against the bar in the sitting room, letting out another breath as his shoulders slumped a little, relaxing, the tension easing.

Dean sipped his drink, glancing toward the door, often. I’m telling her everything when she gets here, even if she hates me afterward. He was done keeping it all from her, done letting his guilt overrule the things he needed to share with her. That burning sensation of her mark irritated his own, as it had done in the past. He knew she was thinking of him, both worrying but also trying to piece things together.

It was when another wave of relief washed over her, and through him that he stood and began making his way to the front door. Dean didn’t even realize how quickly he was moving. He needed to see her, feel her in his arms again, and let her presence ground the tornado of emotions coursing through him. He flung the doors open and, for a moment, stopped breathing when he saw her standing there only halfway up the stairs. Taking them two at a time, he didn’t even give her a chance to move as he pulled her into his arms, letting her soothe him in a way he knew she didn’t understand.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered, fighting against the lump in his throat and the tears burning his eyes. 

When she said Meg’s name, Dean looked over at the woman. Could she be Cas’s soulmate? The guys had shared their soulmate’s names with each other years ago, when they’d come in. Then, on numerous nights, they would make jokes and push to mask that worry of possibly never finding them. If circumstances were different, Dean would have said something, even spoken with her. But not today, not now.

Most of everything after that was a blur for Dean as he focused solely on her. His guilt was eating at him again. She was hurt, and to him, it was his fault. He had told her he’d protect her, keep her safe, but he hadn’t. Dean had moments where he let himself relax, like when she would squeal, but his mind was on telling her everything, after he took care of her wounds.

He felt her watching him as he cleaned her cuts and scrapes. Dean knew the others were there, but everything around him had seemed to disappear, except for her. He felt her confusion, curiosity, and her desire for the missing pieces. He heard her whispered questions dancing around his mind. With her one, his jaw clenched. After I patch her up, I’ll tell her.

Dean knew he couldn’t convey everything, not the way he wanted to. It was a feeling that couldn’t be put into words. Love wasn’t even the right word, as it went so far beyond that for him, and that scared him, as did the possibility of her rejecting him. He couldn’t even hide his emotions anymore when she would ask him questions. God, he never felt more vulnerable in his life.

You shifted next to him, pulling him from his dreams. Dean’s eyes fluttered open as he inhaled deeply. He smiled as he looked down at you, still asleep in his arms. You were still there. He kissed your forehead, causing you to stir again.

“You’re safe, Sweetheart,” he whispered, his eyes taking in your features as you slowly began waking up.

It was warm, and you felt safe, content. As you opened your eyes, you smiled, seeing those beautiful green orbs lazily staring down at you, full of adoration and love. “Afternoon,” he told you, half asleep and still groggy.

“You slept too, good,” you chuckled sleepily as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Feeling his emotions was still something you couldn’t quite put into words, but it felt right, normal even. Lying in his arms felt like home, and it made the rest of the world and all the issues going on seem like they didn’t exist. 

“I always sleep when I get to hold you,” Dean replied, his voice still having that gruffness of just waking up.

You could have laid there all day with him, but your stomach had other ideas as it began to grumble, making both of you laugh a little. The lightheartedness of the moment only deepened when he reached down and cupped your cheek before giving you a tender kiss. 

I love you.

Neither of you were sure who’s thought it was, but it whispered through both your minds. Your breath hitched in your chest as both your hearts sped up, and your lips parted slightly after he pulled away. For a moment, all you could do was stare into his eyes, searching for something. But, before either of you could speak, a knock on the door and hearing it open made you both move so you could see who was intruding, reminding you both of reality.

“Lunch is served, and Crowley requests both of you to join him,” the butler stated, standing there with the door open.

Dean groaned and rolled his eyes, which made you giggle a little. That made him smile as he leaned down toward your ear. “I get to help you put some pants on again,” he whispered before leaving a soft kiss on your neck, sending a shiver down your body.

“Tease,” you grumbled, but the smile on your face gave away that you weren’t upset at all.

“We’ll be down in a minute,” Dean told the butler so he’d go away for just a few more minutes of having you all to himself.

“Five minutes,” the butler replied, stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him.

Dean propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at you, that mischievous smirk on his lips. “Five minutes…” he repeated in a rather suggestive manner, making you giggle, music to his ears.

He knew better, though, than to start something now. Dean wanted to love you, the way he’d been wanting to for months, and five minutes wasn’t enough time. “Alright, I’ll behave,” he sighed before throwing back the blankets and climbing over you, on purpose.

You bit your bottom lip and practically held your breath when he was on top of you, and your eyes met his. He even lingered for a moment longer than he needed to, mischief, love, and desire flickering in his eyes, matching the emotions that mixed with your own. It caused both your bodies to thrum for a moment before he finally got off the bed, and you could take a deep breath.

Using your elbows, you maneuvered yourself to the edge of the bed, remembering not to put weight on your wrists. He chuckled a little after grabbing your jeans, feeling you watching him, and trying not to focus on the images that played out in his mind, knowing they weren’t all his.

“You know, Sweetheart. I’m pretty sure you’re the bigger tease.” He told you, quite amused as he helped you into your jeans, teasingly slow again. He loved how your body responded to him and he hadn’t even really done anything.

“At least I’m keeping my hands to myself,” you quipped in return, sitting up.

Dean tapped the side of his head with his finger. “Your thoughts are quite… detailed,” he replied before licking his lips, wanting nothing more than to act on the things you were thinking.

A deep blush found your cheeks, and traveled down part of your neck as your body flushed. Thankfully, the butler opened the door, stating your five minutes was up, making the two of you laugh. Dean scooped you up into his arms again, carrying you down to the dining hall, following the butler. 

He had an idea of why the two of you had been ‘summoned,’ but he didn’t want to say anything. “We’ll face it together,” you told him softly, your head leaning against his chest, feeling his worry.

“That’s gonna take some getting used to,” he chuckled.

“What, me being able to read you like a book now?” you asked with a slightly teasing tone as you looked up at him.

Dean made the mistake of looking down at you, and god, the thoughts that went through his mind were downright sinful. He took a shaky breath, quickly looking away. “Yeah,” he replied, his breaths still a little shaky as he tried to shake the images from his mind.

The butler held the dining hall doors open, “I’ve retrieved them, Sir.”

“Oh, good. The lovebirds are finally awake, and clothed,” Crowley cooed from the far side of the hall, making most of the others roll their eyes. No one had left, which almost worried you.

Dean gave you a gentle squeeze, “Relax. I’ll be right there with you.” He whispered.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 26

Story Master List Main Master List

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@chriszgirl92 @angzls @xolivvies-cornerxo @certainsaladstarfish @onlyangel-444

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@deans-baby-momma

If I missed tagging, please let me know. I had a lot of requests for tags for this one. If you'd like to be tagged, drop me a comment.

[murfpersonalblog]

IWTV Ep3 Musings - Claudia & Louis (Spoilers)

I'm still teary & choked up while typing this. SUPER emotional episode. It's incredible how much they packed into one ep, too! But the second half of the ep was BY FAR the most emotionally impactful IMO. Jacob's acting is just WAY too good; he had me choking up something fierce.

Louis taking pictures of his food for no effing reason like all the social media girlies do; I love it.

Louis STILL tryna be Claudia's knight in vengeful black. U_U But just like before when he tried to save her from Lestat, he can't save her from Bruce or the Theatre or even his own eff-ups. DANG. 😔

YES YOU DO. If you wanna keep pestering her about trauma she doesn't want to think/speak about, then be prepared for the consequences.

AMC, you GOTTA kill Bruce on-screen for us, either in QotD during all the Burnings, or during the PL trilogy (Killer's death was GNARLY).

LOOK AT MY DAUGHTER ALMOST CRYING RIGHT THERE. God's strongest soldier, she's suffered more than Christ, JUSTICE FOR CLAUDIA. All rapists deserve the death penalty, IDGAF.

Understatement of the century.

I CACKLED at that literal DEMON TIMING. Armand was already AT the door while y'all were concocting your lies! Then he just strolls on in, uninvited! 😭

BULLSH!TE. Not that it matters, since vamps have SUPER-HEARING and can READ MINDS, you morons! Pack your bags and go back to America RIGHT NOW. 💀💀💀

Louis, beloved, bless your heart, but if you don't take your garbage attempts at lying back to NOLA and stop playing with this ANCIENT immortal dressed in all white like the effing BOSS PIMP you USED to be.....

Alpha DADDY Maitre Armand Sir, I take back every bottom Uke Omega joke I ever said about you~! 😍

Yeah, about all that.... 😬

Aaaaannnnnd THIS is where you effed up, Claudia.

And Armand heard the WHOLE THING. 😭

Look at her FACE. 😭😭😭😭

They KNEW she hated being treated as a child, and they KNEW her time was numbered cuz she lied about breaking their Great Laws, so they DELIBERATELY made the "Baby LouLou" role to humiliate her, and EXPLOITED her image to bring in extra revenue (how many BLACK actresses did they ever have in their coven/stage? ZERO); all while KNOWING they were gonna kill her and Louis ASAP.

I hate this Theatre coven with ever fibre of my being, Maitre.

Excellent point, Louis. Cuz I noticed in Ep2 that their apartment is kind of crappy--I assumed it was cheap & low class cuz of the tenants all being college students & sex workers, and I noticed a bunch of chipped paint everywhere; on the doors & walls.

They're slumming it in a studio, sleeping in the living room, as neither has their own room & she has to use a Murphy Bed. Major step below 1132; the exact opposite of how book!Claudia & Lou lived in Parisian opulence--highlighting my point that AMC!Claudia got NOTHING out out being a vampire.

But it's also pointing out how Louis covers all the cracks--in his MIND, in the lies he tells himself, just to live with the glaring problems he desperately wants to cover up & deny.

I'm finna yeet myself out the nearest window.

This is SO bizarre, cuz in this version Lou KNOWS Lestat's not really dead! In the book Lou set him on FIRE. So ofc he'd think Les was really dead. But here it makes no sense why he's carrying all this guilt!

Armand knew Lou & Claudia LIED, sure--but he SHOULD know Lestat's still ALIVE--he's probably chained up in the Theatre basement in one of those friggin "wet room burial vaults!"

THANK YOU.

The guilt is out of control. Louis, if Les couldn't tell you loved him after ALL OF THAT, then he's a effing fool who neither understands nor deserves you. Now go chop his d**k off!

Is that what you tell yourself when DreamStat's in bed with you every night? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

I haven't seen mental trauma treated so well in Horror media since Senua's Sacrifice; this is incredible. 👏

Lou, give yourself a bit more credit--you're doing the best you can! :( Even if your best is an entire travesty. U_U

NOBODY TALK TO ME!

Just when I thought she was having a breakthrough, she doubles down on thinking Lestat lied to them about Europe being terrible. 🤦

(The way Lou clutches his pearls like he's having a heart attack--STOP it, ma'am~! 👌) And YES, you should've told her that you folded and spilled the beans to Armand and that she was walking into a trap, WTF!?! 😡

Jacob, your GirlDad is showing; PLEASE have mercy on us! 😭

EMMYS. 👏 GRAMMYS. 👏 OSCARS. 👏 TONYS. 👏

[stiltonbasket]

Vampire WWX/Fae LWJ: What is their first time sleeping in the same room like? Their first breakfast? Or when WWX notices that LWJ is softer with bunnies?

part 1

On the morning after his arrival at the Cloud Recesses, Wei Wuxian opens his eyes to find Lan Zhan's moon-white face hovering less than an inch above his.

"I am going out to fetch breakfast for us," Lan Zhan says stiffly. "What do vampires eat when they cannot get human blood?"

So rude, Lan Zhan! Wei Wuxian laments to himself, rolling a sleeping A-Yuan onto his back. You could have at least wished me a good morning first, couldn't you?

But then, he had woken Wei Wuxian to ask what he wanted for breakfast, so perhaps this is just what Lan Zhan is like when he tries to be kind.

"Meat, mostly," Wei Wuxian replies, watching as his husband grimaces in distaste. "But half-blooded xuemo can survive without it, so you needn't hunt for me. I'd be grateful for a bit of the porridge you and your brother like as long as you give me permission to eat it."

He winks, making Lan Zhan blush all the way up to his ears. "You will give me permission, won't you?"

"I will, but that is beside the point. By the laws of your people, I am your husband, so it is my duty to provide the nourishment you need." The faerie takes a deep breath. "If you require meat, I will bring you some suitable creature to kill and eat as you see fit. I cannot do the killing myself, but fetching the animal—that I can do."

Wei Wuxian's heart melts; for all faeries hate to do harm to living creatures, and yet his Lan Zhan is willing to do most of the hunting work on Wei Wuxian's behalf.

"There's no need for that," he says gently. Lan Zhan opens his mouth to protest, clearly not liking the look of Wei Wuxian's thin wrists and sallow face; but Wei Wuxian only motions toward the south side of the cave, where he can hear the river gurgling through the trees on the other side of the wall. "You go out and buy some rice and vegetables, and I'll catch some fish for myself while you're away."

Lan Zhan inclines his head and departs, taking his money purse with him; for while the Lan faeries grow their own vegetables in the wood, they have to buy rice and dried spices from the human settlement to the north.

No wonder their food is so bland, Wei Wuxian thinks wryly, as he makes his way towards the river with A-Yuan in his arms. Lan Zhan doesn't have a single herb in his kitchen, except for that old lump of ginger.

He plants A-Yuan in the soft ground near the water, as he usually does at this time of morning. Wei Wuxian helps him dig his little legs as far into the ground as they can go, looking on in satisfaction as the three long leaves on the baby's head unfurl and reach up towards the sun; and then he lays a fish trap in the shallows and splashes across the river, keeping A-Yuan in his field of sight as he searches for kindling seasonings.

He manages to find wild cloves and garlic growing on the far bank of the stream; and by the time he goes back to examine his fish trap, A-Yuan has finished sunning his leaves and soaking his little body in the mud.

"I don't know if you're old enough to eat food," Wei Wuxian muses, marching back to the cave with A-Yuan wriggling under one arm and the laden trap under the other. "You need to be sunned and watered like a plant, so eating fish might make you sick. We'd better not risk it."

A-Yuan squeals and looks up at Wei Wuxian with wet, reproving eyes. "So you do want to eat fish!" Wei Wuxian says accusingly, making A-Yuan shriek with laughter. "But you don't have any teeth. I don't know very much about babies, Yuan'er, but I do know that the women in Jieyu Village never started weaning theirs before the babies cut a first tooth."

The baby looks more wronged than ever. "Bu!"

"Perhaps we should boil the rice into porridge, and put pieces of the fish inside," says a deep voice from behind them. "That way, the rice will be soft enough for A-Yuan to swallow without chewing."

"Oh!" Wei Wuxian turns around and nearly jumps out of his shoes at the sight of Lan Zhan, standing at the mouth of the cave with a bag of rice slung over his shoulder. "Lan Zhan, don't be so quiet when you're walking. I nearly dropped A-Yuan."

Lan Zhan shakes his head. "I doubt you could ever do such a thing. But in the future, I will endeavor to make more noise when you are close by."

He lowers his eyes to Wei Wuxian's fish trap. "Did you catch anything?"

"A pair of grass carps," Wei Wuxian tells him, extracting the fish from their prison and holding them up for Lan Zhan to see. "Now, go light the fire and fetch some water from the well. I need hot water for A-Yuan's bath, and it's past time for breakfast."

So Lan Zhan lights the fire in the little courtyard; and there is a courtyard, much to Wei Wuxian's relief, because Lan Zhan built his small refuge after the fashion of most human dwellings, so that Wei Wuxian could almost forget that his cave was a cave and not a wooden house. After that, he sets off for the nearby well with a yoke fitted about his neck and shoulders, returning scarcely ten minutes later with enough water for both breakfast and A-Yuan's bath.

"I will bathe A-Yuan while you fry the fish," Lan Zhan says, dropping the pails and taking the baby from Wei Wuxian's arms. "There is oil in the bag of groceries I brought, if you need it."

"You didn't have oil in your kitchen?"

His husband sighs. "I used the last of it for yesterday's dinner. Now go."

Wei Wuxian nods and makes his way outside, where he finds a strange contraption for grilling set up in the middle of the courtyard. It looks strong enough to support a hook and pan; but the fish will cook faster in the coals of the fire, so he spears the two carps and roasts them with his foraged seasonings until the skins are burned black.

"Is the rice ready?" he calls, ducking back into the cave. "And what about A-Yuan?"

"A-Yuan is ready. The rice is not," is his husband's laconic answer. "Come take him, and I will bring the rice out to you when it is cooked."

In the end, it takes another quarter-hour before the rice porridge is cooked through and made cool enough to eat. Wei Wuxian feeds some of it to A-Yuan and tries a little himself, after which he puts down his spoon to scold Lan Zhan for being so miserly with the salt and ginger.

Lan Zhan looks oddly pleased for a faerie being scolded about his cooking, though Wei Wuxian can't begin to imagine why.

Stranger still, that breakfast is one of the best Wei Wuxian has ever had; and he doesn't understand that, either.

[britcision]

Alright my lovelies, despite my Dragon Age distractions it is still WIP Wednesday and I still have snacks for you!

Today we shall be snacking on BRUCE! 😈

Things have picked right up again with this chapter since I’ve changed a couple scenes to Harley’s POV but I am gonna let it run long to make sure we get all the way through Croc so I can close the door on that lil side quest

The final chapter miiiight need to be posted in two parts, which I don’t like doing but then the next one after I get to boop back to the Ghost Zone, so we’ll see!

————————

A Good Excuse To Be A Bad Influence iv

Pulling himself slowly from sleep just a little past noon, Bruce had to admit he was feeling better. The headache had dulled to a low throb but he felt clearer.

More aware of himself, and after a glass of water, more like he could take on the day.

It was far from his first concussion and he was well used to navigating the symptoms over the next few days. So long as he didn’t get any serious memory loss he wasn’t going to worry about it.

He had far more serious things to worry about, but even they seemed more manageable after almost nine hours of sleep.

Honestly… he wasn’t surprised that Jason hadn’t come to the cave. Hadn’t agreed to stay away from Danny when asked.

It had felt like a reasonable request at the time, like the bare minimum of common sense. But they didn’t have that kind of relationship anymore.

Jason didn’t trust him. Didn’t trust Bruce’s judgement, in how to deal with criminals or anything else.

Jason hadn’t been the boy who’d looked to Bruce with such trust, such wonder and awe, even before he’d died.

Sometimes Bruce wondered where he’d gone wrong.

But there was no use dwelling on the past. Bruce would like to re earn Jason’s trust some day, but he wouldn’t ignore their present relationship.

Jason wouldn’t trust that Danny was a danger to him without proof, so Bruce would find that proof, if it existed. Hopefully before Jason’s condition became proof itself.

The first and most obvious step would be to consult the Justice League Dark at today’s meeting, and then make arrangements for this doctor from the Infinite Realms.

He’d have to look into those laws Jason mentioned ahead of the meeting. Perhaps bring them up to Constantine, see how it might affect matters with the Infinite Realms.

A bitter part of him mused that he wouldn’t be surprised if the magician was completely unaware of most international laws, let alone the ones of the various lands he travelled, but still.

The man had been so adamant that the Infinite Realms were completely beyond their ability to handle. That they should cut and run at any cost.

Bruce could hardly imagine he’d be pleased that the US had apparently declared its inhabitants the targets of its newest genocide.

Of course, changing the laws and having them struck down would take time, but Bruce still hoped that the act of beginning might be enough.

Enough for him to visit Jason’s doctor in the Realms or some other neutral ground, since the doctor couldn’t come here.

Jason had said that he would be fine, not that he was already fine. Bruce wouldn’t have believed him if he had, not really; Jason hadn’t been fine since he’d been dunked in those damn pits.

Their poison had stuck with him far longer than anyone Bruce had ever heard of.

Hells, Bruce had had his own dunking. He could just barely remember the rage that had forced itself down his throat, into his lungs as he was brutally thrust back into the land of the living.

He had controlled it, had mastered it quickly, and now it was nothing more than a faint scrap of memory. Even that was still enough to grant his deepest sympathy to Jason’s struggles.

If the rage had never left him…

But no, he decided, going through his morning routine like he was still the young playboy Brucie who never showed his face before 3pm.

There was no point in indulging those thoughts either. He had mastered the pit’s fury, and it released him. For whatever reason, Jason hadn’t.

And now they all had to deal with the consequences.

Still, Bruce let himself hope for the future instead.

If his children were right, if Jason was right… if Danny or this mysterious doctor from the Infinite Realms could help him with the pit rage…

He might one day see that little boy again. The boy who looked at Bruce like he’d hung the stars, who could fly because Robin made him magic.

There was nothing in this world or any other that Bruce wouldn’t give to see Jason whole again. To see him happy.

The United States government were going to learn (again) what it meant to come between the Batman and the safety of his sons.

The Justice League’s meeting would be in another four hours. He had plenty of time to do some research and amend their presentation.

So long as Jason was right.

And speaking of Jason… there was just one other thing he’d like to do this morning. Heaving a sigh while he had the privacy of his room, Bruce pulled up his phone again.

He didn’t quite indulge himself as far as making a face as he punched in Constantine’s number, because concussed or not he was an adult. And he was going to need the man’s help.

Surely Jason wouldn’t object to a single check in with a trusted practitioner?

As the phone rang, Bruce once again cursed the circumstances that kept Zatanna off world. He was about 75% sure that Jason actually liked her.

But maybe the extent to which Constantine annoyed Bruce would also cheer him up.

The call went through, and Bruce snapped his wandering attention back. Maybe he’d take the rest of the day off after the meeting. Heal up a little more.

Alfred would be proud.

“Constantine. A moment of your time before the meeting?” It even sounded like a question, not a command. Sleep really had done him a world of good.

——————

Tag List: @welcometosasakiworld @kyrianclawraith @someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones @starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost @akikkobara @rainbowbunny0159 @littlefeather345 @violet-catsarelife @serasvictoria02 @wolfjackle @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf @anime-hipster-the-amazing @undead-essence @skitscratched @blackroserelina @snoodly-boop @trickerdi @mayoota-blog @xysidhe @idkmrpianoman @little-apricot-the-writer @chaoticmistake @the-legal-shipper @bun-fish @aroranorth-west @demon-cat-goes-woof @perfectwastelandcreation @onyxlightdragon @larks-and-katydids @peachesandcreamfemboy @jesus-camp-the-sequel @may-rbi @mothman-the-mothman87 @viyatrix @stargirl1331 @idfk-man10 @thedepressedrobin @skulld3mort-1fan @rootsmudge @ravenshadow17 @cankoking @phantom-dc @mentalcarebear @magic-pincushion @redamancyardor @lyra689 @itsparadoxlacuna @alcorbearson @asphyxia778 @why-must-i-be-like-this @tkiesai

[yzeltia]

Closer to You

Chapter 20 Characters: Jannie Fortemps Natsu Obinata, Artoriel Fortemps, Haurchefaunt Fortemps, Keith Summers, Kierian Summers, Violet Fisher, Bounding Otter, U'rahn Nuhn, Patient Heaven, U'rahn's Daughters, Fuyu'li cen Zwhan, Drowning Thunder, Y'zel Tia Rating: T for T Notes: Thanks to @biot08 again so so so much for helping me get through all of this before DT.

- 2 Years Later -

[Jannie]

“I can’t thank you enough Miss Obinata, or is it Mrs. now?” Jannie asked, bouncing little Haurchefant on her waist before handing him over.

Natsu smiled, brushing the boy’s hair from his face then poking his nose. “That…is a bit complicated,” she laughed before returning her attention to Lady Fortemps as Lord Arteriole Fortemps frantically looked through their diaper bag to ensure nothing had been missed. “My goodness, Haury is getting so big.”

“Don’t remind me. He’s already caught onto some words. I thought my husband might murder U’rahn when he started saying ‘Nuhn’,” Jannie mused before leaning in to kiss her son on the forehead. “Arty will be back after seeing me off, though if it isn’t a bother I’d like for him to come drop him off with you now and then just so that he can play with U’rahn’s girls. This contest will be brief, I hope. I really hate to go.”

“That won’t be a problem at all. The little huntresses love playing with him and I’m sure you’ll be back before he can miss you too much. You two go enjoy some time together while you can,” Natsu said, helping little Haurchefaunt wave by to his parents before the two left to have a much needed mommy and daddy night.

“Smile!” the little boy said before babbling incoherently, Natsu in turn giving him a wide grin.

[Keith]

“Ah. Hey! Natsu. Uh…so…you haven’t seen G’khenna or Khloe around have you,” Keith breathed out, Kierian on his back and holding onto him. “You see, I was supposed to go get them in Idyllshire and Rowena said I owed her a bunch of gil for outfitting and I’m really hoping Mr. Gage just gave them a small errand or something small to do. Maybe for Silent Courel?”

“Um…,” Natsu said, looking up as she bounced U’Nyxia on her lap while the rest of the girls ran around screaming and laughing behind her in the yard. “They had come through telling the girls about a city full of treasure or something? Sounds like they were eager to break in their adventure plates. Did you check the docks? G’k mentioned heading over with the others to Tural.”

“Tural…Tural…They’re going to…,” Keith trailed, face going pale. “Kierian…pray for your pops, cause Daddy Raha is going to kill him.”

[Violet]

“Listen! Listen! Listen! It was so cool! So Apple went up to her and- You’re not listening,” Violet wined, nudging Natsu in the rib, nearly causing her to spill her drink.

“Sorry. I just got a little lost in thought…and how can you stand this stuff. It tastes like I’m drinking liquid tree bark,” she said, sticking her tongue out at her mug of ale before taking another swig of it anyway.

“You’re just starting to refine your palate. I promise when I get back from Tural I’ll bring a keg of rum for us. Speaking of which, I can’t believe I’m leaving your brother-in-law in charge of The Final Pillar,” she asked, watching as the clumsy Roe accidentally knocked over a glass then panicked and tripped one of the taps as his hand slapped backward against it.

Natsu laughed, “He’ll be fine. He was a rather popular mixologist where he’s from. Though, when it’s time for him to go…,” she trailed.

“No worries. P’ebaloh said she’ll cover him for the other half of the month,” Violet assured her. “You enjoy your time with your man.”

“And you do the same with yours,” Natsu hummed, causing Violet to flush. “It seems everyone is going west. It’s going to be lonely without everyone. Certainly a lot quieter.”

“Hardly with the little huntresses and Haury running around,” Violet said, smirking. “You know, you and Drowning didn’t have kids right? In that other place. What about now? You’ve got the daycare and I’m sure someone is already prodding him for grandchildren.”

Natsu went crimson. “We’re so young again…And it’s not like we didn’t want any. There’s just certain…difficulties we ran into,” she said, looking at Violet then running her bare hands down the side of her mug.

Violet nearly spit her drink as she watched the gesture before erupting into roaring laughter. “S-Sorry. I’m sure that’s a sensitive issue. Um, there’s…there’s ways of, helping minimizing that situation. I’ve had my share of Roegadyn men before letting Riol anchor me down.”

Natsu avoided eye contact for a moment. “I cannot believe you’re a Doman princess. Has your brother heard you talk like that?”

“Shh! Shhhh Shhh Shhh!” Violet hissed as Natsu took her turn to laugh.

[U’rahn]

“Absolutely not! You are just asking for someone to get hurt,” Natsu huffed, hands on her hips as she looked between U’rahn and Patient as they held out blueprints for a small rollercoaster. “This is a daycare! Not an amusement park. The little train around headquarters is perfectly sufficient to entertain the children. We don’t need…whatever deathtrap that is running off the back of the house. Furthermore…furthermore- Girls! Get those bows off of Erick Jr.’s  before you knot his fur.”

Natsu gave U’shtola and U’vi a stern look before the two girls started to undo the makeover they’d started on the furbul. “Anyroad. There answer is a firm no.”

U’rahn’s ears lowered as he folded up the plans. “I just wanted to make something really cool before I have to go. With the Herrro Coaster they’d remember how brave their dad is even if he’s far away! And with the Nuhn hugging bars of protection they’d be extra super safe. How can you say no to this face,” he said before scooping U’bylti up and holding her out to Natsu.

“I want to plant a rose garden! Can we do that,” the little huntress said to Natsu.

“Of course we can. Lady Fortemps left us some nice bulbs and if we ask Miss C’orretta really nicely I bet she can help make them grow so that they bloom-”

“PINK!” U’bylti answered with a laugh before squirming free to run after U’klynt as she passed by.

Patient shook her head, “None of those were the patented names Rahn.”

“They’re very good names though.”

Patient grimaced and looked to Natsu who sighed and watched U’sette and U’lolamo color pictures on a table. Smiling, she walked over then knelt down to look at U’sette’s rather perfectly drawn dragon then to U’lolamo’s, what appeared to be a mostly princess in a bright blue tul gown standing on a pile of knocked out soldiers flexing her arms.

“I think your daddy is looking for projects to keep him here so he doesn’t have to be away from you,” she said, looking back to U’rahn as he looked over the blueprints again with Patient, his ear flitting toward her.

“Daddy has to go,” U’lolamo said, looking up at Natsu.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. He’s run out of stories. He’s super boring now,” U’jannie echoed.

U’rahn’s ears fell flat as he turned to the girls, eyes brimming with tears. “I-I’m borrring?”

The eight girls nodded, not looking away from their various projects and playthings, causing the Nuhn to drop to his knees in despair. Patient sighed, reaching down to gently pat his back with the end of the blue prints. “Daddy is…borring…okay. This is okay…This is okay…This is okay…”

U’nyxia wandered over, bending and tilting her head to look into his face. “It will be okay! You’ll go across the sea with Nyx, and Auntie Wuk  and bring us back lots of new stories. Okay?”

U’rahn looked up, then rose to his knees before hugging his first born tight, trying to disguise a little sob of happiness. “You bet! I will bring you back stories!”

Natsu smiled as he dried his tears, the Nuhn nodding to Patient once before running out the door. While relieved that the commotion was over, she looked back to the girls. “I…I think he forgot he was also here to take you home.”

[Fuyu’li]

“Things are going great here. I feel like I’ve really found my home among the alchemists of The Great Work! Azdaja and I are getting closer as well. I am learning draconic, though I am finding it rather difficult as our mouths simply cannot imitate some of their consonants. It is amusing for us at least when Vrtra is busy with his Satrap duties or off playing with the children,” Fuyu’li’s voice sounded from Natsu’s tombstone.

“I’m glad things are going well. So we’ve abandoned saying Master all together?” Natsu mused, painting her toenails as she leaned against Drowning Thunder as he read quietly to himself. She hummed, imagining the other erupting into a shade of red in frustration on the other end.

“We are…more than regent and subject. It makes him uncomfortable to be addressed as such given the intimacy we share and he insists on equality. Sometimes he feels more mortal than dragon, though there times he had his draconian moments. He can be possessive at times…and for some odd reason he’s given me a rather beautiful egg to watch over as a symbol of our bond. It looks rather expensive, and he’s not one to give gifts so I am sure this is a great gesture for dragonkind.”

“Uh…” Drowning sounded, eyes wide looking down at the phone. “Does he know how-?”

“Does he know how what?” Natsu asked.

“Y’know, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it,” Drowning said before hiding behind his book. 

“Excuse me Fuyu’li. I need to interrogate my husband,” Natsu huffed before ending the call.

After a brief explanation, Natsu went quiet. “...We can not be the ones to tell him.”

[Y’zel]

Natsu sighed softly before looking up as Pouncing wandered by to refill her tea. “Thank you,” she said with a smile. “Are we making sandwiches this evening?”

“Of course! I’ll teach you how to cut apples into rabbits too if we have time,” Pouncing answered before heading back to the kitchens.

She couldn’t remember how long it’d been since they’d seen one another. Too long to be sure. As Y’zel wandered in, she looked up, the other dressed in Doman silks, looking rather nervous as he looked about headquarters. Taking a seat across from her, he reached out and quickly downed her cup. “Hey!”

“S-Sorry. I am just a bit nervous. It’s still a bit embarrassing to be out like this…I still really haven’t…apologized enough to them,” Y’zel said softly.

“I think somewhere around the fifth time we started getting inundated. You should visit more. You’re missed,” she said, reaching out to touch his arm.

“I know…Yet between having to swing duties as a consort and keeping up with my work. Not to mention Claudien still has me checking in with him as often has not let up in his possessiveness. I’m spinning plates,” he said before lowering his head to hit his head against the table.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. You’ve got two handsome men who are absolutely crazy about you, not to mention Ioh’juhn makes it no secret that he steals you away. You have exactly what you wanted,” Natsu sighed, rolling her eyes.

“I guess I do…Um, speaking of which. How is Drowning…or is Bounding with us now,” Y’zel asked as he lifted and sat back.

 “Fine. The moon wanes so I have Drowning but he is with his mom today,” she answered, watching Y’zel’s ears fold back as he grit his teeth.

“I see…”

“Leonnioux is well though. He sends his love. Still adjusting…,” she said. “You should go see him. When Drowning and Bounding must trade again.”

“I’ve…I’ve lost my will to go to that place. I’m unworthy of the mantle or the grace,” Y’zel said weakly, “Perhaps when it is my time I might be fit to return. Until then, he’ll just have to find his way to me.”

“Oh my goodness. You are so dramatic. How are you so dramatic? You were not this bad when you were little,” Natsu laughed.

“Well of course you’d think that. You’ve only seen me as me and I didn’t fancy myself as dramatic. Maybe romantic, but not dramatic.”

Natsu smiled then looked at her brother’s ears and frowned. “Did the Mol’s cure work? For your ears?”

Y’zel shook his head. “No, I’m still relying on my Echo. It’s fine though. I’ve no shortage of aether to expend as always. It’s been three years so I’ve learned to live with it. Speaking of which…,” Y’zel started before looking around. “Has Zoissette departed? I brought her a silk scarf from Doma as a present.”

“I believe she departed for Tural on a submarine already. I wasn’t able to see her off because I was busy with the daycare,” Natsu said, sitting up a little.

“Right…Well, I shall endeavor to find her when I make the journey over there myself. I am to act as an envoy of Doma and extend our friendship toward the current and eventual Dawnservent. Something I actually feel I can do for Doma,” he sighed, before running his finger around the saucer. “It is not long before my ship departs for that matter. It was good to talk though while we can. I promise I will return come the Summer Faire. We can go see the fireworks together,”  he continued moving to take his leave.

Natsu blinked then furrowed her brow. “Wait. Is that it?”

Y’zel turned, “What do you mean is that it?”

Natsu huffed, standing up. “You mean you brought a fine scarf from Doma for Zoissette but not something for your precious little sister?”

Y’zel fluttered his ears before sticking out his tongue at her. “I don’t ever get any gifts from you. I had to take your tea because you didn’t have the foresight to order me any. Zoisette would have had a whole kettle ready. And some oats too,” he sniffed before heading toward the door with a little laugh.“Y’zel you are literally the worst big brother ever!”

[duchessanon]

A few short story ideas, bb:

Anne, the Olympian, at The Olympics in Montreal

Anne the speed demon lol! Apparently, she drove 93 mph in a 70-mph zone near her home in Gloucestershire, went to court and fined.

Anne's affair with her bodyguard, Mark Cross👀

bb, your version of the private letters between Anne and Sir Tim Laurence, that were obtained by The Sun but never published.

The Fandom rigged the Pulitzers?! Justice for busybody!

Inspired by true events. For the Annedom/fAnnedom xo

One fine morning in 1993, Princess Anne stood in the mirror combing her bouffant for another day of busy engagements. Today she was going to an engagement at a horsey school and decided to wear her full Olympic horsey outfit for the occasion.

Her husband, Timmy appeared behind her with hearts in his eyes. 'Wow, you look fresh out of a trough'

Anne scowled. 'What have I told you about making horsey compliments when you don't understand horses!'

'I'm sorry my beloved' Timmy said mournfully. He really was trying to understand her love of horses and continued to wear his chaps every evening because the sight of them set her nethers in a flutter.

'A trough is what animals drink out of, if I had come out of a trough I'd look like a rat coming out of a sewer!'

Timmy did a sad face but didn't argue with Anne. She was in a bad mood because Fergie had pranced too far and trampled over her cabbage patch.

'If you want to give me a horsey compliment there's many of them!' Anne proceeded for ten minutes listing horsey related compliments starting with 'Your heart is like a Trojan Horse' and ending with 'I could ride you!'

All of a sudden Anne snapped out of her equine reverie and hollered 'oh busybody I'm late! This is your fault for distracting me!!!'

Timmy was startled and tried to help but Anne was out of there and he mused out loud 'like a stallion out of a stable'.

'It's like a horse out of a gate!!!' Anne shouted as she sped away.

On the way to the horsey school, Anne put her foot down and grumbled about the uselessness of men. Just look at her three brothers. She couldn't be late, the family already had a reputation for being lazy, useless, tax money stealing busybodies.

Suddenly a siren started blaring behind her. 'What the shit butt are my escort doing?!' When they levelled up next to her, she suddenly realised this was no royal escort, it was the Pauper Police.

Anne dutifully stopped in a layby and the officer approached her.

'Excuse me, my name is Constable Buthol. Do you realise you were going 93 MPH?'

'Well yes of course I do Constable Butthole, I am Princess Anne and I have an important engagement at the horsey school, and now I'm even more late!!!'

'It's Buthol'

'That's what I said busybody Butthole! Now fine me quickly so I can get on my way'

'That's enough of your insolence, I'm an officer of the law and I am hereby confiscating this vehicle under section 6.9 of the highway code - dangerous driving and abuse of a member of the Pauper Police'

'ASS FLAKES!!!' As Butthole went to fill in the paperwork, Anne quickly used her car radio to call Timmy. 'Timmy I'm in trouble, I know I called you useless but I've been stopped by the Pauper Police for speeding and verbal abuse (snowflakes!) and I must get to the horsey school!'

'You didnt call me useless, my beloved'

'Well it was in my head then! Just hurry up will you, I'm on the road next to the lake. The traffic is too heavy. Bring me my horse!'

Timmy panicked. He couldn't ride a horse well, but what else would get Anne there in time? Suddenly he had a brainwave, his nethers jolted up at his cleverness.

Back on the road, Anne was standing alone after Butthole had taken her car. 'Fucking asshole busybody bitch bastard, and WHERE is Timmy with my horse?'

Just then there was a gigantic splash in the lake behind her. Timmy sat in a speedboat wearing his boaty uniform waving up at her and shouted, 'I can't do horses but I can do boats!'

Anne's nethers and whethers fluttered at her handsome sailor's efforts. She immediately jumped off the road and landed in his arms.

'I wondered if I had been too brusque this morning and you'd given up on me' Anne said as they sped along the lake, narrowly missing Fergie as she performed a solo synchronised swim.

'Never my beloved, wild horses couldn't drag me away from you or your nethers'

'Finally you got one right!' Anne said gleefully. Someone would be getting a roll in the hay tonight.

Fin.

@fannefictionarchive @princessanneftw

[clochanamarc]

u get another teaser drabble for what's to come in 2024 for aisling and the squad, but before i dive into it: this year is a whole JOURNEY, yk? a real saga of so many parts for aisling and the family and ur muses too (if u want!! bc i very much want ye to feel like u can be involved!) but this is like. i've been so excited abt this for so long, and that's all i wanna say atm, but i will be making a post to outline stuff if y'all wanna plot smth involved w this year's overall arc!

she's never driven as fast as this in her life. rubber burning, tires defying every natural law of physics as they power through puddles and thin air and loose gravel to bring her to the blooming flower of smoke that protrudes from the familiar block. the police have already set up the tape, not for a crime scene but rather to keep the others safe, when she skids to a halt next to them, abandoning the keys in the ignition, door open, knowing nobody would be stupid enough to steal it tonight.

" will! " she's racing forward, and the officer instinctively lifts a hand. " where are they?! "

" aisling-- "

" where?! " she's about to move past him, but he plants a hand on her shoulder with admittedly lacking wisdom. adrenaline and terror and trauma collide. she catches his wrist, twists it down and away from her arm, and uses a swirl of energy to pin him down against the bonnet of a police car.

" wait! dammit, wait, wait, wait! " he's yelling, his free hand waving out frantically, and it takes a second for her to grasp that he isn't speaking to her, but to the alarmed back-up who take positions and size her up, a hair away from a chaotic choice. " she's alright! she's fine, ais, you're okay, i'm sorry, let me explain-- "

" where the hell are they?! " she's releasing him, brushing past the others like flies, when she sees a familiar face emerging from the rubble of the diner. " woo-- "

" alright, let's all just take a second... jones, we found seven of the kids. they're fine, they're unharmed. well... eli dislocated an arm, but-- "

" i have eight children. "

" ... you still do, yes. but aisling, we... we need to talk about that-- "

" what... " she's not sure which way is up anymore. jimmy has an arm outstretched, but her gaze is fixed on the destruction around them. blackened bricks. scorched rubble. veins of darkness that spiral across the tarmac. metal lampposts twisted and contorted. her fingertips catch on a piece of lightly melted tinsel, flames reflecting against the cheap gleam of the plastic. " who's missing? " nobody answers her. nobody wants to say it. her hands curl into tight fists, and she turns, eyes filled with tears of heartbreak and rage and disbelief. " who did he take, woo? "

" well... that's just it, jones. aisling... mister kelly was not responsible for this. they did. they fled shortly after, and... there's something else you should know. "

" you're not making any sense; you mean one of my kids did this? one of my kids melted concrete and levelled a four storey building? "

" please. aisling-- "

" aisling. " the voice alone drives her stomach into the ground. he's standing in the hazy smoke, soot and dust staining the holy collar, black shirt crumpled from the madness. oisín. the boy who forgot. the man who remembers. the lost-and-found brother who opens out his arms, and places her in a gentle, feather-light embrace. " i need you to listen now... "

" no. " her voice betrays the full measure of fear and devastation that besieges her heart. but he won't let her pull away; he holds her tighter, and places a gentle hand on the back of her head, voice thick with tears.

" he's gone, ais. i'm sorry-- "

" shut up, shut up, don't you-- oisín, please, please-- "

" he's dead. "

she's crying, and her legs give out beneath her, but he holds her upright, forcing her to bear it all. " don't do this- "

but he has to.

and so he does.

" stanley's dead. "

[strangesoulmates]

tagged by @polarnacht1 and @lastlymatt

Snippet comes to us from a fic where Yassen and Alex in-body time travel back to the start of tv canon and Ian is very, VERY confused

------

"What the fuck is going on?" Martin asked from behind him, and Alex turned to look at him, genuinely surprised.

"Sorry, who are you?" Alex asked.

"That is Martin Wilby," Yassen answered, and Ian watched in something between interest and horror as Yassen's eyes sharpened into something much more familiar.  "You remember when I said that Ian trusted the people he worked with?"

Alex's face shifted into an expression that had Ian's blood freezing in his veins.  It was an expression he had seen countless times before, though never on Alex's face.  no, this expression was all John.  John at his most ruthless, most calculating.  It was an expression that never should have been on Alex's face.

"Why are you here, Ian?" Alex asked at last, eyes still fixed on an increasingly panicked looking Martin.

"Martin lured him here," Yassen answered.

"No surveillance," Alex mused aloud, the same voice he used when he was working through a difficult homework problem.  "This is his test, isn't it?"

Alex looked away from Martin long enough to meet Yassen's gaze and the assassin dipped his head once in answer.

Ian might not know exactly what was going on, but he knew enough that, if true, the pieces Yassen and Alex were giving him were enough to put together at least this corner of the puzzle.

Martin was Scorpia.  Martin was Scorpia, and he had brought Ian here to be killed.

Ian turned to face him, and found his answer in Martin's expression.  Panicked, yes, but not confused.  And that panic was quickly translating into action.

Because Martin still had his gun up.   A gun whose aim was quickly shifting from Ian to the figure beside him.  Aiming directly at Alex.

"Someone tell me what's going on," Martin said.  "Or I shoot him."

Alex gave an exaggerated wince at that, but didn't look frightened in the least.

"Ooh, bad call," he said.

Ian agreed.  In a single move, Martin had sealed his fate.  Before this, Ian might have done his best to try and bring Martin in, to interrogate him to get some answers, or see if perhaps he could be flipped again, for all that he would never be trusted.

But Ian had lost his brother.  Had lost his sister in law. He was not going to lose his child.  John's child. the last family he had left.

He fired, unhesitating, freezing for a moment when he heard another shot a fraction of a second before his own.  A quick glance at Martin's gun revealed that he hadn't been the one to fire it, and in that moment that was all Ian cared about.  Alex was safe.  If Yassen shot him, so be it.  Alex was what mattered, and Yassen had been more friendly with him than anyone else.

Alex was John's son.  That would be enough to buy his freedom, Ian hoped.  To buy his life, at the very least.

But there was no flash of pain, no familiar line of fire across any part of his body, nor the cold wash of adrenaline that might hide an injury.

Instead Martin Wilby fell to the ground, a red stain blossoming over his shirt where Ian had shot him and a hole in the center of his forehead, answering the question of where the second shot had gone.

Ian spun as soon as Martin began to fall, gun brought to bare on Yassen only to freeze when he saw that Alex had stepped directly between the two of them.  He was staring at Ian in something like shock.

"You shot him," Alex said.  He didn't look upset, just surprised.

"He was going to shoot you," Ian said simply.  "And I'm not the only one," he pointed out.

"Yeah, but Yassen shoots people all the time," Alex said.  "That was the....forth?  Forth person I've watched him kill.  It's kind of worn off at this point," Alex said with a shrug.

Ian stared at him, horrified, but well trained enough that he couldn't help but catch the way Yassen tilted his head slightly to the side in consideration before nodding once in confirmation.  Counting, Ian realized. Double-checking Alex's maths, of all things.  How had this happened?    More importantly, how had this happened without him noticing after working so hard to keep even whispers of Alex's existence from reaching the rest of the world.  Yassen especially.

He was an intelligence agent operating on [alarmingly] little intelligence.  Something that could be deadly in this field.  But Ian was good at his job. There was a reason he was still alive all these years later, even as active in the field as he had been.

Martin was Scorpia.  Had lured him here to die.  Specifically to be killed by Yassen, cementing his loyalty to the organization by giving them the ammunition they would need to ruin him should he ever get cold feet about his new allegiance.

Yassen was willing to kill Ian.  The moment it was ordered, he would not hesitate. Would regret it, perhaps, but would carry out the order regardless.

But Alex...the second Martin had threatened Alex, Yassen had shot to kill, not caring about the asset that Scorpia might be losing.

"And how many of those people were pointing guns at you at the time?" Ian asked.

"Are we counting Wilby or not?"  Alex answered, and that was all the confirmation that Ian needed.  Yassen had killed to protect Alex before.

"Dealer's choice," Ian answered.

"Two others," Alex said. "But I'm not sure one of them should count.  I mean, the guy shot Yassen first."

Yassen looked almost offended at that. As if the thought that Alex might doubt that he shot the man because of Alex was hurtful.

------

tagging @corolune and anyone else who wants to play! I think everyone else I would have tagged already has been

[duckbang]

Two Dots

Two dots form a line. Two electrons form a bond. Two people form a friendship.

It gets a bit more complicated after that.

Three dots don't make two lines. They can make three, or they can make one. But three electrons don't form three bonds. They form a free radical - well, they can make two bonds in certain circumstances, look at diborane, but banana bonding is weird… it isn’t exactly a three electron bond either. Three people still form a friendship, but it can be tilted, and as they say, three is a crowd.

Where the laws of gravity devised a smooth dance between two planets, between three it is chaotic loops of who will be kicked out first. With three comes the chaos that two had successfully covered in its simplicity.

There were three of us. Me, my brother, and my sister. And well, there is our dad - single and adoptive- and our honorary aunt, who has no relation to our dad apart from friendship. But the three of us were together from the start, since before we met the adults we call family.

We're not three anymore. We could be, we still talk to each other, through telepathy if not face to face. But we aren't together anymore. My brother and sister live together, in a remote, almost inaccessible location. One could go there, but the trip is harsh and not at all forgiving. I live with my dad and aunt, helping them with work.

But right now I stand on a stage, to give an interview with the news stations, one that is not related to dad's research but to my own. I started out helping with his work, but over time my interest deviated to researching animal behaviour within and without their herds (or flocks, or whatever the groups of specific animals are called). There's a hierarchy in both pack animals and lone dwellers. It is challenged often, but the top boss is the top, and not easily defeated. No matter how hard the planets try, they can't make the sun revolve around them. (Well, in a way, the sun does revolve around them. Its the pack leader’s job to make sure their pack is safe. Its a position that comes with both power and responsibility.)

My aunt stands to the side of the stage, hidden by the curtains. I glance at her before turning back to the press. My latest paper created a buzz, for reasons I don't quite understand. It was obvious, wasn't it..? "I simply find it surprising that no one has written anything about it yet, so after detailed research I decided to do it myself," I say in response to a question.

It took years to get enough data. 

"You taught a gryphon how to write with a pencil."

The gryphon in question is, of course, the brilliant silver and earth coloured beast sleeping on the stage, unbothered by the lights and noise. I met it in the beginning stages of my research, when we were scouring out the dry canyons the species calls home. Gryphons aren't pack animals, they prefer to stay alone, but at the same time they're not territorial and let other members of the species prowl and hunt in their area. Mine was a youngling at the time, possibly separated from its mother, because gryphon parents do not look for lost children. I decided to take it in, a decision I have never come to regret.

"It has been known for a long time that gryphon intelligence is comparable to, if not exceeding, human intelligence. It should not come as that great of a surprise," I point out gently. 

Their body design is different from humans, but with specialised tools and lots of practice and explanation it was able to hold a pencil, and with a few more months of work it managed to write it's name on a large sheet, and it was readable.

Maybe that could be a strategy used to help children with learning disabilities, I muse, but don't say it out loud. It's not my area of expertise, but maybe I'll bring it up with a teacher later. Journalists are not good people to discuss things like this with. 

My sister's presence makes itself known via a slight pressure on the back of my head, silently asking if I'm free. Wait, I tell her. Not right now.

I feel her nod as she retreats further into the back, enough that I can focus, but she's clearly interested in what I'm doing. I don't blame her. I'll never get bored of my job either. 

"Look at it this way," I say in response to a question I didn't entirely hear, "Gryphons don't see other members of their species as threats. They challenge each other for territory, yes, but they share their resources. The hierarchy is more of a gradient than a stepcase, with the largest and oldest member of the species usually at the top of it." And its often hard to tell who that is, it took me close to a year to find the leaders of the respective areas I focused on.

Even mine, who had started off obeying commands without question, had become more assertive as it grew older and larger. And now it is bigger than me, our mutual understanding and the gryphon nature being the only things keeping it obedient. Still, it was smart, and would refuse to do a task if it sensed that the job would harm someone, friend or stranger. 

My brother's presence curls around in my subconscious as I keep speaking, curiosity and warning intermixing as he decides to not detract my attention and talks to our sister instead. "Gryphons have been seen to treat even those who hurt them with compassion and kindness, and it is only in extraordinary situations that they seriously injure anyone. We could certainly learn something from that."

A babble of indignation meets my statement. “Humans are perfect,” they say, furious. “We don't need to learn from dumb animals.”

Both of my siblings bristle on hearing them.

I do, too, but keep my composure as I narrow my eyes.

"Humans have often killed each other over minor misunderstandings. Is that what you call perfect?"

No species is perfect. Human capacity to understand and adapt our behaviour is unmatched, so it gives us more avenues to grow. It is a shame that even 'simpler' animals like dogs, then, outmatch us in understanding, cooperation, and compassion.

Once, before I started working as a researcher, before we started living separately, the three of us decided to follow a pack of wild dogs to see where they would go. We were old enough to be trusted alone by then, and with school being on vacation we didn't have anything to worry about. So we packed our bags with enough food and clothes to last us a week and set off behind the pack.

It was an interesting experience. But what stood out to me most then, and even now, was how they made sure no member of their pack was left behind, and if one was injured they would slow their pace considerably so it could keep up. Gryphons don't do that, but they're not exactly social species. That was the incident that kicked off my interest in behaviour research in the wild, instead of trained behaviours in the lab.

Sure, my gryphon knows how to write, but it is a lab animal. I taught it mainly just to see what would happen, as with the landshark we taught to buy groceries.

I should probably take up researching dogs behaviour again, but for the foreseeable future Gryphons have a chokehold on my research. The latter is also what I tell a reporter asking what's next for my work, and after answering a few more questions and dodging those about my family, the conference moves on to some other scientists I forget the name of. But I'm free to leave or stay now, as I wish. I decide to stay, finally getting time to talk to my siblings who've been waiting for about an hour now.

It must be serious, if they decided to wait. 

So, she projects, amusement laced in her voice, You know how two dots form a line?

I don't have the patience for this, I decide immediately.

Well, I was thinking, and you can't have a combination of points that makes exactly two lines, if you want to connect all of them. Two dots form one line, but three form three, or one, and four form four or three or one, and so on, but no assortment makes two. That's weird, isn't it?

I thought you hated maths? my brother replies.

Get to the point, I tell her as I take the complimentary lunch box the organisers had so thoughtfully put together. Is the number of lines really that important?

I do, I was just thinking. And well... There really isn't any point. I just thought it was weird.

And here I thought it was something serious, I think. Unfortunately they pick up on my thoughts.

Aw, you worry about me? my sister teases as I settle down to eat.

Not if you keep being annoying like that, I respond. My brother laughs at that.

With that sorted out by tracking down a mathematician or two who were free to talk to my sister and giving them her address - which, again, directed them to an almost inaccessible area, and with my gryphon finally awake enough to fly us back to our home, I decided to finally head out of the conference hall. The sky, already orange and pink from the setting sun on one side and fading to the deep blue of night on the other, cloudless and the air without much in the way of wind, stood perfect for flying. My gryphon's wings reflected the fading light of the sun as we rose into the air, turning to gold from silver and the deep browns gave it a brilliant shaded look. It was a work of art, through and through. 

It takes two people to form a friendship, two souls for a connection. I know it's silly, but I've never felt more connected to anyone more than my silver and earth gryphon. Even my siblings, and we can talk to each other through telepathy, never made me feel the same way as simply being with my gryphon does. I ruffle the soft feathers on its back, feathers that almost look like fur from a distance, so soft and small. I have never regretted bringing it home with me, even if it does challenge me for my bedroom sometimes. 

I space out during the flight, almost falling asleep to the beating of its heart and the occasional flap of its wings. There's no danger of falling, my gryphon is a graceful and careful flyer. As such, with the last rays of the sun dipping below the horizon and the only thing lighting up the sky being a pale twilight, I doze off, trusting my friend to keep both of us safe. 

[crazykuroneko]

My IWTV S2 EP 3 musings

Rewatched the episode while waiting for Episode 4. There have been a lot of great metas here that I have reblogged, so I won't repeat them. So, these are things I am still picking up anyway

• Daniel didn't bring his laptop outside Loumand's penthouse. So, the hacking is an inside job? Rashid? From internet? Is that what air drop is? (yes, I have never used Apple in my life)

• 100 nights. so TdV was supposedly 3 months-ish when Lestat left

• *insert that Comic Book Resources article about how great IWTV using their music, because that violin during the Lesmand theatre box scene is so chef's kiss*

• What stands out the most from Armand's retelling of his past + the end of this episode: how little his power is over his flock (supposedly).

• Also, the new way of storytelling: fade out from an image of TdV burning. I assume this means they continue the interview after Loumand finish with their business and Daniel doesn't interrupt them at all? Tbqh, I don't really like it.

• Louis: outside Chicago. Claudia Springfield

• "I remember what I remember" isn't that the crux of this show?

• Ghostat appeared right when the conversation turned into about him and Armand. Aw Louis.

• Meanwhile, Armand always mentions his coven when they get serious.

• *Santiago's having a chat with Claudia* so before I kill my victims, I have a chat with them. See you on stage, Claude! - I hate (affectionately) these writers!

• OH SHIT CLAUDIA ANSWERED WHEN SANTIAGO ASKED ABOUT HER LIFE IN CHICAGO! it's supposed to be Louis' town. I mean, her answer is right, she's from Springfield. But normal non lying people would have said, "Oh, the one from Chicago is Louis, I'm from Springfield"💀

• Santiago, after Claudia talks about lying and confirming where Louis came from: stick with it, Puce. You're almost there 💀💀

• So unlike memories which vampires can see like picture shows, Ghostat only can be seen by Louis. Others can't see what he's doing. But Armand can sense him.

• There have been a lot of great talks about Claudia's scene on Tumblr and how it relates to the previous season and her whole self. But once again, I'm very grateful for this show. How careful they are presenting her story. There's literally no music whatsoever to add some "drama". You just hear the clock ticking. The shot is just of her face and Louis'. We're there with them, we're there with Louis listening to Claudia telling what happened to her in detail for the first time. That's a careful storytelling, that's a respect.

• It's so funny how we watched the Five Great Laws and a lot of people went "but Lestat still lives!" no one remembers they did kill Antoinette 🤣😭

• I find it so sad that even after losing Children of Darkness, Armand has TdV and still uses the laws, something that isn't part of Lestat's suggestion. I think Lestat would find it very ridiculous if he finds they still use those laws. Armand even picked five laws that he could maintain throughout the years out of a hundred(?). He can't help but go back to them .

• Loumand: *kissing*

Me: *kissing The Five Great Laws in the IWTV S2 OST album* my favorite tracks never fail to deliver 😭😭😭

[yunharlaquin]

today, on this varyingly chilly day of the twenty-fifth of december, we commemorate the death and roast of the blessed squawkcoo, laying the way for the noble chewbacca to realize the error of his ways and repent consuming porgkind. as the porg so loved to do with his brethren, we remember his sacrifice by sharing how much we enjoy each other's company...

alright, alright, alright, enough jokes! merry christmas, god jul, fröhliche weihnachten, and happy holidays to everyone on the dash from a shockingly snowy oklahoma! whether you're celebrating something today or eating chinese (or in one confirmed case, middle eastern) food, i hope you're having a wonderful day. you all bring me such joy through your presence, and i hope (as i'll inevitably forget someone) if you don't find yourself on here, you know i still deeply appreciate you. i laugh, i cry, i squeal almost every day, all because of you and your muses. you're all so supremely talented, and i adore everything you produce.

now, without further ado...

FRIENDS, CORELLIANS, SITH LORDS: LEND ME YOUR DROIDS

@graysistance / @lionthought / @commandsir / @greenscrunchy & your plethora of blogs which are starting to rival the number of mine — PUCK, you beautiful, wonderful, sweetheart of a saltdish, you've listened to the ups and downs of my year side by side with hackett, always finding the time to come up with a comforting or encouraging word. your kindness is the sort of thing people like to claim their friends have, but you truly possess it. i adore talking about history with you, spinning out context with so many subjects we speak of, let alone specifically the group wwii au. your support for my various crafting projects always brings a smile to my face. i love to see the things you fun and across, including your growing collection of legends books. i adore how you characterize each of your characters, giving them the depths of compassion and forethought that so many hold. your internal dialogue is absolutely stunning and our plots make me giggle hysterically.

@aniimvs / @scoundrvls / @honorhunt / @hellmartyr & your equally numerous blogs of which each is perfection — HACKETT, considering how intrinsically tied you and puck are in equal measure to my time on this hellsite, i wish i could you both side by side at the top of this list. sadly, this is not a tumblr feature..... yet. in this year of coding and dash tumult, you have soldiered on behind the scenes irl, kicking names and taking ass, while popping up to deliver exquisite pain, cause minor chaos, and be the saltmine you are. our discussions of just how bad a certain... pad.mé writing author's work is brings me life. your technical history knowledge is top notch and i adore all you bring to the wwii au so much, let alone the jp and lotr aus you and puck have worked on. you, more so than perhaps anyone i write with are the queen of establishing a setting. i always love seeing where you decide to set a not established location thread and to build off the descriptions you give for it. it lends an effortless star wars vibe to everything... let alone your depth for your grey and dark muses... *chef's kiss*!

@carnalstress — literal best friend, JESS!!!!! even though i've only managed to the once so far, i am SO happy that i live close enough for us to visit each more often, and i'm so glad you're back to writing on tumblr. you bring so much comfort and joy into my life with your conviction and your kind heart. i admire your dedication to your field even when things get tough and that you're trying to find new avenues in it. you are such a wonderful friend. and your cat is the cutest thing. i hope this next year is the best one yet!

@debelltio / @impostre — ALISTAIR, you are perhaps the newest friend amongst this section of the list, but you are no less dear. i love the subjects we have crossing over interests and experiences in, from living in multiple cultures, to law, to history, food and beyond. i've really loved getting to know you over the last few months, and you do such a lovely job with orson and all your muses. it is just a whole wonderful thing.

@colpapabear — annika! i love that we've written together for so so long and bonded over so many different things. i especially love the vintage clothing and knitting discussions we've had of late. they bring me so so much joy. watching you take leaps and bounds in both and produce such pretty things is the literal best.

@darkestshadeofgrey — listen, i neeeed to respond to our threads because every single one without fail is a plot i am wild for. your characterize your muses so interestingly and each is so very compelling. and even though i'm often late to respond, i ADORE the star wars tiktoks you send me, so often so much pain.

@heirite — i know you haven't been on for a bit, but i'm very much hoping you'll come back and see this! you are such a lovely friend, and i adore your ben to pieces. he brings me such joy, and with you off doing irl, i occasionally go back and read through your blog for that ben sky.walker goodness!

@notimminent — hey you! not that you've ever been truly gone but i'm so glad we've met up again. i can't wait to turn our plotting into threads for emma! you're a truly wonderful person and i'm so happy to have you back more regularly on my dash.

@acharnemcnt / @finaliseur— ame! i'm so very excited for some of the plots we're slowly working on and the threads we have in the works. you've also been so so kind. i very much enjoy your hux, and i'm thrilled about the new multi AND the ask blog AND rae. it's all so so cool!

@galaxycrxss / @hamadaxfighter — hey hey, i very much enjoy your clone squad. and the genius boy. watching you flesh out echo and hiro is a lovely thing, as well as hearing about all your ideas for the future!

@astraldestiny — listen, you adding winter hands down made my week! the plethora of legends characters you write never fails to bring me joy to see, and i enjoy writing and plotting with you so much. stay warm and i hope you enjoyed a christmas market! (next year when i go back, NEXT YEAR)

@multipleoccupancy — caraaaaaaaaa! no matter what you set your mind to on your multi or elsewhere, you do to perfection. it's been so lovely to write with you for so many years across so many genres and muses. our history threads will forever be my favorite!

@chokethelight — you you you, we haven't been able to write much this year, but whenever you pop in to say hello, or whatever version you decided to use that time, you bring a smile to my face! i hope 2023 is a better year for you. &lt;3

@stillsails — i'm so glad to see you around again on tumblr! you've had so much happen!! i am so so so proud of/happy for you for all your accomplishments and milestones this year! keep being the lovely academic and wonderful writer you are.

@fasciinating — listen, whatever we're working on brings me much joy, and the friendship that spock and jaina are building is just lovely. plus, i've really enjoyed the headcanons you've written for that challenge, let alone your beautiful art!

to all those i really love writing and talking with but also hope todo more with this coming year:

@paramounticebound @gurrillero @fifthbornforrester @lunascientia @rubiesintherough @protectxthem @caedus @kylo-wrecked @keeve-trenniis @jaigalorad @mandogold @hopegained @ncxile @reawakcn @theysparked @becomelions @fatedtruths @vuulpecula @conniidel @withoutpeer @skjebne and everyone i inevitably missed, have the happiest of new years!

[i-did-not-mean-to]

E - Escape

🎈Happy Birthday🎈

My darling friend, my dearest @scyllas-revenge...This one is entirely for you! I hope you know how much I appreciate, admire, respect, and love you for being so wonderful, kind, funny, smart, and supportive!!!

Words: 1.2 k

Characters: Boromir x OC

Warnings: Sadness, war trauma, social conventions

“You’d be prettier if you smiled,” Éowyn said as she drifted by her brother-in-law in the great banquet hall, making the addressed man’s scowl grow even fiercer.

It was easy for her to speak thus—wrapped around Faramir’s steady, guiding arm—and Boromir knew that it was a well-meant jibe rather than a sincere reprimand.

And yet…

He felt ill at ease; echoes of his father’s despair and madness lingered in every flickering shadow and Boromir lived in dread of the same fate befalling him.

Once upon a time, he had looked to the future with bright eyes and a courageous heart—back then, the stories he had been told were tales of bravery and strength that he wanted to emulate and recreate.

It was only much later that the weight of a name and destiny too monumental for him to bear was put upon him like armour he could never take off. Since leaving his home on an impossible quest, he had had the honour and the privilege of meeting many a person who had been burdened similarly; his friends all had overcome the weaknesses of their forefathers though, leading the world into a new era of fragile peace.

Would he be able to do the same?

While he was thus sunken in deep, brooding thought, he caught a glimpse of shimmering gold flashing like a stream of rippling sunlight at the edge of his field of vision.

Oh no, he thought, he would not be able to shake off his sombre musings before the lady’s father cornered him and expected him to make polite conversation with his venerable daughter.

Mistress Æthelthryth was—beyond the shadow of a doubt—one of the rarest and most precious gems left in Gondor; sober, noble, and quietly resilient, she had endured the turmoil the realm had gone through with a laudable equanimity, never losing sight of who she was or what she could contribute.

In his heart of hearts, Boromir was slightly intimidated by the proud bearing of a woman whose eyes told tales of woe and deprivation her mouth would never confess; he, who had fought and bled in wild anger and despair, could not even begin to fathom what it would feel like to go about one’s daily, mundane tasks unerringly without even knowing what the next day would bring.

It had been Faramir who—being in the confidence of many a discreet person in the city—had told him about the indefatigable, humble work this exceptional lady had done in their absence; Æthelthryth had kept up the people’s spirits by being a glowing example of calm self-possession and faithful determination.

“My Lord Boromir,” her father called as he hastened towards the sullen lord, dragging his beautiful daughter by the elbow.

It was undignified but—pretending to heed another call—Boromir fled.

How was he to face a lady so outstanding and lovely when he was but a bone-weary survivor of sights that haunted him every night?

Rushing headlong out of the hall, he turned to a small, hidden balcony where he had once used to share stolen honeyed cakes with his brother when they had grown bored of their father’s feasts.

When the cold night air washed over him in a cleansing wave of freedom, Boromir took a few greedy, gulping breaths before leaning his forearms against the stone railing—he knew that it was good and proper that he should find a wife, but he doubted that it would have been fair or generous of him to burden a young lady with the shadows laying on his soul.

“My Lord,” a soft voice resounded behind him, “pray forgive my father; he doesn’t mean any harm. I…I shall leave you to your quiet contemplation now; I just needed you to know that he does not hound you out of malice or spite.” Boromir whirled around to find himself face-to-face with the very lady he had been trying to avoid; her eyes shone like sea-glass in the moonlight that transformed her into a vision of another, better, happier world.

“It is I who should seek your pardon, Lady,” he said, bowing low. “I find myself at odds with these courtly celebrations; maybe, I have forgotten how to be in these situations.”

To his surprise, she did not baulk or laugh but merely nodded gravely as she lifted her slender, white hands to her eyes. “Yes,” she said softly, “it does feel wrong, doesn’t it? After all these months of fear and blood—tending to the sick and the wounded—I feel as if the person I once was is nought but an ill-fitting dress that stifles me henceforth.”

“Yes!” Boromir cried out, taking a wavering step towards her as a powerful sense of relief surged within him. “I know my duties and I truly want to fulfil them as well as I can but…it’s so hard to take this in my stride. Faramir…”

A pained look distorted his handsome face and Æthelthryth impulsively clasped his broad, calloused hands in her own. “He’s alive,” she whispered insistently. “I know well that jolt of dread and amazement upon seeing one brought back from death’s door walk across a room effortlessly. Your brother has mended beautifully and shall be at your side for long years to come.”

She bit her lip and chuckled. “This assurance might not be in my own favour, but I assure you, my Lord Boromir, that you do not need to hasten into wedlock if you’re not willing or ready. Your esteemed brother and his excellent spouse have my fullest trust to help you steer our people clear of the wreckage and flotsam. Moreover, you are strong and wise—we believe in you!”

Again, Boromir bowed to her, his cheeks colouring with embarrassed pleasure. “Those are handsome words, lady, but it’s not unwillingness but…mercy that stays my hand.” He touched the side of his torso gingerly as if to feel for the wounds that had almost cost him his life.

“My flesh has knitted,” he went on, “but my soul is still mending. It would be unkind to impose such a heavy commitment on a gentle, noble maiden.”

At that, her eyes flashed defiantly, and she tossed her head back to meet his downcast gaze with ferocious energy.

“You are mistaken,” she declared haughtily, “if you think that we…that I am a fragile bird that should not be startled within its pretty cage. Misery, loneliness, and despair are no strangers to my soul and—forgive my rash speech—I venture to claim that you might mend faster and better if you didn’t have to do it alone.”

For a while, Boromir pondered her brave words; he was overcome once more with admiration and pride at the sight of her radiant face and her resolute expression.

“You humble me, milady,” he finally sighed. “It is unbecoming for Denethor’s heir to flee like a sulky boy. Would you do me the honour of escorting me back into the Great Hall? If your generosity and kindness might be prevailed upon even further, I would humbly beg for a dance as well.”

Æthelthryth gave a short peal of merry giggling before tightening her hand around his. “Come, Lord Boromir, let me show you how many weaknesses and missteps one can conceal if one works together.”

@fellowshipofthefics Eh, I've not forgotten the last two...I was keeping them for a special occasion.

@scyllas-revenge I've tried the giraffe again. Happy bday ❤️

Lots of love from me!

-> Masterlist

[thus-spoke-lo]

Agh and imagine waking up during whatever Law is doing. Just groggily blinking, unable to move. Blurry eyes watching him do /something/ between your legs that's he's put in stirrups. He's so focused, wearing a mask and gloves. Maybe even scrubs. You try to alert him to the fact you're awake but you can't. You can feel tugging between your legs but everything is muted. When he pulls out a scary device your heart rate sky rockets and that's when he notices you looking down at him with those cute scared eyes.

"It's not wake up time yet," He soothes, bringing the mask back to your face. The whine that escapes your throat as he counts you back down again is so cute. Blah. It's so scary. I've never had surgery before- actually I'm extremely afraid of doctors HAHA. But I guess that just adds to the kink.

I have so many piss thoughts, I might send some in another ask just incase you think it's too much jejfusjfjd. I also don't know how to feel about getting pissed on, despite having a piss kink. For me it's more about the desperation and humiliation.

I think there's something especially perverse about Law not using his devil fruit for whatever procedure he's doing. He could do things the easy way--but it's more fun to use his hands and his tray of instruments instead, it feels more intimate that way, more like love even though what he's doing is quite possibly far from it.

And yes, pls send any piss musings my way (sentences I never thought I'd write? lmao). It's definitely about the humiliation, yes! And yeah, the only getting pissed on scenario I've considered is very, very degrading and if I ever finish writing it (because I add a sentence or two to my WIP and go "well that's enough of that") it will probably never make it to tumblr. Or it will and a very surprising amount of people will be into it, idk.

[origamiplushie]

4. Hopper

Part 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. Read on AO3.

It only took about a week for Hopper to return. A week of hospital food so bland, Steve was honestly having doubts that he was actually being fed real food and not just imagining it. But seeing Hopper when he was finally wheeled into the hospital really put Steve’s current diet of shitty porridge and pudding into perspective. 

Hopper looked gaunt. No trace of the indifferent beer-bellied chief Hawkins used to know left.

The former chief used the chance to stop by Steve’s hospital room while being wheeled to some other hospital room for his own oatmeal feast, which he most definitely needed. 

“Looks like coming back to life really takes it out of you, huh Hop?” Steve joked.

Hopper blinked, a little taken aback for a moment, before replying with a wry grin: “Almost as much as dying itself does, I’d say. But really what you're looking at is good old Russian hospitality.” 

“That makes sense. I feel like instead of building malls in the middle of Nowhere, Indiana, they should consider using their time in America to attend a few of the etiquette classes my aunt hosts.” Robin mused.

“You think the Russians should invade to attend finishing school?” Steve wrinkled his nose, imagining Russian soldiers making flower arrangements and folding napkins into arches like his mom fussing before having dad’s business partners over for dinner.

“I was more thinking some evening classes, but I guess if they have mall with insane tunnel system money, they probably have finishing school money too.”

Hopper appeared bemused at the course of the whole interaction, but brushed it aside to tell them: “Owen’s dealing with the aftermath of some kind of power struggle on the suits side, but they all will probably be sniffing around with some ridiculous coverup soon enough. So far the story is that this was all some huge earthquake and I was on some kind of undercover mission so it looks like it is going to be the same kind of nonsense as usual.”

“I don’t really care what crap they have to sell to the town, as long as they make sure Eddie’s name gets cleared. He helped save the world, they don’t get to keep calling him a murderer.” Steve stated, “That’s not up for negotiation. Full stop.”

“The Munson kid, seriously?” Hopper sighed, “I guess he might never have been a model law-abiding citizen. Was a disrespectful pain in the ass to boot. But he certainly wasn’t a killer either. I’ll ask Owens to clear that up as well.”

After Hopper had left Robin turned to Steve with a tense expression and asked: “Do you think now that Hopper is back, El will bring back Eddie next? Even though she never actually met him?”

“I’m sure that Dustin is already pleading Eddie’s case to El and you know how he is. If he decides someone needs to do something, he’s not gonna stop annoying you until it happens. El brought back his dead cat, I don’t think she’s gonna say bringing back his friend is out of line.” Steve assured her. 

They were both silent for a moment.

“Can you imagine Munson’s face when he realizes he will not be spared Dustin scolding him into the next century for being a dumbass and getting himself killed?” Steve said suddenly.

“Oh man, if Eddie thought death would save him from one of Dustin’s rants about that being the most idiotic thing he could have done, he has another thing coming! Dustin is going to rake him over the coals!” Robin was giggling at the very thought. 

Having Henderson lecture you like you were a four year old he had to stop from sticking a fork in an electrical outlet as soon as he left you alone was horrible and very annoying. However, watching someone else get the brunt of his condescending tone was a rare but always uniquely hilarious experience for Steve. But before Steve could join Robin in laughing at the image, his excitement was replaced by a sudden doubt. 

“Yeah…” Steve said hesitantly because he had remembered some of his initial assumptions about the whole resurrection thing. Of course, Robin immediately noticed. 

“What was that just now? What is that face for?” 

“Well, so far everyone who El has brought back has died here.”

Robin tried following his line of thought.

“And what if Eddie dying deep in Vecna territory makes it harder to reach him before something else happens?” she offers.

‘If bringing him back is even possible.’ Steve silently added in his head. Maybe Steve got it right the first time. Maybe El could only bring back people who died in the Rightside-Up. Maybe like Barb, Eddie was gone for good.

“Now that we’ve got everyone here and working together again, I’m sure it will be fine. We’re going to get him back, Steve.” Robin continued, oblivious to Steve’s actual worries. 

But she was still right. Their group had never been ones to give up even when they most certainly should have. El alone continued to do more and more impossible things each year. With the support and help of Hopper, the Byers, the rest of the party and all the older teens behind her, Steve couldn’t imagine anything stopping El from doing whatever she put her mind to. Either she would find a way to magic Eddie back to their world as she was magicing him back to the life or they would all go back into the Upside Down and bring Eddie back out that way. The others were not going to give up on him and Steve refused to doubt his eventual return either. 

No matter what, Eddie was not getting left behind.

Next.

[ssatxr-archive-2]

@104thsquadfam proposed: ✵ - for Midnight (Jean and Reiner)

{ cut for length! }

REINER.

Their first impression of your muse:

"I believe he was a little overwhelming, but I felt this sense of duty with him. That, and he was very friendly. The more time I spent with him, the more I realized that he was very passionate about his soldier work."

Current impression:   

"Now, with everything...I can't deny that he's done wrong, but at the same time, he was slave to a machine; a process of a place that shouldn't have those laws in place. Reiner is a man I consider my brother by blood, and I still wouldn't have it any other way."

Are they attracted to your muse?:  

"Not romantically no. We're just friends and familial, that is all."

Something they find frightening about your muse:

"...I don't like it when Reiner yells, it hurts my ears like those canons."

Something they find adorable about your muse:  

"I do find it sweet with how he is with others-- he can often end up very doting!"

Would my muse sacrifice themselves for yours?:  

"In a heartbeat, I would. As much as he would protest, it's like any other family. If the morals are right, I lay down my life."

Would my muse go on a date with yours?  platonic/romantic:  

"I would love to take Reiner with Lennothan and I to go flying. It's something that I found a lot of fun in, and I think touching some clouds while not being stuck in a titan would be nice for him!"

One word my muse would use to describe yours:  

"Chivalrous."

Would my muse slap yours if they could?: 

"Sometimes, I wish I could with the decisions he makes but...not too harsh. Also, Never in the face. Maybe a slap to the arm, but nothing beyond it."

Would my muse hug/kiss yours?:

"Of course! Hugs and kisses are always reserved for the family. If he asked, I'm not far for them!"

JEAN.

Their first impression of your muse:

"At first, Jean did scare me a little. He was very combative with some other cadets when we were younger-- I remember hanging around him when Marco was around. I think it definitely settled any sort of awkwardness between us-- or even some uneasy talks."

Current impression:   

"Now? I trust Jean with my life. I can't think of any other man I would trust to fight alongside more. He's brave and loyal, not to mention more sassy than combative. He's grown into his own, and is a lovely man now!"

Are they attracted to your muse?:  

"I do like him, yes. He's very handsome man, not to mention mature and serious. I can only hope he truly likes be back in that way, if at all."

Something they find frightening about your muse:

"I would hate to be caught in a fight with him. He's relentless, and his fist packs a punch...!"

Something they find adorable about your muse:  

"I do adore how flustered he gets-- you could say one thing and he could be denying it. It's priceless, really!"

Would my muse sacrifice themselves for yours?:  

"Like I said before-- absolutely. I will absolutely lay down my life for him-- if it means that he can live a life he's proud of, then yes."

Would my muse go on a date with yours?  platonic/romantic:  

"I would love to take Jean to explore my forest. I could teach him how to hunt and survive-- but most of all? I want him to come see the waterfalls at him. When the sun sets on them, they look like fire...It's a good spot for people our age to visit!"

One word my muse would use to describe yours:  

"Bold."

Would my muse slap yours if they could?: 

"...I don't think I could bring myself to. Maybe a flick, but never a slap."

Would my muse hug/kiss yours?:

"I-I wouldn't be opposed to giving him hugs and kisses-- as long as he asks for them. I don't want to invade his personal space, so if he lets me know before, absolutely!"