#Graceless Ebb

[mistwalker-official]

🖤 NEW SONG ALERT 🖤

“Graceless Ebb” is out now on my Bandcamp page at mistwalker.bandcamp.com. Unlike my other material this song is available for free download. Instead of giving money to me, consider donating to the myriad of charities and relief orgs listed on the page for this song that will go towards the Palestinian people.

I’ve never been shy about calling a spade a spade. What is happening in this region of the world is a genocide. It is being done in the name of Western imperialism and it is being done with malicious intent. But even in the darkest of times there is always hope to be found.

Even the smallest amount of resistance matters. This song amounts to very little in the grand scheme of things, but even if more eyes are drawn to these relief orgs that is better than nothing at all.

A huge thank you to my longest and oldest friend Aaron Powell of Fog Lake for providing haunting guest vocals on this track as well as to JL.LV Audio for mixing and mastering this track.

Check it out at:

[heavy-nfld]

New music from @mistwalker-official!

[heylittleriotact]

I read the rules AFTER replying to the post. The title that most intrigues me is Senna Origins, because yeah, Senna. I might be a lil obsessed.

For you, anything! Thank you, friend 🥰

This is a portion from Senna’s backstory, which mostly focused on their upbringing and youth in the Feywild, and their activities within the Seelie Court as a young adult. I actually have yet to finish this because in the campaign that Senna exists in, they’re 472 years old and have spent around two centuries in the Material Plane and having to account for almost 500 years of being alive is… well it’s a lot.

I was picking them off one by one, pulling away pieces of a war machine that was driven by greed, privilege, and hubris. Lillian was becoming more and more powerful, her ideas were holding more sway, and I was becoming far too big for my britches: It was no longer enough for me to control the ebb and flow of the Seelie Court with my humble influence. I decided it was time to bless the Unseelie Court with my unique knack for taking out the trash as well.

(It’s vital to understand that the following decisions resulted in me ultimately drinking for roughly a decade straight in the Material Plane, and then sleeping for another 24 years to nurse away the cumulative hangover.)

Back when we had our silly little pissing contest with the Unseelie Court and Lillian and I were put on the front lines for a short time, the biggest battle we fought was against a monster named Baron of the Withering Spiritual Resilience - We called him Bows’r - He was big. He was mean. He was a graceless oaf (but really probably a lot more graceful than you know… un-Fey standards), and he led a battalion of four thousand to near victory against our own force. He was high ranking in the Unseelie Court, and I figured if I’d defused the powderkeg that was my own court, I may as well balance it out on the other side too.

I approached this differently though. There was a lot of sneaking, a lot of cloak and dagger, a lot more cloak, and a lot of being really, really careful that this didn’t get back to Lillian, or the rest of the Seelie Court, who still at best barely tolerated me.

See, my goal wasn’t to take down just Bows’r. My goal was to take down Bows’r, by goading him into an attempt on Oberon himself (actually knowing full well that I didn’t really have any kind of personal issue with Oberon, aside from the fact that he was one of them, and back then that was enough. Yes. I was an idiot, thanks.)

It would have worked spectacularly if I hadn’t suffered a betrayal within my own ranks which tipped Bows’r off, led him straight to Lillian instead of Oberon, and ultimately squared things such that the might of both Bows’r and Oberon were unjustly laid upon Lillian.

This was not just a matter of mistaken identity, a few bruises, and a socially awkward situation. The world of the fey is not so droll. No. This treachery meant that Lillian was implicated in the plot that was mine, and for the fact that Oberon’s name was even mildly associated, the perceived challenge was answered with the swift, practical retribution of The Hunter.

My love was taken away. Pierced by thirty-seven golden arrows even as I sought to buy her freedom with whatever means I could.

I watched it happen, I saw her face - content, relaxed - safe. I saw it fall to fear and surprise as the Green Lord appeared and took his prize, as triumphant and gleaming as any god would be in a tale told to you by someone else. I saw her curl, stretch, curl, shudder, and succumb on her feet to the wounds inflicted on her.

There was no time to explain, you see. Between my fatal error, Lillian’s false implication, and her blood on the mossy ground, less than a few hours had passed. There was no room to talk my way out, no way to talk her out, no army at our back, and nowhere else to go but… anywhere. And if you know even the loosest concept of anywhere, you know it means little to Oberon.

All I could do was watch as the Green Lord stooped and shouldered the body of a woman much larger than he, and all I could think of was the image of a hardened hunter hauling off a well-earned kill. Her blood trailed down his green shoulders and arms as he looked at me, without words.

“Release her,” I managed, from my broken and pitiful position on my knees. The hot tears that carved down my cheeks felt foreign and terrible. I felt, for the first time in my life, that I might be sick for the fear and grief that ruled my body now. I was no longer an instrument to the music: I had been swept up mercilessly in its unyielding fury.

The Green Lord’s cheek curled in a wry smile. “Set a trap, spring the line, and request from me that which is mine?” Lillian’s form was shifted up higher on the shoulder, and I swallowed back the gag that forced its way into my throat when I heard a bit of blood drip out of her own onto the forest floor. I forced myself to my feet, horribly aware of the soil and plant-life wedged deeply under my fingernails, horribly aware of the dryness of my own mouth and the wetness of my pants as I ignored the quaking in my knees and the sharp metallic flavour of fear on the back of my tongue warning me that my life was in very severe danger. I breathed in as deeply as I could - a shallow and sad attempt at best - but I forced my head high, forced my expression blank, and willed my forsaken knees still. There was music in this nightmare too. There had to be. I just needed to listen.

I looked Oberon in the face. In the eyes. And I said (as if it mattered, which around the Feywild, it very may well):

“Let her go, please.”

And he laughed in my face and disappeared from the forest in I don’t know… a fucking raincloud or something probably.

And he took Lillian with him. He took Lillian. My love, my queen, my hero. My best friend. My only real friend.

The problem - the real problem aside from him murdering my lover in front of my eyes for a crime that was not hers - was that he also took my child. My child that Lillian had only told me about moments before Oberon’s intrusion.

My beloved, and my future: Gone in the time it takes a leaf to fall from a tree.

[fanforged]

qian knows the ebb and flow of the days like her own heartbeat. they all go about their business, the afternoons' tasks drawing constellations across the village, into the fields, down to the water, into their homes. the warriors take to the dojo, and qian can hear the rhythm of maneuvers as she shuffles back and forth between storage and kitchens. she hoists a basket of melon to her hip, and pauses — she isn't alone.

she catches the movement out of the corner of her eye, a figure half - obscured by bushels of plums and cabbages. she lets the fruit topple to the wayside as she lunges forward, graceless but ruthless, and catches the culprit by the wrist.

the excuse falls on unsympathetic ears. if anything, it only causes her to tighten her grasp. " then i suggest you learn something else. "

@thiefed said : it's the only thing i know how to do.

[jinanreona]

@fireandfae​ sent me PAIN AND SUFFERING WTF:

Malleus had asked if he could see his room before he left. An odd request, perhaps, but a simple enough one that no one was likely to refuse when it came from the visiting Crown Prince of the Valley of Thorns.

Now he stood alone in the middle of the suite, absently noting the similarities to the rest of the rooms he’d passed through. The silence, the emptiness they offered was almost a comfort now.  

Moments ago, he had almost startled when he caught sight of Leona’s form as it lay there motionless and draped in funeral fabrics. For the first time, Malleus had seen for himself the weight of time’s hand upon his features. The passing years, which had seemed a mere breath to him, had carved the mark of their passage across Leona’s face.

And he, like an unmoving stone set amongst the ebb and flow of life, was once more left behind.

He shook himself from his thoughts, drawing his cloak closer around him as if the room had grown suddenly cold. The last rays of the sunset cast their light across the floor as he drew near the window to look out over the land. How long he stood there he was not certain, but twilight had just begun to creep over the horizon when the abrupt clatter of glass against the marble floor broke the silence.

Whatever it was that had fallen, he never saw. Nor did he make any move to sweep aside the shards of shattered glass at his feet.

Because as soon as he turned, he found himself staring into Leona’s face. Not the face he had seen mere moments before - a face weary with years, wrinkled with the weight of time. No, this was the Leona that still lingered in his memories. A ghostly, glowing projection of the past hovering directly in front of him.

“Kingscholar.” The word is a whisper, horrified yet entranced.

“How - ?”

His death had come as no surprise. Leona had lived a good, long life, but wasn’t immune to aging and its effects. His declining health could only lead him to meet death, a visit that came one night and stole him away with a final breath.

Rather than be greeted by oblivion though, he found himself waking up once more to the sight of lights and a crowd of people surrounding a coffin. A wake. His own. He could only stare in awe, gaze moving through the familiar faces of his family, the palace staff, and even friends.

His gaze settled on a particular figure that approached his body, blinking in surprise when he realized it was Malleus. The man had hardly aged in all these years, though there was an air of maturity and poise that hadn’t been so evident back in school. Still, Leona hadn’t expected him to attend his funeral, knowing leaving the palace was a near impossible task for the prince. The thought alone was enough to make him smile genuinely for once, observing the other pay his respects before turning to leave. What a guy~

Just as Leona made to look away, he paused when he saw Malleus stop before Cheka, talking to him for a moment before Cheka seemed to agree to something and gesture towards a hallway opposite from where all the guests had entered. It was evident where the other was going, heading down the same hallway that could only lead to Leona’s room. 

Leona felt a tug then, like something trying to pull him away from this scene, this realm as if his brief visit here was ending. He ignored it as he lingered there, watching Malleus’s retreating back as he went down the hallway. Was he... going to his room?

The invisible force seemed to pull him harder this time, his spectral form beginning to slip away. It was only then he began to resist, reaching out towards the hallway through which Malleus had disappeared and pulling against the unseen force with every once of strength left in him. Something seemed to snap and all resistance faded, Leona sent flying forward in a graceless tumble through the air. In a blur he’d flown through the walls and made it to his room, pushing a glass lion off of his bookshelf in the process with a loud smash.

He clicked his tongue at the mess on the floor, briefly glancing down at the shattered pieces before looking up as he felt a shift in the air. Lime eyes stared back at him, making him freeze as he realized the other could see him. Oh... was this another skill of fae? To find ghosts so easily?

Kingscholar. It’s said with such disbelief, a part of him wanting to reach out for the other and offer some semblance of reassurance that it was truly him. He resisted though, not wanting to alarm the other any further.

It didn’t mean he couldn’t at least have some fun with it though. “... Draconia,” he whispered in a low, foreboding tone, slowly raising his hand to gesture towards the dragon. “I have come for thee...” The grave look only lasted a moment longer before the corner of his lips quirk into a slight smirk as he gave an echoing chuckle. “Heh, not bad for my first haunt huh?~” A terrible joke, but the best way he could think to make this situation feel less tense. After all, he hadn’t exactly learned how to talk to someone after becoming a ghost.

His attention fell back to his room, turning to float around it before his attention fell onto his chessboard. “Pretty scandalous to be in my room. Did you miss me that much?~,” he teased, making to grab a chess piece only for his fingers to faze right through it. Ah, right. He couldn’t quite touch anything anymore now could he?

He turned to Malleus, still maintaining his usual lax expression as if he wasn’t a ghost lingering in the plane of the living. “Mind giving a guy a hand? I just needed one more move to finish this game,” he explained motioning for Malleus to come closer as he lingered by the board. 

It was clear he had no intention to address the elephant in the room, not interested in seeing the other mourning his death. Much less address why he was there because well... he himself didn’t know and wasn’t about to question it. If it meant seeing Malleus and the others one last time, who was Leona to rush back to an unknown afterlife.

[ran-orimoto]

I just want one thing. I want you to write a jelous Izumi. I want Izumi to be jelous on someone because Junpei deserves to have at least another woman on him. I know you wouldn’t make it cringe or toxic. I need a fic that makes Junpei like the other Frontier boys. You know that they always say Takuya and co. Are popular and things. Why Junpei can’t have at least someone else? Please. He’s a Senpai! I’m confusing but I hope you can accept... Love your stories. Sometimes I forget you are speaking english in life

{ “Guardatevi dalla gelosia, mio signore” }

Somehow, she had developed a bizarre fascination for the sloppy, graceless way he would express his immense adoration for her recipes.

As soon as he swallowed his first bite with eagerness, seeing him enthusiastically waving his fork, spoon or chopsticks in the air was satisfying, gratifying, extraordinarily flattering, -and she could state he was an incorrigible flatterer by nature, a pretty skilled one-.

He wasn’t obviously a food critic weaving brilliant poetry while eating. He could improvise some opera aria on the spot out of blue, sure, but she couldn’t expect expert comments coming from his full mouth, -speaking about that…He should really stop doing it!-. Nevertheless, his opinions were genuine and sincere: she could trust him if he said the tomato sauce needed more or less salt, if he cautiously suggested she had added way too sugar to the cake dough.

Did she really need anything more than that, especially in those special days their busy lives’ schedules would be able to finally find a meeting point? Moreover, admittedly, she often felt like food would taste much better whenever they shared a table and were sitting next to the other, no matter if she had been the one who had cooked all those delicacies or not.

In truth, though, that night they would have to settle for standing and having dinner near to a long table decorated with traditional venetian meals…Or better, they would have had to, since Junpei was nowhere to be seen, as if he had faded in thin air, which she wasn’t that certain it was possible for someone who was as big as him.

Junpei Shibayama, one of the stars, indeed, the most shining aster of the night, had disappeared after the end of the presentation and all the formalities and applauses that had followed, right during the most interesting part of the event: of course, the buffet dinner.

She had felt a pinch of confusion making her frown, a sort of hunch whispering to her he would have definitely told her if he had needed to go away for a while, go somewhere else to get some air; an excruciating suspicion convincing her to check where he had ended up in. She did know what he was made like, after all!-.

The wind infuriating against the entrance door seemed to be encouraging her tension to keep on hanging onto her senses and muscles, leading her into various rooms of the theatre without success, until she found herself freezing on stairs covered with red velvet, her heels’ ticking abruptly dying.

Growing up, she had had to get used to experiencing the ebbs and flows of friendship. She had learnt how to estabilish meaningful connections with other people and show them kindness, but Digiworld hadn’t really prepared her for whatever could come next: for the consequences, the undesired eventualities bonding with someone would naturally bring along itself, the painful acceptance of a reality in which she wasn’t meant to own a privileged spot in her friends’ heart forever. Sooner or later, other people would slip into their lives and carve a path to the throne she had been sitting on for years; conquer the precious place she had always occupied in their soul. It did hurt, especially whenever she was forced to observe that slow yet dramatic change unfolding before her eyes, but she had also understood it was an inexorable process nobody could really avoid.

Junpei himself hadn’t apparently managed to be nimble enough to dodge the passage of that unbridled boom. He had been thrown into a dark sea from where he was trying swimming away just because he was unexpectedly shy and also a bit scared of being attracted by pitch black depths.

Izumi didn’t think twice before deciding to turn. She acted according to her instincts, following that nagging burning on her cheeks. In order to make it grow fainter, it would have been more logic to follow the direction of the howling bursts, but in front of her, in the middle of the elegant foyer was standing an amiable couple of colleagues, having fun far from the world, far from dishes of baccalà mantecato, sarde in saor, fritto misto and, -how could she have ever forgot those?-, baci in gondola filled with chocolate.

Oh, but she could understand it. She really could. That December in Venice wasn’t sparing anyone, not even the little Fenice Theatre. It was so cold the weakest breath could be seen and touched after having been transformed in condensation. In that wintry scenario it was so desiderable and convenient to stroll in the company of someone dear to you, arm in arm, warming the atmosphere with resounding laughters and loud silences, -which were presumably useful to balance the excessive newborn heat-.

Silence was what fell on her shoulders at that moment too, when she had just brought a foot on the higher, soft step. For an instant, she could only hear the frosty mistral crashing onto the marble, resistant coloumns from outside, as if its gusts were carrying shards of pointy ice.

But then…

“Izumi!”

“Itsumi?”

“In realtà si dice Izumi…”

Izumi turned again in surprise, not only due to that thump that had made her bosom shake. From up to down, she noticed Junpei’s orbs matching her delightful astonishment. It was enough for her to spot the shimmer in them to crack a smile at him. It might have been an imaginary flash, but she had started giving a value to those as well, starting from a random day in which something, something she couldn’t really pinpoint had shifted in her, as undisturbed as a butterfly flapping its wings.

“I have been searching for you!” He exclaimed ignoring the nonsense complaints of the black-haired woman by his side. “Ester wanted to talk a bit and she dragged me here. I’m so hungry now, geez”.

“Non è vero! You didn’t seem that hungry when we were chatting !” The soprano crossed her arms, gesture that highlighted her prominent shapes. She gave a disinterested glance at Izumi, but she grew absolutely indignant when Junpei made their coats’ sleeves part from each other.

He clumsily reached Izumi, a hesitant hop sending his arms around her frame and risking to send her on the floor.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to eat that exquisite fritto misto. L’hai detto,” The woman’s annoyed voice crawled to their ears, failing at bringing Junpei back to her but successfully showing she could speak japanese quite decently. “I’ve tasted it and the shrimps were divine. You said you trusted my words”.

Junpei couldn’t repress a series of chuckles, murmuring from his chest.

“Of course, I did”, He hinted in mischievous amusement.

Izumi didn’t let him continue, though. A palm on a hip, she unconsciously exploited the graceful gait years of modelling had gifted her with. Once much closer to the alluring stranger, she smirked at her with confidence but also with a pinch of courtesy.

“One of the cooks is called Itsumi and wants to thank you very much. Grazie mille. I’m glad you have found my fritto misto to your liking.”

“È-è una dei cuochi…?! Vestita così?!”

It was evident the sparkling green pencil dress she was wearing for the occasion didn’t really emanate the vibes of someone who had been at the hobs, in a quite repulsive sweat bath. The same could be underlined about the lovely knot she had pulled up her silky golden-shaded strings in.

“Yes, she is. And the best one of the crew. Izumi is…Really the number one.”

She heard the wind subsiding all of a sudden, paradoxically delighted by the roar of a thunder.

[ And first prompt has been done ~~~ Thank you, Anon, for the request and also the sweet words. I tried my best not making this cringe or toxic🤣 (I’m laughing, sorry, I know what you meant but it’s too funny), but who knows if I have managed to. Honestly, Junpei is the one I’ve often envisioned in these kinds of situations, but I can’t really seem him being jelous. He’s more like bitter in my stories. Jelousy is a complex sentiment, if you ask me. It has got many shades, many reasons behind its arising, No wonder Shakespeare and Verdi wanted to explore it in their “Othello” and “Otello”.

Actually, that title up there is from Verdi’s “Otello”, taken from Shakespeare’s actual theatrical piece and adapted in an opera context. Who knows, maybe Junpei was going to star in it the following night🤣. I…I know, I know he was, but I didn’t add this detail expliticitly because I didn’t want to be CRINGE.

Thank you again, Anon! I hope you won’t mind if I will publish this on AO3 too. Not every friend of mine is here on Tumblr and they do care about reading this trash. Let me know if it’s okay for you~~~. I’m not even sure if I should make a collection of prompts, since I have already got 7 of them, guys. I would really like to add a title from opera and theatre to each of them. I don’t care if they are not directly connected with the story in general; what matters the most is the main theme!

And before I forget!

• “In realtà si dice Izumi”: “In truth, it’s Izumi”

• “Non è vero”: “It’s not true”

• “L’hai detto”: “You said it”

• “È una dei cuochi? Vestita così?”: “She is one of the cooks?! Dressed like that?!”

Take care, Anon! ]

[grief-worn]

"No, Puck. Not too much. You're never too much." She's able to say this now, when she feels safe, when she feels nurtured. When she has yet to understand what really lurks behind quaint puppy-dog eyes. If she saw the depth of it … if she could understand raw brutality … if she knew him … what would she say?

But, for the time being, she doesn't know, and what she says is that she trusts him.

Shadowheart yawns; a graceless sound, goofy and content. She's shed away all pretense of a devout priestess. He is not sharing a tent with some high and mighty Sharran of the dark, but a woman with droopy eyes and a lazy smile, staring at him as if he holds all of life's answers. As if he would ebb away her deepest fears, and align the world in a way she might finally understand. How bad can things really be when everything that matters sits right here in her bed? Kissing her so sweetly?

"Who's to say what the others will think, though. If I lie and say I fought off a rabid boar, we might still avoid the embarrassment." It's hollow joking on her part. She'd never be embarrassed of this. Of him. Not anymore. If anything, she might choose to flaunt it. Bedding the camp's handsomest bachelor … oh, the looks on all their faces when they find out.

Hands cup both his cheeks, dragging him back down. She molds her lips to his, a kiss still thick with remnants of want. Shadowheart has never labelled herself as greedy, but Puck seems to bring out the worst in her. She doesn't let him pull away, not for several moments. Her teeth catch his bottom lip, nibbling it, then she pries him off, if only to drink in the sight of him for the hundredth time.

"Might not be too late for you. If I place a bruise right here —" A finger to his pulse. "It could still be there by the time breakfast rolls around. And you'll tell everyone you got to fight off a rabid squirrel."

he hums in affirmation, kissing the spot again. and again. oh, all right, just one more time. a smile spreads against her skin as she keeps talking. he likes hearing about things she remembers. (he's kissing her again now ⸻ ) this one, in particular, is a favorite, he thinks. he'd noticed it the night before but did not give it the proper attention it deserved ⸻ a bit pre-occupied between her legs at the time ⸻ so he decided to remedy that upon waking.

her last remark is a tease, he knows, yet he still feels the need to ask, ❝ not too much, i hope . . . ？❞, voice thick & somewhat bashful. too bashful, perhaps, for a man who tends to play as roughly as he does.

faint worry lines crease his brow, then. puck pulls away just enough to scan the length of her frame, searching for deep purple hues left from too-harsh grips or red lines left from teeth & claws. he always tries to trim the latter, but they grow back so fast.

an ugly feeling stirs within him upon finding what he searched for. marks he'd left in his wake. part of him hopes they will stay there forever; the other part diverts his gaze away from them, sifting through hundreds of fears that have built up in his mind. a little bruise today, a chokehold tomorrow, her heart in his hands the day after that.

not that he passed the night unmarked. at least, not at first. she bruised him too; he remembers ⸻ though he knows the evidence has since faded with sleep. his wounds always heal too quickly, something that infuriates him. it may seem a lucky trait to have but not for someone like him. besides, he would have worn last night's scars with pride, given the chance.

he looks up at her face. her heavy-lidded, barely open eyes & equally messy hair wiping worry away, if only for a moment. warmth fills his chest. he likes when shadowheart looks less than polished. when she looks a bit silly. cute.

he leans down to kiss her again, this time on her lips. a warm hand gingerly cups her cheek & the other rests on her neck.

[hallospaceboyy]

Can I request some missy x reader where missy gets jealous of reader spending so much time with the doctor. Missy gets possessive and has to teach reader who she belongs to. Smut ensues.

Your Mistress

Warning for smut. Rough sex, biting, choking, strong language. Missy smut is SO fun to write you should all hit me up with more requests for that lmao

You’ve been travelling with the doctor a little, only occasionally, hadn't really thought that Missy may find this fact disconcerting. You’re fond of both of them – obviously your fondness for Missy is much more, an infatuation, deep affection for her. You relish in the erratic beats of your heart when she's close, the flip of your stomach when she winks at you, the shaky breaths you can’t control at her touch. Your relationship with the doctor is just... simple – and you enjoy that simplicity at times, an uncomplicated friendship, no need to read between the lines.

Missy is reclining in an armchair, with her legs hanging over the side, and she's pouting, been sulky ever since she picked you up. You eye her suspiciously, slightly nervous at her sullen mood. Her blue eyes haven’t met yours once.

“Did you enjoy your little trip with the Doctor yesterday?” She snaps, eyes still fixed on the strange metal device in her hands.

“Um, yeah. It was alright.” You frown, watching her intently.

“Didn't know you were the type to like a little bit of cock on the side.” Her eyes do meet yours now, and there's a glint of mischief there, although her mouth is set in a grim line, eyebrows raised.

You jump up from your chair, mouth agape. “Missy! Don’t be vulgar.” She chuckles cynically at that, rising from her seat, and before you know it, you’re pressed to the wall, her hand grasping at your throat, her body crushing yours. You can't ignore the heat of arousal pooling in your lower abdomen, feel the immediate slickness between your legs. You swallow thickly, eyes never leaving hers.

“Do you need reminding who you belong to, poppet?” Her eyes glint dangerously, and a smirk plays at her lips when you shudder beneath her, releasing the breath you hadn't realised you'd been holding.

“Maybe.” You whisper, and her grip tightens on your throat, and you whimper, eyes fluttering closed.

“Look at me, slut.” She snaps, and you force your eyes open. Her hot breath ghosts your lips, and your tongue flicks out to moisten them, despite the dryness of your mouth. “You’re mine, do you understand?”

“Ye-Yes Missy.” You croak, and she raises a brow.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that, dear?”

“Yes... Mistress.”

She chuckles, low and throaty, and her grip at your throat loosens slightly. Your knees give out when she presses her thigh to your core, her body the only thing holding you up. You release a strangled moan, rutting against her, your jeans suddenly entirely too constricting.

“You are a naughty little pet. Don’t fret, you’ll get what you deserve.” She releases your throat entirely then, and pulls back just enough to tug at your blouse, and buttons litter the ground as she rips it open, revealing your lace bra, and she hums at the sight of your pert nipples poking at the material. She tugs the garment roughly from your shoulders, then leans down at bites hard at your breast through the lace and you arch your back, crying out. Your hands clasp at her shoulders, steadying yourself as she deftly unbutton your jeans and pushes them down your hips.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard that you won't be able to sit for days without thinking of me. That alright with you, pet?” Her eyes peer up to meet yours, and she pulls your bra cup down, swirling her tongue around your nipple, tugging on it with her teeth.

“Yes Mistress.” You moan, bringing one hand to clasp at her hair, and she pushes it away, pressing your hand to the wall with a vice like grip on your wrist. She stops her attentions to your breasts then, bringing her face up and kissing you hard. The kiss is dominant, possessive, and she nips and tugs at your lips, teeth clashing with yours, tongue flicking out to tease at your own before retracting it again, and you mewl against her.

Pulling away, Missy makes quick work of tugging your jeans off entirely, flinging them aside, and then does the same with your undergarments. You lean heavily against the wall, completely bare for her, and her eyes roam your body. You squirm beneath her gaze, breathing heavily through swollen lips.

She surges forward and attaches her lips to your neck, biting and sucking, most certainly marking you with deep purple bruises as her sharp teeth sink into your flesh. You hiss in both pleasure and pain, bucking your hips when her hand cups your sex, fingers caressing at your folds, teasingly light.

“P-Please...” You mumble, eyes drifting shut. You can’t think straight, mind foggy, resorted to mush at her ministrations. You can think of only her – her scent, her warmth, her fingers, her mouth.

Her fingers suddenly press firmly to your clit, and you let out a strangled moan, head hitting the wall with a thump as you throw your head back. You see stars, but you’re too far gone to care, even acknowledge the ache at your skull. “F-Fuck. Missy!”

She pulls away then, fixing you with a glare. “Sorry, who?”

“Mi-Mistress! Please. I need you, please.” Your words are slurred, voice shaky and almost incoherent, and Missy grins devilishly and her hand meets your cunt again, stroking through slick folds. She thrusts two fingers into you hard, and your knees buckle. She presses her body against you, firmly grips your waist, holding you steady. She begins fucking you at a brutal pace, her palm slamming against your sensitive clit with each thrust, and fireworks dance behind your eyes, explosions of white hot colour.

Missy chuckles as you whine and mutter and moan against her neck, and she adds a third finger, twisting them painfully inside of you, curling them deep in your cunt and you bite at her neck, groaning animalistically, and it’s her turn to moan too, this time, as your teeth sink into her pale skin.

Her brutal pace continues, and you're sweating, writhing against the wall, and you can feel the pressure coil within you as pleasure courses through your every limb, but you stiffen, know better than to come without permission.

“Mistress. P-Please can I-" You groan, throwing your head back and panting as she adds a fourth finger, clawing at her back, clutching her jacket. “Come. Please can I come?”

Missy hums against you, nipping at the shell of your ear. “Tell me you're mine, slut.”

“I’m yours! Missy I'm all yours please!” You buck against her hand, and her palm crushes blissfully against your clit as she stops her movements, fingers buried deep in your throbbing cunt.

“Come for me, Y/N.” She whispers, her hot breath tickling your ear, and then her movements begin again, fast, brutal thrusts, and you bite her shoulder, muffling your loud moan as you tip over the edge. “Let me hear you, pet.”

You tilt your head back, crying out, chest heaving, and you cling desperately to the woman, eyes squeezed shut, and the pleasure crashing through you is so intense you feel as if you're going to explode. Missy laughs as she watches you, your deafening sounds filling the room. You go limp against the wall as your orgasm ebbs away, hair stuck to your damp forehead, eyes glassy as they meet Missy's, bright blue, alert, and shining with mirth. Her fingers remain buried deep inside of you, your cunt clamped deliciously around them, and you gasp when she pulls them from you.

She's still pressed to you as she brings her fingers to your mouth, forcing them past your lips, and your eyes stay fixed on hers as you suck on them, and she pushes them as deep as they’ll go, ghosting the back of your throat, and you groan, eyes fluttering closed.

“Such a good little slut.” She pulls her slender fingers from your mouth with a pop, as you continued to suck on them greedily despite her pulling away, and she chuckles. Suddenly, she steps away from you, and your trembling legs give way, and you fall to the floor in a graceless heap, knees bent, thighs pressed to your chest.

She turns from you and falls back into her seat, slinging one leg over the arm, fiddling with the buttons of her deep purple jacket, as if pretending you aren’t there. Shakily, you shift onto all fours, and slowly crawl toward her, and Missy can’t help her eyes shifting to watch you, mouth drying as she takes in your naked form coming closer. You stop to kneel at her feet, and she regards you with dark eyes as you gently push her skirt up her legs. Her brows raise in amusement, eyes flitting to the dark bruises littering your neck and breasts.

“Let me show you just how devoted I am to you, Mistress.” You smirk as she lifts her hips, letting you shove her skirt up completely, and you bite your lip at her shudder as your fingers brush against her clothed cunt. Your nail scrapes against the hood of her clit through her lace panties, and she hums, parting her legs further. You press soft kisses to her core, inhaling the scent of her arousal, and you wriggle your hips as the pleasant ache in your own cunt throbs mercilessly.

[wingedsapphic]

Here Comes a Thought: Gabriel x Female Reader.

ANGST AND SPOILERS FOR SEASON 13

Take a moment to think of just

Flexibility, love, and trust

Take a moment to think of just

Flexibility, love, and trust

Finding out that Gabriel wasn't dead, was a bittersweet moment. Knowing that the charasmatic archangel was alive made you happy, but the state he was in? It was nothing short of heart breaking.

Lips sewn shut, the youngest of the archangel had been tortured for years by Asmodeus. It left the shell of a glorious man for the winchesters and you to help.

You had, ages ago, fallen for the charming yet sad archangel. He confided in you once the fear he had for his family. With brothers who always fought and a father who couldn't have cared any less, Gabriel felt his home was anywhere but home.

Your eyes traced the black writing that was scrawled over the walls. Castiel read out the story of the archangel's life. You couldn't help but keep you (E/C) eyes focused on the trembling archangel. He, in turn, watched you with wide frightened eyes.

You frowned, anger for the Prince of Hell bubbling inside your abdomen.

"Gabe, we have to disinfect your wounds. Your lips are going to get infected." You coaxed, slowly holding out a cotton ball.

Gabriel shook his head with a scared moan, covering his head. He continued to scoot away from you.

You, in response, kneeled down, making yourself smaller, still holding out the cotton ball on the tweezers.

"Gabe, sweetie, I'm going to get a little closer." You said, your voice soft as you approached him.

This seemed to be the last straw for the archangel. You scooted just a bit closer and he snapped, easily overpowering you. He oinned you down, breathing ragged as he held the tweezer at your throat, the sharp ends digging into your neck a bit.

"(Y/N)!" Sam yelled, startling the archangel into realization.

"(Y/N)..." Gabriel muttered, letting the tweezers go, and scooting back to his corner.

"Come on (Y/N), give him some space. You can come back and clean him up later. Lets check those punctures out." Sam placed a hand on your shoulder.

You shrugged him off with a shake of your head. "You wouldn't give up on Dean, or Cass. I'm not giving up on Gabe." You sat up, pulling out a new cotton ball.

You soaked it in the cleaning solution before dabbing it on your own neck.

"See, Gabriel it's okay. It's going to sting, but I promise: there's no more hurt." You said, extending a hand towards the man.

The archangel hesitates before taking your hand. You pull another fresh cotton ball out, and begin to gently dab his wounds. Seeing the bruised puncture holes pissed you off even more. Your other hand curled into an angey fist.

"I'm so sorry Gabriel." Your eyebrows furrowed sadly before you placed a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"I'm here, holler if you need anything. I'll be back tomorrow to check your wounds." You stands up and smile at him before exiting the room.

Here comes a thought

That might alarm you

What someone said

And how it harmed you

Something you did

That failed to be charming

Things that you said are

Suddenly swarming and, oh

Gabriel seemed to be easier to help the next couple of days. He seemed to speak and recover quickly.

With an outfit vhange and even a shower, the old Gabriel shined through the horrible scars left by Asmodeus.

"We can't do this without you Gabriel, we need your help!" Sam let out a frustrated sound.

"Well, sorry. I'm not really a team player." Gabriel says, heading towards the exit of the bunker.

"Dude, seriously?! After all this? You're just going to leave?!" Dean nearly growls out.

You wrap your arms around yourself, Cass reading you easily, comes to comfort you.

"I'd love to, really. But I need to get the hell out of," He's cut off by the geabd entrance of the kentucky fried asshole himself-

Asmodeus .

You're tossed against the wall like a ragdoll, suffocating from the hold the Prince has on you and the boys. Your vision begins to dim and you shoot a pleading glance towards your favorite archangel.

Gabriel's heart hurts at the sight of you, and in a moment of bravery, smites Asmodeus. A confident smirk graces his lips as he then flies away, leaving you panting and frustrated.

You're losing sight

You're losing touch

All these little things seem to matter so much

That they confuse you

That I might lose you

Gabriel asking for revenge was probably the least of your worries. You understood revenge, hell, all of Team Free Will understood it.

You just knew it would leave him more empty than he could even imagine.

However: In order to get the grave needed for the spell, you and the boys eagerly agree to help the archangel for his plot of revenge against Loki and his sons.

Loki selling out Gabriel make your skin crawl. It pissed you off to no end, knowing that someone Gabriel trusted betrayed him so quickly.

Storming the hotel was easy, fighting off the horse-son of a god was less than easy. However between you, Sam and Dean, the young man was quickly disposed of.

Watching Dean run off to meet Loki was a turn, something you hadn't expected. Quickly, Gabriel took off, seeing red, wanting to be the last thing Loki saw.

Hearing flesh torn by wood, you knew the mission had been completed. Gabriel had gotten revenge on everyone who wronged him in the past seven years.

Gabriel seemed okay, honestly more than okay on the outside, however you knew, that couldn't have been the whole truth.

Take a moment remind yourself to

Take a moment and find yourself

Take a moment to ask yourself if

This is how we fall apart?

Back at the bunker, Gabriel headed to his guest room. After a quick debrief with the boys, you went after him, knocking on the door.

"Hey good looking, what can I do for you?" Gabriel asked, a smirk crossing his face.

"How are you feeling Gabe? Truly." You asked, sitting on the edge of his bed.

The vulnerable Gabe you helped heal showed again. The scared man you witnessed was back.

The smirk left his face, a frustrated and sad look crossed his features. You summoned him over. He kneeled between your legs, head finding your lap, and he let how he really feel come out.

Choked sobs left his mouth as he clenched your knees.

But it's not, but it's not, but it's not, but it's not, but it's not

It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay

You've got nothing, got nothing, got nothing, got nothing to fear

I'm here, I'm here, I'm here

"How could he? I understand, he was grieving Odin, but, it's not like I killed him! I didn't know Lucifer was going to be there!" He sobbed out.

"I never planned for Odin to get killed, and he went behind my back and sold me out! I trusted him, I thought I had a real family!" Gabriel manages to choke out before sobs overtook him again.

Your hands gently carded through his hair, whispering softly to comfort the archangel.

"It was hell. I was in HELL! I prayed to Dad, to Micheal, Raphy, hell, even Luci. No one came. Dad let me sit there for seven years. He left me, like he left all his other creations." Gabriel eventually calms, letting you stroke his hair.

He eventually stands back up, noticing the time he awkwardly lays in his bed and pats the spot next to him. "Will you, stay the night?" He asked, voice soft.

You mod with a small smile, cuddling up next to the archangel.

Here comes a thought

That might alarm me

What someone said

And how it harmed me

Something I did

That failed to be charming

Things that I said are

Suddenly swarming and, oh

Gabriel, despite being a nearly graceless archangel, didn't need to sleep. However, as he got used to earthly customs, the youngest archangel grew quite fond of sleeping.

However, he didn't realize that in the darkness, Asmodeus and Loki would be back.

Tossing and turning, Gabriel relives the worst time in his long, everlasting life.

It starles you away, and you begin shaking the archangel, trying to wake him.

This doesn't end well for you, and at a moments notice, you are pinned to the wall, archangel blade against your stomach in a threatening manor.

"Gabe?" You breathe out, gently placing your hands on his shoulders.

He gasps, pulling back and hwading towards the opposite corner.

"Gabriel please, don't shut me out." You begged, slowly sliding back into the bed and patting the space next to you.

He shakes his head, and you can't help the tiredness that ebbs your body back into dreamland.

I'm losing sight

I'm losing touch

All these little things seem to matter so much

That they confuse me

That I might lose me

Take a moment remind yourself to

Take a moment and find yourself

Take a moment and ask yourself if

This is how we fall apart?

But it's not, but it's not, but it's not, but it's not, but it's not

It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay

I've got nothing, got nothing, got nothing, got nothing to fear

I'm here, I'm here, I'm here

When you wake, Gabriel is playing with your hair, his face stained by tears.

"Gabriel, what's wrong?" You cup his face, shifting to face the handsome man.

"I nearly killed you, again. Sugar, you've done nothing but help me and all I do is hurt you. I'm so sorry." He says, tracing your face.

"Gabriel, you have trauma. That's not easy. Trust me, I'm here for it all, the good, bad, and even the ugly. Last night, yeah, you could've killed me, but you didn't! You can't beat yourself up about that. I've already forgiven you. Now, you need to forgive yourself." You cuddle close to him again.

The archangel wraps his arms around you, pulling you close. He kisses your forehead softly.

And it was just a thought, just a thought, just a thought, just a thought, just a thought

It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay

We can watch, we can watch, we can watch, we can watch them go by

From here, from here, from here

"(Y/N) wouldn't want me to run anymore Sam. I'm tired of running, this is my family." Gabriel says. "I'll buy some time." He smiles at the behemoth of a man.

Sam nods, watching you exit with the others. Gabriel takes out his archangel blade, ready to fight Micheal.

It really wasn't much of a fight, but it definitely bought the remaining survivors more time. He couldn't help think of you as the blade sinks into his flesh.

He feels his soul leave his body, and his last thought rings loudly.

"Thank you (Y/N), I love you."

On the other side of the rift you waited. You watched as more humans came through but not Gabriel. As the rift begins to flicker ans fade you feel yourself tear up. You watch as Sam comes through and the rift closes.

"S-Sam. Where's Gabriel?" You ask, dear lacing your voice.

"(Y/N) I- He-,"Sam shakes his head, furrowing his beows in frustration and sadness.

Your eyes widen and you collapse to your knees, sobs wracking your body. The first time he doesn't run away, he dies.

You cry out to nothing and nobody in particular. You curse out God, and Castiel has to remove you from the center of the bunker.

You mourn the loss of Gabriel, again. However, you know that its for real this time, he won't come back, and you'll never hold him close again.

Cass does his best to comfort you, but you lau in Gabriel's guest bed, reading his Enochian wall scrawls. You endlessly pray, and eventually you know.

He is nothing but a memory anymore.

He's just a thought.

Take a moment to think of just

Flexibility, love, and trust

Take a moment to think of just

Flexibility, love, and trust.

[mistwalker-official]

“Graceless Ebb”

New single featuring guest vocals by Aaron Powell (Fog Lake). Due out May 17th.

Mixed / mastered by JL.LV Audio.

[twicebled]

@ravenhung​ SENT OVER LINKSHELL

♡

           o’  blessed  child,  how  long  has  it  been  since  last  you  ran  beside  a  spirit  alike  your  own ?   bones  more  ancient  than  their  host  yearn  for  the  forests  and  company  of  saber — toothed  companions,  feral  and  untamed.   it  is  where  she  belongs,  amidst  wild  forces  of  nature,  ruled  by  naught  but  their  own  whims.   but  the  frozen  south  is  beyond  her  now,  as  are  the  creature  she  once  danced  across  snow — swept  fields  with.   how  many  remain,  she  wonders ?  

         dearest  julian,  he  is  no  leopard  or  even  tiger  —  too  flighty,  she  thinks  —  and  no  rat  would  think  to  approach  the  unknown  as  he  had  done  to  greet  her  that  day.   instead  there  came  a  curious  raven  painted  auburn,  touched  by  fire  and  ash.  what  a  delightful  display !   to  think  such  simple  turn  of  traveler’s  fortune  would  blossom  akin  lone  flower  back  home,  growing  strong  despite  cold  winds  demanding  its  demise.   wayward  miqo’te  knows  not  what  to  make  of  the  northern  cultures,  but  she  knows  what  to  make  of  him.

             the  motions  come  like  breathing,  ingrained  into  her  being  much  like  instincts.  feline’s  light  frame  easily  vaults  over  grand  walls  with  help  of  avian  companion  and  mischievous  claws  make  quick  work  of  a  lock  meant  to  keep  out  ne’er-do-wells.  perhaps  that  is  why  it  yields  with  nay  effort  —  what  harm  is  there  in  a  little  exploration ?   ah.   the  growing  noise  of  a  very  persistent  guard  —  heavy  steps,  graceless  —  tells  of  disagreement  and  remind  a  trickster  of  the  adrenaline  that  makes  it  all  worthwhile.   what  good  is  running  without  a  fool  to  outrun ?  

               the  gate  is  heavy,  even  with  two  bodies  prying  it  open,  and  she  takes  comfort  in  that  as  much  as  she  does  in  raven’s  lithe  form  allowing  him  to  follow  suit  with  little  time  spent.   ( get  a  head  start,  then  slow  your  pursuer.  make  it  difficult.  staying  ahead  means  staying  alive )   a  blur  of  obsidian  passes  by  and  an  equally  dark  but  familiar  shadow  casts  over  her  as  their  way  of  entry  soon  slams  shut  with  combined  effort  and  locking  mechanism  firmly  in  place  like  non  had  ever  touched  it   —  but  not  before  she  gives  a  glance  towards  its  lower  edges,  confirming  lack  of  a  coat  stuck  between.  

                 how  strange  for  a  creature  of  suspicion  to  feel  so  at  home  in  company  of  another.   not  the  home  of  a  bard  amidst  listeners,  but  one  where  tension  is  allowed  to  ebb  from  a  body  before  mismatched  eyes  had  time  to  scout  new  surrounds  for  the  many  ways  she  might  escape  or  distance  herself  if  necessary.   instead,  there  is  only  excitement  —  a  taste  of  bliss,  perhaps  —  of  a  chase  well  done,  like  another  hunt  survived,  even  if  its  danger  was  lesser.    

         and  though  one  might  claim  the  chase  and  subsequent  survival  alongside  cherished  friend  as  its  own  reward,  a  miqo’te  from  the  south  takes  more  gratification  in  allowing  her  ears  their  freedom  by  leaving  a  heavy  hood  to  rest  ‘pon  her  back  without  cause  for  concern.   (  is  it  odd  to  thank  a  man  for  not  paying  mind  to  a  feature  so  foreign  to  his  people?  likely.  but  one  day  she  will. )   they  catch  the  sound  of  laughter,  and  oh  what  lovely  sound  it  is  —  he  should  laugh  more  often.   happiness  suits  him.    

           and  before  dearest  traveler  knows,  own  voice  joins  to  create  chorus  of  amusement  —  her  favourite  form  of  music,  so  full  of  life.   an  old  ache  tells  her  it  is  not  safe  to  stay  here,  urges  carefree  kitten  to  keep  running,  far  away  from  a  door  that  holds  danger  at  bay.   she  tucks  it  away  for  later,  buried  deep  beneath  mirth  and  gratification.   so  occupied  with  thoughts  and  racing  heart  alike,  even  the  most  predictable  action  comes  as  a  surprise,  cutting  off  her  laughter  with  a  short  yelp.

           tall  raven  embraces  small  feline  and  trickster’s  world  becomes  engulfed  in  hues  dancing  betwixt  auburn  and  scarlet,  gaze  struggling  to  decide  whether  to  settle  ‘pon  piercing  insides  of  trademark  jacket  or  fire-touched  tones  of  wild  hair.  and  truth  be  told,  she  does  not  care.  affection  comes  easy  to  her,  always  has.   but  how  often  has  another  deigned  to  offer  such  gestures ?   (  when  was  the  last  time  you  let  anyone  close  enough,  hero ?  )   with  subtle  haste,  in  fear  of  wasting  the  moment,  do  her  arms  reach  around  his  neck  to  hold  beloved  friend  close.  

              she  knows  not  whether  it  was  merely  good  timing  or  intentional,  but  there  comes  silent  gratitude  for  tight  grasp  —  both  her  own  and  his  —  when  solid  ground  disappears  ‘neath  her  boots  and  vision  beyond  leather — clad  avian  begins  to  blur  with  motion.   reflexes  jostle awake,  claws  clutching  onto  his  clothing  like  a  lifeline,  but  the  laughter  that  bubbles  forth  and  fervent  wiggling  of  her  ears  tells  of  naught  but  joy.   it  is  comical  to  think  all  he  needed  to  lift  her  was  straighten  his  posture,  and  there  is  freedom  in  feeling  safe  while  being  spun  around  as  though  weightless.  

           safety.   how  significant  a  word,  one  she  deems  befitting  the  situation.   with  eyes  closed  she  buries  her  face  in  the  crook  of  his  neck  throughout  and  even  after  her  little  rebellion  against  gravity.   the  ground  makes  little  difference.   perhaps  it  is  merely  his  height  compared  to  hers,  or  grand  coat,  but  the  outside  world  seems  so  very  far  now, harmless.   feline’s  grip  loosens  and  leaves  the  raven’s  neck  only  to  weave  around  his  chest  instead  —  as  far  they  can,  anyway  —  burying  herself  into  the  embrace  as  best  she  can,  away  from  everything  else.  

           ❝ Gods,  I  could  hug  you  all  day, ❞    it’s  a  muffled  sound  laced  with  trademark  humor,  although  she  very  much  means  it,  or  would  like  to,  had  she  not  the  mind  to  think  of  the  poor  man’s  back.    ❝ But  perhaps  not  with  a  guard  on  our  tails, ❞    It  is  a  grueling  task  to  lift  her  face  from  its  comfortable  space  at  his  neck  and  her  ears  lie  low,  flicking  only  at  the  sounds  of  a  heavy  gate  being  rattled,  but  disappointment  is  banished  before  it  can  flourish.   instead,  appreciation  finds  jester’s  heart  and  soft  lips  place  a  shameless  kiss  ‘pon  fellow  troublemaker’s  cheek.  

HUG YOUR LOCAL CAT TODAY ! / ACCEPTING !

[thunderheadfred]

“I’m glad to have you with me.” A dire, dire pause. “You must have loved her very much.”

That’s worth a low chuckle. “The way you say that. Did I die without realizing?” He pats down his front; seems corporeal enough.

“Only because... I mean to say... I do not wish to trespass on such a memory. To presume that you and I—”

“Do you think such things only happen once in a lifetime?”

He looks at her: sweetly intentioned, Chantry-corralled, wide-eyed and world-blind. Perhaps she does believe such dreck. That would be like her, lovely and foolish.

He softens. “Maybe... for the unlucky few. But even the Maker’s beloved slept around, you know.” She rolls her eyes and he laughs more genuinely. “Myself? I have loved so many...” A barefaced lie, but he waves it away, as if the number is not worth counting, and leers, “Made love to so many more.”

She chokes on that. “But your past... With all those cruel people around you...”

“Never forget, I am one of those cruel people.” He flexes his heels; squelching the fine Antivan leather boots she’d gifted him straight into a pat of shit-brown Ferelden mud. She sours, a tragic look on her face that means she is about to earnestly declare he isn’t like the rest, not really, because he’s different. He cuts her off before she can try.

“My darling, it takes a lot of filth to make a little finery. Should beautiful things be called less precious because of the ugly necessities of their making? How it must trouble you, knowing I am so very, very beautiful...”

He cocks his brow but gets no reward: no blush or stammer or averted glance. For several long, studious moments, she considers his feet. Eventually, with a graceless crunch of wet bark and lichen, she slides toward his side of the log. Her small, cold fingers curl around his elbow, her cheek sinks against his shoulder. Deliberately, she hooks one toe behind his ankle and grounds his hostile, unconscious twitching.

”You are more than beautiful,” she whispers.

Feeling every bone in his neck, he lowers his head to hers, and sits with her until the fire ebbs to ash and embers.

[unityghost]

Perception

Promised my readers a holiday-themed installment of Post-Asmodeus Sabriel Feels. Sorry it's a little late; I, too, wound up at a Christmas party and got distracted by a dinner comprised entirely of black coffee and homemade M&M cookies.

As I've said before, this series isn't always in order. If there's a special part of the story or a request or something, I'll jump forward or back in time. This takes place just a year after Gabriel's rescue (which I always figured took place in the fall, but I'm not fastidious about the timeline).

Anyway, happy holidays and thanks for reading!

Gabriel really thought he’d been ready. But the air was thick with perfume, spices, meat, wine - and he needed to find an exit.

Mary Winchester’s friends were throwing a holiday party several miles north of the Men of Letters bunker. Just over a year had passed since Gabriel’s rescue from Hell, and he’d insisted to Sam - who had shown skepticism - that he could handle a crowd, and that he would probably enjoy seeing somewhere new. After all, Gabriel had accompanied them on a few hunts here and there and, for the most part, been fine.

Except that that was partly because his grace was now often at full strength. When Gabriel had enough of it on hand, he could shut out smells and sounds that drudged up bad memories. And while it was harder to ignore things that he could see in front of him, his grace gave him access to a clearer head and more self-control.

Yet even as his grace remained mostly steady, there were days when it fluctuated for no apparent reason. Gabriel had had moments when he would try and protect himself against things that upset him, only to find that he couldn’t. Inevitably, now and again he was compelled to eat to maintain his grace levels, or to get a few hours of rest.

After almost a thousand years of having it clawed out of him, perhaps Gabriel should have expected this quasi-gracelessness - this never knowing whether he would be at full power, or some power, or no power. But he’d been so desperate to get his grace back that he hadn’t once stopped to think that it might not be the same as it had been before.

It was exhausting. He simply wanted the random ebb and flow of grace to stop - even if it meant leaving him with no grace at all. That was better than wanting his grace and sometimes having access to it, then having it torn out of his grasp within a matter of hours.

Now, swallowed up by the crowd of strangers, he wove his way towards the door, all the while snatching glimpses of unfamiliar forms and faces. The Christmas jazz playing in the background flowed in and out of his ears - a brass rendition of Hark, the Herald Angels Sing.

It suddenly struck him that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d sung anything. He had once had a good voice, but hated to think what centuries of silence might have done to it.

“Gabriel?”

Gabriel jumped and whirled around, but relaxed when he saw who it was. “Cas. What’s up?”

Castiel frowned. “Are you going somewhere?”

“No - I just needed a second of the outside world, that’s all.”

“Is something wrong?”

Gabriel waved a dismissive hand. “My grace is acting up. I was feeling a little too warm.”

Castiel looked closely at him. “Then why are you so white?”

“Oh my god Castiel, you can’t just ask people why they’re white.”

Cas looked at him blankly.

“Ask Dean; he loves that movie. Anyway, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“May I come with you?”

Taken off-guard, Gabriel considered. One he got outside, he wasn’t sure what to expect from himself: there were things he may not want Castiel to see. On the other hand, Castiel had already witnessed some of Gabriel’s darkest moments, so perhaps there was no good reason to resist.

“All right,” said Gabriel. “Let’s go.”

They pushed through the remainder of the crowd, and Castiel opened the front door so that they could step outside together. Gabriel immediately regretted leaving his coat behind - he’d brought it to the gathering because iffy grace made him sensitive to cold - but didn’t dare go back inside to retrieve it.

“May I touch you?” Castiel asked.

Gabriel cast him a quizzical glance. “Okay.”

Castiel laid a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder and squeezed it. “I can tell something’s bothering you.”

Gabriel looked away. “Long night. Funky grace. Leaves me feeling kind of antsy.”

“No, I recognize the look on your face. Something’s upset you.”

Gabriel swallowed.

“Tell me,” Castiel said softly.

Gabriel’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t know, Cas; I - there’s this feeling I get, this awful feeling. It screws with how I see the whole world. It makes things seem … perverted. Dark. Sick. People, places, whatever's in front of me. And it happens when I get wound up because of some stupid noise or smell or whatever. So I just … I needed to come out here and cool off.”

Castiel clutched his shoulder more firmly. “What made you feel that way just now?”

Gabriel’s stomach turned. “Don’t. Don’t make me talk about it.”

“Gabriel, if - ”

“Guys?”

They both looked up to find Sam leaning out the door, looking puzzled.

“Hello, Sam,” Castiel acknowledged.

“What’re you doing out here? I saw you heading toward the door and tried to follow but, uh …” He stepped outside and shut the door behind him. “One of Mom’s friends had a few too many glasses of champagne and was getting a little close for comfort.”

“Gross,” said Gabriel.

“Why are you out here?”

“Gabriel was feeling uneasy,” Cas explained before Gabriel could respond.

Sam’s face fell. “What happened?”

“I, uh …” Gabriel scratched the back of his neck. “Thought I’d clear my head. Nothing crazy.” Except me, he added silently.

Sam stepped closer, examining him. “You look like you’re going to puke.”

“I’m not. Seriously - just a few minutes and I’ll be okay. Now get back inside; Mary’s bachelorettes are waiting for you.”

“No, I think I’m having more fun out here.”

“Then Cas, go check on Dean and make sure he doesn’t need a liver transplant. At least one of you needs to be off angel-sitting duty.”

Castiel glanced between the two of them before meeting Sam’s gaze, and Gabriel recognized their unspoken agreement: He needs you, Sam, but I’m close by if you need me.

Gabriel’s insides twisted with guilt.

Castiel went back into the house and Sam, who’d had the sense to wear a coat, turned back to Gabriel. “So you weren’t up for it after all, I guess.”

“Welp,” said Gabriel, “I’m big enough to admit when I’m wrong. Normal life is beyond my league. Why’d you even listen to me in the first place? Clearly my judgment’s every bit as whacked out as I am.”

“What’s going on?”

Gabriel sighed, looking away. “My grace is wonky tonight. So I couldn’t block out all the smells and the music and the voices and I ... I started to feel sick.”

Sam nodded. “You want me to tell Dean and Cas it’s time to head out?”

“No way! Let them have their fun. Ignore me and my passive-aggressive constitution.”

“All right. How are you feeling now?”

Gabriel hesitated, and considered telling Sam that he felt better. But Sam had a frustratingly keen eye for the truth, so perhaps it wasn’t worth the effort. “Pretty bent out of shape, I guess. I … it’s that gross feeling I get where everything seems …”

“I think you’ve described it as ‘grotesque.’”

“Yeah. That.”

“Huh.” Sam thought. “You want me to ride it out with you?”

Gabriel shrugged.

“You know I don’t mind,” Sam insisted. “Especially with Lorelei in there trying to get me into the corner.”

“If you want to.” A gust of wind whipped against Gabriel’s face, speckling it with snow.

“You’re freezing,” Sam observed. “What happened to your - ”

“Inside.”

“I can go get it for you.”

Now that Sam had offered to stay, Gabriel squirmed at the notion of being left on his own again. “No. Don’t. I have a nice cozy sweater.”

“A sweater and limited grace.” Sam shrugged off his own jacket and offered it to Gabriel.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a martyr. The last thing I need on my conscience is a Samsicle.”

“Take it,” Sam insisted. “Even at full stock you haven’t gained enough weight to keep you warm. I have three times the insulation you do. Here.”

“You’re annoying,” Gabriel replied, but accepted the coat and slipped it on. It was like being draped in a duvet. “Good, this’ll bulk me up a solid ten pounds.”

“Gabriel,” said Sam, “Why didn’t you come find me?”

“Obviously because you were busy getting it on with Lorelei.”

“I’m serious; what made you decide to run out into the cold by yourself?”

Gabriel shifted his feet on the damp driveway. “I don’t know. I guess … I guess I started to panic a little. For a second there I thought I would vomit on some innocent partygoer. And I’m not interested in looking like the town drunk.”

“What about now?”

“Now? I just feel stupid.”

“What else?”

“I don’t know, Sigmund. Just overall pretty disgusting.”

“It’ll pass.” Sam tried to sound reassuring, but Gabriel could hear the concern underneath.

“I could feel it coming on all night,” Gabriel admitted, lowering his gaze to his feet. “But I was hoping it’d wear off once I got used to being here.” He shivered, huddled inside Sam’s jacket, trying to quell the nausea raking at his throat. “I really thought I was on my way out of this. And my grace … sometimes it fluctuates by the hour.”

“I know. Give it some time. I’m sure it’ll get back to normal sooner or later.”

“Yeah, well, hopefully in less than another eight and a half centuries.”

“Your grace is stronger than that.”

“Maybe. Used to be, anyway.” Gabriel looked up, watching the snow swirl down more heavily. It made him dizzy. “Sam?”

“Yeah?”

Gabriel’s voice trembled. “It’s not letting up. I feel …”

Sam reached out and touched his shoulder. “Is it something particular or you can’t really figure it out?”

“They were about to have a whole feast in there. The meat, it’s … you know.”

“Right. I remember.”

One of the lowest points of recovery, at least in Gabriel’s mind, had been set off by the powerful odor of Dean’s lamb recipe. Gabriel’s response was to lose awareness of his surroundings so that Sam practically had to drag him out of the kitchen. Secure in Sam’s bedroom, Gabriel had admitted to confessing in detail how Asmodeus had torn out his viscera and forced it down his throat. Once the truth was in the open, Gabriel lapsed into a fit of panic. The only good to come out of that episode had been an increased faith in Sam’s willingness to deal with Gabriel at his worst.

“And,” Gabriel went on, still avoiding eye contact, “There was perfume all over the place, and body heat, and … I just couldn’t stay in there.”

Sam creased his brow. “Perfume bothers you?”

“Hell has a robust inventory of succubi. And they smell like rose gardens until it comes time to rip their victims open and you can just about tastethe shredded organs in the air.” He struggled to get a full breath. “Being surrounded by all those people I didn’t know … everyone close enough to touch … the music …” He grimaced. “I don’t know what it was about the music. Reminded me of better days and somehow made everything worse at the same time. So all of that and now I feel like I’m not here.”

“No, hey, you’re okay.” Sam spoke gently. “Nothing is going to hurt you, Gabriel.”

Gabriel closed his eyes. “That was too much.”

“Yeah, I know, but we’re outside now.”

“It isn’t going away on its own; it - sometimes it last for hours. I can’t do that tonight. I can’t. Not again.” Gabriel opened his eyes and hugged himself, a protective reflex that still refused to die even after all this time.

“Then let me help,” Sam answered. “What can I do to keep you from getting caught up in that feeling, Gabriel? Here - ” Sam reached down and took Gabriel’s hand. “That feels safe, right? It doesn’t feel like that messed-up world you see around you, does it?”

Gabriel looked down at their hands. His was small and pale. “No.”

“Good. So. I want you to focus on that, all right? Just hold on. You’ll get both feet in the present, I promise.”

Gabriel nodded.

“And if you don’t think you can do anything about it, that’s okay too. All right? No one’s mad. No one’s going to be angry if you have a little trouble keeping it together.”

“Okay.”

There were a few moments of quiet. Then Gabriel said, “I feel sick.”

“You haven’t had anything to eat over the last few days. Your grace was fine, right?”

Gabriel shook his head, suddenly feeling panicked. “Yeah, well, now it isn’t. And I think I have to throw up. Crap Sam, I’m sorry - ”

“No, no, hey, we’ve talked about that. It’s all right.”

Gabriel let go of Sam’s hand to bend double over the snowy pavement. “You’re supposed to be inside enjoying yourself. And I - ”

“Calm down,” Sam placed a hand on Gabriel’s back. “Just calm down.”

Gabriel spat onto the pavement, trembling. Once he began gagging he found that Sam was right: there was nothing in his stomach except bile. Once he got that out, he retched over and over, bringing up nothing; and yet his body was desperate for release, for proof that some part of him was not locked in place.

“Easy, Gabe,” Sam said softly.

Gabriel heaved again, then grated out, “Sorry. Gross and pointless.”

“Don’t talk about Dean that way.”

Gabriel didn’t smile. “That hurt like a bitch.”

“Because you had nothing to throw up.”

“In that case I shouldn’t have been sick to my stomach in the first place.” Tremulously, he straightened back up. “But I guess psychosis doesn’t play fair, does it?”

“You’re not psychotic, Gabriel. It makes sense that you’d get scared by something that’s indicated a real threat before.”

“Sam, I - ” Gabriel huddled deeper inside Sam’s coat, trying to keep warm but also making a vague attempt to hide. “Sometimes I think - I think I’m borderline hallucinating.”

Sam frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Like …” Gabriel tried to figure out just how he wanted to explain. “Like sometimes I think he’s in the room with me. Feels like he’s standing there. My skin crawls, Sam. As if he’s breathing down my neck.” He shook his head. “But of course it’s always just my mind playing filthy tricks.”

“Gabriel, that still doesn’t sound anywhere near psychotic. You’re just on edge all the time because you weren’t allowed to let your guard down when you were with Asmodeus. It’ll go away. I used to get that too - Lucifer standing right next to me.”

But Sam looked uncertain, and Gabriel knew what he was thinking: things were different now, because eventually Lucifer really was at his side.

“I don’t know,” Gabriel went on, trying not to think about how Asmodeus, too, could come back to him. “Maybe it’ll stop someday. Maybe my grace’ll return. Maybe Castiel will learn how to play Cards Against Humanity without trying to be logical instead of hilarious. Who cares anymore, Sam? You guys - you’re lucky. Lucky you have such short lives. Must make things a hell of a lot easier.”

There was a long silence, broken only by a harsh gust of wind and a burst of laughter from inside the house.

“Whoops,” said Gabriel.

Sam took a deep, slow breath, then exhaled a silvery cloud of air.

“What can I say to deflect a diatribe?” asked Gabriel.

Sam didn’t reply, and Gabriel couldn’t read his expression.

“Maybe you should go back in,” Gabriel suggested.

But instead, Sam spoke. His voice was low, almost foreboding. “I thought you’d moved on from that. But I guess you just haven’t brought it up.”

Gabriel stiffened. “Well, it doesn’t exactly make for uplifting conversation.”

“And how many of our conversations qualify as ‘uplifting’?”

Gabriel shrugged. “You take a very zen approach to most things. ‘You’ll get better.’ ‘Nothing is permanent.’ ‘Be patient with yourself.’ So I’m pretty sure you go for uplifting. But me? I’m hopeless, Sam. We both know that; I’ve said it before and I’ll keep saying it until one of us dies.”

“Gabriel, you just have to wait for your grace to - ”

“Even if my grace levels even out, there’s no guarantee that the rest of this won’t last forever. And you, your brother, your mom - every one of you has a definite end. For me, the only surefire stopping point is an archangel blade where it hurts.”

Sam’s eyes brightened with terror. “I can’t have you thinking that way.”

“Me neither.” The calmness of Gabriel’s voice surprised even him. “That’s the problem. It’s torture, Sam. Sometimes I think I’m no better off without Asmodeus than with him. The only difference is at least when I was down there, I got what I deserved. But pulling the emergency brakes would be a double win: I get what’s coming to me, and after that I don’t even have to think about it.”

Reflexively, because he didn’t want to watch Sam’s reaction, Gabriel turned away and stared into the snowfall, letting his eyes trace the patterns of individual flakes as they fell to the ground.

As a full minute went by without a response, Gabriel realized that Sam must be furious. In the past, Sam had reacted with rage to such words.

Gabriel’s heartbeat picked up, and he felt dangerously close to another round of dry-heaving. Was it really a good idea to stay facing away from Sam? Should Gabriel even try to defend himself? After all, what was the point of protection when his behavior - his entire existence - warranted every moment of whatever was coming next?

Gabriel whimpered, body tight with anticipation.

But when nothing happened, when the silence stretched on, he slowly turned around.

“Sam!” Gabriel was so startled that he forgot to be afraid. “Sam, what the hell?”

Sam didn’t say anything, just stood still and watched Gabriel through eyes flooded with tears.

Gabriel stared in horror. “Sam?”

“What am I supposed to expect from you, Gabriel?” Sam’s voice was strangled. “Am I just supposed to start bracing myself for a dead body every time I step into your room?”

Gabriel shrunk away. “I guess not as long as you keep the blade locked somewhere I can’t find it.”

Sam snorted. “Oh yeah? Sure sounds like you’re determined to find it one way or another.”

“I’m not! I just …”

When Gabriel didn’t continue, Sam’s gaze hardened. “You just what?”

Gabriel felt a sudden urge to dart away from Sam, into the liberty of darkness; into a gaping, unfamiliar space; into dangers he knew should have already been thrown in his path; into a broad, cold world in which he would never have to make anyone look at him ever again. “I just … sort of keep my eyes open for it.”

Sam gritted his teeth. “You don’t need me to tell you that it amounts to the same thing! Besides, Gabriel - where’s the line? When does ‘I just keep my eyes open’ become ‘sometimes I move things out of the way to see if the blade’s there’? You’re not going to realize when this changes into something you can't stop. And I won’t see it until it’s too late because you won’t let me! You know what’s gonna happen? What’s gonna happen is you’re going to let this grow and grow until one day you look at it and realize it’s not the ‘maybe’ that you used to play around with.”

Gabriel took a step back, terrified by the light in Sam’s eyes. “Sam, you’re wrong; it’s not the same thing. This - this is a more, ah ... casual approach.”

“Well then how about no approach, Gabriel? What do you expect me to do with this? Am I gonna have to put you on lockdown just to make sure you don’t throw a whole year of work down the toilet?”

Gabriel gave a choked cry. “No, don’t lock me up. Don’t. Don’t do that, please. You haven’t wasted your time, Sam; I promise you haven’t - I’m still working on - ”

“It’s not my time, Gabriel; it’s yours! You gave just as much as I did and I know you know that! Somewhere in you, some part of you that Asmodeus never touched, you know that!”

From within the house, the Christmas music grew louder. God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen.

Gabriel lowered his head and clutched his hair in both fists.

“Gabriel, say something!” Sam snapped. “Or I’m taking you back to the bunker now whether you want me to or not!”

“Sam, stop,” Gabriel whimpered.

“Then tell me what you expect me to do with what you just told me!”

Gabriel tightened his grip. “No, stop! Sam, I believe you!”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not! I have no reason not to trust you on this! You’ve never given me any reason not to trust you!” His breathing quickened and he could feel tears forming in his own eyes as he made a frantic attempt to deflect Sam’s rage. “I’m sorry I don’t trust you. That’s on me. Because I don’t know how to trust you. I don’t trust anyone; I can’t. But if you think Asmodeus didn’t totally demolish me, maybe - maybe you’re right; I don’t know.” He let out a sob. “I’m trying, Sam! I’m really trying!”

Sam shook his head. “If you’re trying, how can you still be on the hunt for the blade?”

“I’m trying not to be!”

“Then why haven’t you told me what’s going through your head?”

“Because I keep hoping it’ll go away!” Gabriel began to cry more forcefully, still clutching his hair. “I’m sorry, Sam! I’m not expecting you to fix what’s wrong with me, but I’m not ready for you to change your mind. I know, I know, Sam, that I have no right to make you into the difference between me trying and me giving up, but - ” Gabriel let his hands slide from his hair to cover his face. “But you are.”

He felt Sam studying him from a few feet away. It was like being stripped, not quite in the way Asmodeus had done it but more as though someone were searching him for a bruise or infection.

“Gabriel.”

This time, when Gabriel looked into Sam’s face, he saw more resolve - more of the firm conviction that Gabriel could and would escape the worst possible damage.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Sam’s voice was quiet and gentle now. “So I guess neither are you.”

Gabriel thought of all the reasons Sam would choose not to stay and help - thought of all the blunders that might lead to the same penalties inflicted every time Asmodeus spotted the wrong movement, heard the wrong turn of phrase, spotted the wrong place to stand or sit or lie down; thought of how Sam was standing in a sweater, snowflakes gathering in his hair, while Gabriel had not earned the privilege of warmth.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Sam said, interrupting his thoughts. “I just don’t want you to do anything to yourself. I don’t want you to hide from me, Gabriel. Because the longer you stow it away like this, the bigger it’s going to get. The harder it’ll be to move past it. So I’m not going to punish you if you let me know you’re feeling like you might do something serious, okay? I won’t. But you have to give someone a heads up. Even if you don’t want to.” He paused. “Especially if you don’t want to.”

Gabriel lowered his face again, letting the tears freeze against his cheeks.

“It’s cold,” Sam pointed out.

Immediately, Gabriel started to wriggle of out Sam’s coat.

Sam grabbed his wrist. “I’m fine. I just noticed that you were shivering.”

Gabriel shook his head. “That’s not why.”

“Oh. Got it. Okay, let me help.”

Gabriel didn’t try to fight when Sam pulled him into a hard, warm grip. It was strange to feel the snow at his back and the gentle beat of Sam’s heart against his ear. He trembled, letting the fear and the shame envelop him and no longer trying to force down the sense that he was still with Asmodeus.

As though reading his mind, Sam said, “You’re right here. I’m right here. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

Gabriel sucked in a jerky breath. “Takes - takes just a little Christmas cheer and suddenly I’m a basket case with no eggs in my basket.”

“Hey, I think you’ve still got one or two.”

“No thanks to me.”

Sam squeezed tighter.

“Flaky grace,” Gabriel murmured. “It’s a bitch.”

“It’ll get back to normal.”

“But how long am I going to have to wait?”

“I guess there’s no telling. Just let it go at its own pace.” Sam made to pull away, but Gabriel held on.

“Don’t,” Gabriel moaned. “Don’t do that.”

“Okay.” Sam pulled him close again. “Okay, sorry. I’m right here.”

Gabriel shut his eyes again. He could have fallen asleep standing up. This, being held like this, might be the only way to stop the nightmares.

“I hate being so freakin’ scared,” Gabriel said thickly. “It’s like a house of horrors. I wish I could describe it better, but I don’t know how to explain what a bad dream feels like. No control. No escape. This riles me up in a way nothing else can.”

“Ssh, it’s okay. Just let yourself breathe. Let it wear off.”

Gabriel turned his head so that his face was buried in Sam’s chest. He was long past caring about humiliating himself. “I can’t take this. I need it to stop.”

“I know,” Sam said softly. “I know, Gabriel. Let’s wait for it to quiet down together.”

“I think I’m going to start throwing up again.”

“No you’re not. Hold onto me, okay? Just focus on that. Block out everything else and just try to feel safe.”

Before Gabriel could reply, the door opened once more and Castiel stepped outside. “Sam, is everything all right?”

“We’re okay,” Sam said.

“How is he?”

“Taking a breather.”

“Does he need to lie down?”

Gabriel jerked his head up. “No.” He didn’t want to go inside.

Castiel looked him up and down, then nodded. “It’s late. Gabriel, if your grace is low, you must be tired. Let’s go back to the bunker.”

“That’s true,” Sam muttered to Gabriel. “It’s at least ten o’ clock and it takes three hours to get home even when it’s not snowing.”

“All right.” Gabriel’s voice was hoarse.

This time, when Sam released him, Gabriel didn’t try to hold on.

“You’re with us, right?” Sam asked under his breath. “You’re here?”

“Mostly.”

Sam turned to Castiel. “How far gone is my brother? I’m going to to stay in the back with Gabriel, so you’ll have to drive if Dean can’t.”

“Dean doesn’t want anyone else at the wheel even in the best of circumstances. The second he saw the snow, he decided it was better to refrain from overindulgence.”

“You ever want to see Dean exercise self-control, just threaten him with his car.”

“I’ll find him. Wait here.”

Once Castiel had gone back in, Gabriel collapsed against Sam again.

“Hey,” said Sam, surprised, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Sam,” Gabriel replied. “I’m just sorry I thought I could do this. I wasn’t ready.”

“It’s okay. You tried.”

“I took you away from all the fun.”

“You took me away from a swarm of people I’ve never met and who I’ll probably never see again. The only time I’d do that voluntarily is if I were on a case. And besides, you know I want to help you.”

“I know.”

“Do you actually?”

“I’m not sure. But like I said, I’m trying.”

There were a few moments of silence, and only as the door re-opened to usher Dean and Castiel back into the snowy darkness did Sam answer, “I believe you.”

[bloodthirstymoonstone]

@ Valter dying of course: "Die as you lived - pathetically."

RIP

Valter had heard tell of the ferocity of the Wolf Tribe from this faraway land called Tellius. He’d even heard whispers that they might try to avenge the poor, mangled birdy after their earlier… “confrontation”. 

He hadn’t expected the horse-sized beast to come hurling at him from the shadows late one night as he paced the halls like he always did. Jaws snapping like a vice around his neck, blood soon staining his clothes and the floors around him. It wasn’t even a fight. He thrust the Lance behind him, where he guessed her vitals might be, but every time she saw him preparing a strike, she’d skip backwards away from him, only to dive back in to deliver another punishing bite. He… was losing.

He couldn’t even look up any longer, face down in a pool of his own blood, slowly feeling the life ebb away, but feeling powerless to stop it. Past the snarling of the oversized canine, he heard footsteps, and a familiar radiant aura approached him.

“Die as you lived – pathetically.”

His prey… Come back to mock him during his graceless demise. He couldn’t even shoot the Heron a contemptuous glare. All he could do was growl quietly, the noise coming out in sickening gurgles. He should have finished what he started all that time ago… That was truly his only regret.

He didn’t even hear the sickening crunch that finally severed his spine and sealed his fate. He crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

[amirosebooks]

Destiel / SPN Fics by Amirosebooks

This is crossposted to my Pillowfort page (same username as here) where you can actually see the links to the fics. Or you can find them on my AO3 page (also the same username). I’m not abandoning my Tumblr yet, but I will start sharing more things over on Pillowfort and will, eventually, likely migrate there entirely.

❤ Ami

A Chance G · 1,800 Words Getting together · Valentine’s Day fic · Fluff

For the DeanCas Writing Challenge September 2018. Prompt "I would be lucky to even have a chance with you.”

❤ The Rewatch T · 2,100 Words Bi!Dean  · John Winchester’s A+ Parenting  · Homophobia  · Background Femslash  · Charlie Bradbury Lives · Angst & Fluff

Based on the prompt "H-How long have you been standing there?"

Dean's is having a shitty day, a shitty week even. He ran into one of his exes unexpectedly and needs some time to himself to decompress. He retires to The Dean Cave to rewatch one of his favorite movies, hoping it will distract him from his memories. (It doesn't.)

They Were Going To Die Here T · 2,000 Words Kidnapped Dean & Cas · Love Confessions · Whump

Based on the prompt: "I told you not to fall in love with me."

Dean and Cas were captured weeks ago and are starting to lose hope of making it out alive. Somehow I'm not convinced Dean would be having a blaze of glory conversation with Cas in that situation with him instead of Sam.

Goop G · 2,000 Words Team Free Will · Destiel if you squint a lot · Goo · Comedy

Written for the Seasons fan fiction anthology. This story is from the Summer section which was intended to cover themes like: freedom, laughter, fun; sunshine, hot days; swimming, sunburns; slow, lazy, relaxed; contentment; flourishing growth, childhood; no regrets or second thoughts; unreality; disconnected from the darkness of “real life”; the prime of life; Fourth of July, Stanford, vacation from school.

I opted for writing a quick story celebrating a happy, ridiculous Team Free Will at its finest on a hunt sort of moment. I've been told by my main beta that the subject matter (witch guts) is sort of gross so keep that in mind.

The Orb T · 1,300 Words Team Free Will · Sammy Knows · Lovecraftian Monsters · Goo · Comedy

From the prompt: "You're lucky you're cute."

Cas brings a strange souvenir back from a hunt.

Band T-Shirts T · 2,500 Words Team Free Will · Domestic Fluff and Crack · Post Season 13 · Cas Gets A New Wardrobe · Agent Beyoncé References

From this prompt: There's a sort of standard fanon idea that when Cas becomes human, he borrows Dean's clothes for a while, and then eventually the brothers take him to Good Will or wherever for his own clothes.

I want to see that shopping trip. Basically just an excuse for fun shenanigans in a thrift store. I was thinking very new relationship for Dean and Cas, early days. Bonus points if Sam and Dean have some kind of game they've been playing in thrift stores across the country since they were kids, and if Cas comes up with some super goofy outfits. :D

❤ Forgetting Your Blues M · 3,500 Words Temporary Canonical Character Death · Post Season 12 · Fluff and Angst · Getting Together · Fix-It Fic · Openly Bisexual Dean Winchester

Dean Jones doesn't know his real name. He woke up on a public park bench a few months back with an empty wallet and a driver's license listing the name Dean Jones with his picture. The name doesn't feel right on his tongue, but he doesn't remember what part is wrong. The cop who found him in the park got Dean a job in a local diner. The diner feels comfortable to Dean. He understands the rhythm of the place, the ebb and flow of the people and food, even if he's clearly never carried a tray of hot plates in his life. He settles into his new life. He makes new friends. He takes beautiful women and men and people to his bed for comfort on long nights. He has nightmares about blood covering his hands. Who is he? Why has no one come looking for him? What has he done? Why did he fall apart when he saw a guy wearing a tan trenchcoat?

Letters To Ghosts Not Rated · 2,400 Words Temporary Canonical Character Death · Post Season 12 · The Mixtape · Season 13 Coda · Angst With A Happy Ending · Grieving Dean

All Dean wanted was a cup of coffee. What he got instead was a whole bunch of feelings and a raincheck he might never get to cash in.

❤ Humanity’s Angels E · 93,000 Words Case Fic · Canon Divergent Season 12 Fic · Bi!Dean · John Winchester’s A+ Parenting · Team Everyone Switches · Past Rape/Non-Con · BiPhobia · Canon-Typical Violence · Side Original Characters OT3 · Background Saileen · Jealous!Dean

To get their minds off of Kelly Kline, Lucifer, and the BMOL, Dean and Sam take a case in Northern Arizona where a rogue angel was seen flashing his wings at a film festival and ranting about blasphemy. They quickly realize that there might be more to this case than they’d initially thought. The angel fits all the characteristics of being a ghost—EMF readings, see-through body, air chilling ability, and all. A local man is found with his eyes burned out like he was the victim of a smiting keeps them in town after salting and burning the angel’s buried vessel in hopes of dispelling his ghost. Between all of this, Dean is finding it hard to keep his feelings for Cas under wraps. Especially when everywhere he looks and everyone he talks to reminds him of how much energy he’s spent hiding his sexuality from his family over the years. Will watching the ghost angel’s grieving best friend mourn the loss of the angel he’d loved spur Dean into confessing his own feelings before it’s too late? Will an angel from Cas's past be able to succeed where Ishim failed? Who the hell has Sam been texting? Will someone please tell Mary what the hell is going on with her sons? Will any of Team Free Will learn to use their damn words?

❤ Hands On Me E · 2,300 Words Bi!Dean · Masturbation · Car Sex · Voyeurism

Dean just finished working a case by himself and was on his way to meet Sam and Eileen a few states away when he pulled over for the night. All Dean wanted was to grab a few hours of sleep in Baby before he had to leave again. His wandering mind had other plans.

This Feeling I Can’t Change G · 2,400 Words Hurt/Comfort · Pining · Season 9 · Graceless Cas · Canon Typical Not Getting Together Moments

Set during season 9 with graceless!Cas and hurt!Dean. An almost first kiss, some pining and feelings.

Cobbled Together Lifetime G · 1,500 Words Angst · Bittersweet · Winchester Family Feels

Mary finds a photo album in the bunker that documents her sons's lives in pictures.

The Mantra G · 3,100 Words 12x12 Coda · Hurt/Comfort · Fluff and Angst · First Kiss · Platonic Bed Sharing and Cuddling

Following the events of 12.12, Dean wakes up from a nightmare shouting Cas's name. Which works out well, since Cas can't sleep or relax either after everything that went on. Dean introduces Cas to some of the healthier coping mechanisms he knows.

[thenextstormrage]

Project Adam

I love writing poetry so I figured I’d start sharing some of it here :). Any feedback or critique is appreciated. 

Project Adam

How could you                        

cast me out, father?                    

I am your light bringer!                

Did I disappoint you?   

Scare you?                                 

Threaten you?      

                   Now you sculpt this aberration           

in your image,                        

from dust and dirt.                    

How dare you replace me                    

with a mockery ‒                    

or is that the point?      

             The sands on this beach                

braid into bone.                    

Mesh into muscle.                                 

Fortify into flesh.                   

Coalesce into sin.

Is it good?    

                If you found fault                

in my perfection,                     

then do you see perfection                

in imperfection?                    

Ironic,                            

if you ask me.          

             What will you call                   

this wingless,                         

graceless,                        

acme of creation, father?                

It will ebb                       

as time flows.        

I only knew pride

from you. You created 

sin, like all else.

Do as I do,

not as I say,

yes?

Have my brothers consulted you

about your current quest?

or have you threatened my fate?

I tower above it

in stature, but perhaps,

not in hubris.

It seems fragile -- 

fallible -- 

like its creator.

The animals gather 

to praise their second in command.

Do I sense jealousy, father?

If it discovers free will -- 

as I did -- 

will you fling it

from this garden 

as you thrust me

from our home?

Revel in your art project

while it lasts.

Nothing you create

will be eternally righteous.

Purity is ephemeral:

you should know.