#I apologize for any errors grammatical or otherwise

[alysrivrs]

❛ ♡. gif credit. ⎯⎯ 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓. ❜

★ ⎯⎯ vampire!aemond intends to keep you—his blood singer.

𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋’𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾: i hope y’all are ready for this one—i tried making it a bit more darker, but aemond is still… pussy whipped, even though he wants to kill you, lol. also, i shall try (hopefully) to make a second version of this where aemond fucks & impregnates the reader—promise. anyways, reblogs & comments are deeply appreciated ! thank u. ♡

𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: mdni, smut (not really), noncon & suggestive themes, dark!aemond, petite!reader, profanity, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, size kink, innocence kink, compulsion, manipulation, sexual tension, possessive & obsessive behavior, blood drinking, breeding kink, talks of forced pregnancy, pet names, dark romance, fluff—any grammatical errors are my own -- in advance, i sincerely apologize.

𝖽𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇: this is dedicated to my lovely friend, @arcielee. i hope you like it & enjoy reading it, love !

w𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍: 1.2k

𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃��𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃… 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔.

his precious, little blood singer.

“come here, darling,” he purred, his voice seductive and sickeningly sweet as he followed after you, his gait a slow, but purposeful prowl—almost like he was hunting you down as his next prey.

“n-no, no! you just want to kill me,” you wailed over your shoulder, completely hysterical and running down a spiral staircase in the red keep—your little feet softly pattering against the flagstones.

aemond sighed.

“don’t you trust me, my beloved? i shall never hurt you, i promise—‘twas only a suggestion,” he comments lightly, strolling casually down the long staircase behind you, hearing your little heart fluttering inside of your chest from anxiety and fear.

hmm, the perfect mix.

aemond licked his lips, hungry for you.

huffing softly, he continued following after you effortlessly, causing his cock to harden in his black leather breeches, as well as his sharp fangs to ache within his sore gums with desperation—a need to feed.

from you.

aemond purred, hearing your blood pumping through your heart as you tried—oh, so adorably, did you try running away from him yet again (‘twas a normal occurrence), your skin dewy and flushed from the exertion.

perfection, aemond thought to himself.

in a strange sense, he almost felt sorry for you—his shy, but sweet girl.

suddenly, the one-eyed prince appeared right in front of you, making you shriek in horror and halt abruptly—otherwise, you would’ve slammed right into his lean, hard-muscled chest.

“my love, do not run from me—don’t you see how much your resistance hurts me?” he frowned, reaching up with one of his big, veiny hands to gently twirl a lock of your luscious hair around one of his long index fingers—before he bent his knees slightly to lean his face down to your shorter level.

his sharp, prominent nose grazed the delicate skin of your neck, feeling intoxicated by your sweet scent as he smelled you, feeling you flinch.

aemond smirked, clearly getting off by your fear.

after another long moment of just smelling your soft, smooth skin—aemond cursed.

he wanted nothing more than to take you back to his chambers, get you into his bed and position you into the mating press, before biting your neck as he spilled his seed deeply inside of your tight, wet cunt—while he continuously drank your addicting blood until you passed out beneath him.

aemond relished that you were so short and small compared to him—he practically towered over your petite frame, making his loins ache terribly with the need to fuck you—hard and fast, almost like an animal in heat.

what the fuck was happening to him?

how… did you—this shy, innocent girl, captivate him so much, making his mind feel as if he were going completely insane with the need to have you, to taste you, to spill his seed inside of your womb until your belly swelled with his son.

somedays, he swore to the seven above that you were the one compelling him.

you whimpered, looking up at him pleadingly, your pretty eyes wet with unshed tears and your plump, kissable lips quivering.

“my sweet love,” aemond murmured, speaking mostly to himself as he tilted his head from your delectable neck, his nose now nuzzling yours—affectionately.

still, he ignored your pathetic pleas—you belonged to him, there was no escape now that he has caught you.

aemond smiled—all sharp, dangerous, and cruel.

the prince deeply inhaled, groaning lowly to himself as he took in your mouthwatering scent yet again—so close, your pulse was beating wildly and driving him nearly insane.

to him, you smelled heavenly—like lavender oils, vanilla, sweet and ripe for the taking.

surely, you would be aemond’s greatest damnation, if only he were not already cursed by this hellish existence of immortality—no thanks to his ex lover, alys rivers.

however, now he had you.

for his own twisted, selfish reasons (which he didn’t even understand, no human girl had ever captivated him the way you had), did he eventually decide he’d keep you—at least for a little while.

your blood—fuck, it smelled and tasted so delicious, as if he were a god feasting on the finest ambrosia. “now, you’ll be a good girl for me, won’t you?” he cooed mockingly, his violet eye flashing in amusement as you shuddered like a little lamb before him.

unknowingly, aemond had been feeding off of you for months—nearly a year.

it had seemed, that even with his compulsion over you, his charms also had a great effect on your innocent, naïve mind.

aemond chuckled softly, the black veins underneath his natural one-eye appearing, his fangs protruding out of his gums—he couldn’t control himself around you any longer.

he had to taste you—now.

…and forever.

leaning down once again near your neck, aemond wrapped his lean, strong arms around your trembling frame, tugging you closer towards him until you were snuggly pressed up against his tall, lithe frame.

mine, mine, mine.

“do not worry, my sweet girl—you will enjoy this, as you’ve always had,” he teased, before quickly leaning down and sinking his fangs into the soft skin of your neck, making you screech with pleasure.

you cried out, your petite frame falling limp in his strong arms, your head falling to the side as your eyes grew heavy, long lashes fluttering as more and more blood was taken from you.

somewhere, deep in your subconscious, you were grateful that aemond was able to hold you up so effortlessly—however, it still left a bitter taste in your mouth for the reason why he was holding you up in the first place.

tears spilled from your eyes, streaming down your flushed cheeks, your head beginning to feel fuzzy and your body felt numb—yet you also felt this indescribable feeling of euphoria, barely feeling the prince continuing to drink from you—hungry and greedy.

after several more moments, aemond pulled back, licking a tiny drop of crimson from the corner of his plush, curved mouth, smirking down at your vulnerable state.

“see? my darling girl, ‘twas not so bad,” he mused, gently reaching up with one of his calloused hands to gently cup one of your wet cheeks, the pad of his thumb wiping away a few tears.

you nodded slowly, obedient and pliant in his grasp, letting him do what ever he wanted with you.

“soon,” he began, his voice a sweet whisper, “you’ll be carrying my son in your womb—wouldn’t you like that, sweet thing?”

“y-yes, aemond—b-but i d-don’t think…” you started, your voice small and meek—only to be cut off with a bruising, passionate kiss, feeling aemond’s hands reach down to cup and squeeze your plump, little ass through the sapphire blue gown he compelled you to wear, in honor of him.

“shhh,” he hushed, his gaze intense and dangerous—almost like a warning.

his swollen, bloody lips brushed against yours, forcing you to taste the metallic taste of your own blood on his lips. “you needn’t worry about a thing, darling,” he continued in that same tone of voice—sickeningly sweet, charming and sadistic all at once.

“i shall take care of you, as i always have,” he promised, sweet and innocent.

but you knew better—still, you obeyed and kept quiet, like a docile doll.

then, his left sapphire eye gleamed menacingly, his violet eye trained on the side of your neck, his pupil dilated and observing as two, little streams of blood seeped out of the tiny, punctured holes in your neck, due to his bite—his one-eye sharp, piercing, and hungry as he looked at you.

“cantante,” aemond hissed, before your world turned black.

fin

[to-thelakes]

breakfast dates

pairing; frank castle x fem!reader

summary; frank had been out of town for the past week and your insomnia had made a grand return but you weren't gonna let sleepiness stop you from having a much needed breakfast date

warnings; fluff, reader has insomnia

notes; another day, another fluffy one-shot! i'm honestly semi-surprised i managed to do this because much like the reader in this, i am very sleep deprived today (due to trying to fix my sleep schedule)! but here is day two of fluffbruary! the prompts i used today were 'scent' and 'jam'. once again, this has been proof-read but my aforementioned sleepy state might have meant that i missed any grammatical errors so apologies in advance! otherwise, enjoy some fluffy frank <3

ao3

To say you didn’t want to get out of bed was truly an understatement. You were exhausted and your insomnia had been flaring up for the past few nights. It was frustrating but you needed to get up. You were starting work at midday and you were supposed to meet Frank for breakfast. He had been out of town for the past week and to make up for missing your birthday, he was taking you out for a birthday breakfast.

Logically, you knew that if you just texted Frank and told him that you were tired that he’d be happy to come over instead. But he had made the effort after he definitely had a long night of driving just to be back in New York for you on the one morning you had free this week. Plus, the diner he was taking you to had been where you’d gone on your first (not really) date so you wanted to go.

It took 10 minutes of inwardly fighting with yourself before you kicked the covers back and got up. You rubbed your eyes, picking up an outfit that would be suitable for work and your impromptu date. You brushed your teeth, downed a glass of water and sprayed the new perfume your mom had gotten you for your birthday before leaving the house.

It was only a 5 minute walk to the diner and when you stepped inside, Frank was sitting at your usual booth waiting for you. He had a cup of coffee in his hand and a grin spread across his face when he spotted you. You couldn’t help but smile back even if you were still a little sleepy from your early start.

He greeted you halfway, wrapping you up in a hug and pressing a kiss to your lips. He muttered a soft hello and his gruff voice made you want to melt right into him. It had been too long without him and there was something soothing about the return to his presence. You held onto him for probably a little longer than necessary before you broke apart and sat on opposite sides of the booth. 

Frank took another sip of his coffee while you settled in your seat, discarding your coat to one side and adjusting your dress shirt.

“That a new perfume?” He asked as you pushed your hair behind your ear. You nodded.

“Yeah, my mom got it for me,” You explained. He smirked, leaning back in the booth. You narrowed your eyes, “Hang on.” You paused and watched as Frank’s lips grew from a smile to a grin; teeth and all, “You told my mom to get it didn’t you!” You suddenly exclaimed, unable to help the smile that spread across your face at your sudden realisation. He lifted his coffee up to his lips, taking a sip to hide how his smile had somehow grown even more.

“You kept talkin’ about it.” His words were punctuated with a small shrug and you scoffed. But before you could make any response, the waitress came over to take your order. Frank ordered pancakes, maple syrup and bacon and you ordered sunny-side up eggs, bacon, waffles and a side of toast. The toast always came with the most delicious jam. You had begged the waitress more than once for the brand but she always refused - it was a company secret, you had been told.

Once the waitress had taken your order and brought you over a glass of water and a cup of tea, she disappeared to the back. This left you alone with Frank again.

“You look tired, sweetheart.” Frank’s voice had softened as he reached his hand out across the table. You leant forward so that you could lift his hand to be resting against your cheek. His hands were so warm and even if they were callused from the years of intense work and suffering he had to endure, they were perfect for him.

“I wasn’t the one driving all night,” You muttered, letting your eyes fall closed as you settled into the warm feeling of his hand. Frank chuckled and you opened your eyes to admire him. The past week had been rough without him but seeing him again made it all so much better. Your intertwined hands dropped down to the table and he gently pulled his away so he could pat the seat next to him.

He knew that you needed the closeness of him just as much as he needed to be close to you. Frank was hopelessly attached to you and it terrified him most of the time but in moments like this, he longed to protect you and hold you. 

Without even a second thought, you obliged him and switched to sit beside him in the booth. Then, you snuggled up to his side, wrapping your arm around his waist. He buried his face into your hair, inhaling the scent of the new perfume that was clinging to every part of you. He had suspected that it’d smell perfect on you and he was right, it did.

“You’re sleeping in my bed tonight,” You declared. You felt the rumble of his chuckle in his chest and that sound was the most soothing thing in the world to your deprived ears. If you didn’t have any responsibilities for the rest of the day, you would have let yourself fall asleep pressed against him. But you still needed to go to work later.

“I ain’t gonna argue with that,” He said, pressing a kiss to your hair. You turned your head up to look at him, your back aching from the slightly awkward position that you had got yourself into.

“You better not.” You were grinning now and he cupped your cheek, pulling you up to connect your lips. It was a soft kiss - like all of them had been recently - but it was just what you needed. After a moment longer of enjoying his embrace, you pulled away and returned to your side of the table. You talked a little bit about how the job had been before the waitress came back over with your orders. She placed them down and you wasted no time digging into the pot of jam and spreading a thick layer across the buttered toast.

Frank watched in amusement as you wolfed down the slices of bread. But once you had sufficiently enjoyed the toast, you returned back to civility and the two of you went back and forth about your plans for the day. Frank said that while you were at work, he’d go home and take a nap. Then he’d come over to your place later.

He offered to make you dinner but you insisted that it was okay. You kept reminding him that he had been driving most of the night and he needed to relax. But Frank was ever the gentleman and he wanted you to be pampered. 

Even if neither of you said it, he could tell that you were tired and that the insomnia had reared its ugly head again in a way that wasn’t so easily solved. It had already been bad before he left for the job last week and you had both come to the conclusion that his presence had been the best cure. So, he could only guess how much worse it had become while he was gone.

But you were stubborn and weren’t going to give up easily so he simply decided that he wasn’t going to give you a choice in having a pampered evening. You deserved to be loved and you deserved to be able to relax and he would be damned if he didn’t help you feel that way.

<3

[aerynwrites]

Send Me an Angel - Ch. 2

Halsin x Fem!Angel!Reader

A/N: finally finished up part 2! I hope you all enjoy!

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: graphic mentions of pain/injuries, canon typical violence.

Not beta read, please excuse any grammatical errors.

The first thing you register is pain.

Blinding pain that seems to consume you whole as memories flash in your mind. The wrath of a god, the feeling of pure power pushing you from the heavens, bright white light and heat. A heat so searing and painful it had almost felt  cold - as if you’d been dunked in the highest mountain spring in winter. 

You don’t even remember hitting the ground, only waking up beneath the very man who started this all. 

Halsin…

You remember stirring only for a moment - a face you know too well greeting you in your brief acquaintance with consciousness. The scars along his brow, the tattoo trailing over his cheek, and those hazel eyes widening in surprise as his name slipped past your lips before the darkness consumed you once more. 

Now it’s released you from its grasp, the suffocating but numbing darkness ebbing away as the outside world works its way in. The pain you feel is as foreign as it is excruciating. You’ve never felt pain before. Nor hunger, or thirst, or any mix of woes that afflict those in the mortal plane.

Now they all bombard you at once, forcing a cry from your lips as your eyes peel open, trying to take in your bleary surroundings. It’s dark, and for a moment you think you’re falling back under again - but the pain and the briefest flash of dim moonlight coming from an open tent flap tells you otherwise. 

A presence joins you in the darkness, and you know immediately who it is. Your very soul calls to him as he crouches down next to where you lay. Your eyes adjust quickly to your  dim surroundings, and you’re able to see the faint crease in Halsin’s brow as he hovers over you. Magic pulses in his hand, casting the inside of what you assume to be his tent, in a gentle golden light. 

“You’re in pain,” he says simply, moving his hand down the length of your body, keeping it hovered mere inches from your skin. “Tell me what hurts.”

A wave of agony rolls through you as you try to sit up, ripping a gasp from your lips and making your vision swim as you are forced to lay back once more.

“Everything.”

Your answer comes out on a broken gasp, tears leaking from your eyes as the pain only seems to grow with each breath. It feels like your very bones are aching, agony like liquid fire in your veins. But what hurts the worst, the pain that won’t seem to let up, is the searing, soul-deep ache in your wings. It feels as if they’re being held over a roaring fire, the flames licking at each feather and tendon and bone. 

It feels like they’re dying. 

Halsin shakes his head as you quake with agony beneath him, your very body unable to handle the overwhelming pain it is so unaccustomed to. 

“I’m afraid I do not understand - I-”

“My wings!” you finally cry. “It’s my wings, they - they’re on fire-”

You see a flash of concern wash over Halsin’s face before a firm resolve tugs his lips into a thin line. The magic in his hand pulses brighter, and you think you see a faint hint of apology fill his eyes. 

“I will do what I can.”

His words are solemn and filled with promise before a rush of blissful nothingness washes over you. The pain disappears under a soothing blanket of relief. Your body sags, muscles no longer wracked with pain and then -

There’s darkness once more. 

—--

It takes several more days much the same before you wake with almost no pain fogging your mind. Your brief bouts of consciousness give you little to no time to speak with the man who's been by your side the entire time. 

Only now, when you feel somewhat clearheaded is he absent. You notice immediately that the darkness is not as dense, a brighter light seeping in beneath the edges of the tent. 

It must be daytime. Or at least, what passes for daytime in the Shadow Cursed lands - assuming that’s where you are. 

You move to sit up, and while the all-consuming pain isn’t present anymore, you are still aware of an ever present ache in your bones, and a sharper burning in your wings. You only hope it will ebb with time. You did fall from the sky - it’s a miracle this is the only pain you have. 

You’ve just managed to move to sit completely upright when the entrance to the tent opens, revealing your savior standing before you. His eyes widen slightly, and you take note of the two bowls perched in his hands.  

He gives you a small smile when the surprise falls away, coming fully into the tent as he crouches to one knee. 

“I did not expect the sleeping effects to wear off that quickly,” he says softly, setting the bowls by your feet as he moves to light a few candles. “But I suppose I haven’t treated many angels in my time…you must function differently than most of us do.”

You offer no words, not because you don’t want to speak to him, but because you are simply at a loss of what to say. 

The uncomfortable silence settles for a moment, Halsin’s smile never fading as he observes you gently for a moment before returning his attention to the bowls he brought in. 

“Here, I brought you something to drink, as well as a healing draught.” He pauses for a moment, letting out a chuckle. “I’d recommend the medicine first. I try my best, but ah…the taste is never pleasant.” 

He offers you the smaller bowl first, and you reach to take it. Your fingers brush against his own as you do, and you can’t stop the small shiver than runs through you. 

Bringing the bowl up to your lips, you take a tentative sniff, nose scrunching up in distaste as the sharp tang of medicinal herbs greets you. Your eyes flash to Halsin, and he just laughs again. 

“I told you it’s not pleasant. The quicker you take it, the better - try not to dwell on the smell,” he advises. 

You take a deep breath and bring bowl up to your lips, doing your best to swallow the mixture quickly. But it’s thicker than you were anticipating, the viscous liquid coating your throat and forcing you to pull the now empty bowl away as you cough. 

A warm hand settles on your back, rubbing up and down in a soothing manner before another bowl replaces the old one. 

“Here,” he says, “wash it down with this. I promise it’s a much better experience.” 

You being the bowl to your lips and drink greedily, only pausing because of the almost too hot temperature of what you assume is a tea of some kind, a light honey taste coating your tongue. 

You look to Halsin again, taking another sip before finally finding your words. 

“Thank you,” you tell him softly. “This is…good. I think?” 

Halsin smiles. “You think?” 

You hum in response as you take another sip of the tea before responding again. 

“I’ve never…consumed anything before. Angels we don’t - we don’t feel the need for physical sustenance. Hunger, thirst…it was all foreign to me until…” You trail off, eyes falling back down to the bowl in your hands. 

Until your fall. 

“Ah,” Halsin says, voice full of understanding. “Well, we have not been known to go hungry often, and there is water a plenty near this camp. I promise you will be well cared for as long as you are here. No harm will come to you.” 

You nod, but refuse to look at the man before you as guilt wells up in your chest. 

If only he knew who he was helping. 

The tea, despite its initial pleasantness, now tastes sour on your tongue. You set the bowl down beside you as you look back to the bedroll behind you. 

“I think…I think I’d like to rest.” 

You see Halsin’s brow furrow at your request, and you almost expect him to insist you finish the drink, but he must think better of it. Instead he only nods, taking both bowls in his hand as he turns to exit the tent once more. 

“Of course. If you need anything, I will not be far. You only need to call for me,” he says. 

And then he’s gone once more. And, for the first time since you fell, you can’t help but fear the loneliness that settles in around you.

———

You don’t end up resting very much. The constant ache in your wings prevents you from falling asleep. So, after much tossing and turning, you decide to see what’s outside the tent that’s become your sanctuary. 

The first thing you notice is the way your legs wobble dangerously beneath you, shaking under the weight of your body. You take a moment to make sure you won’t fall before reaching to pull the tent flap aside, immediately sighing at the cool air that kisses your face. 

One look outside tells you that you were correct in your assumption that you fell in the Shadowlands. Despite it looking like the camp is protected by a multitude of torches, life does not thrive here. The trees are dead, the earth dry and void of life, and you can’t even hear the typical scurrying of creatures in the underbrush. 

The lack of life makes you shudder, but you continue your adventure anyways, taking a shaky step outside the tent. 

Halsin’s tent is set up away from the main bustle of the rest of the camp, settled in a small alcove of his own, but you can still hear the soft chatter of his companions, no doubt sitting around the fire after dinner. 

Part of you yearns to go to them, to see who Halsin has been spending these last weeks with. Mortals have always intrigued you, but you push your curiosity away in favor of the sound of slow running water. 

You notice as you turn towards the river that Halsin is nowhere to be seen. He’s either with his companions you cannot see, or he’s off tending to something else. 

You have to fight off the spike of worry at not knowing where he is, instead finally working your way slowly to the edge of the water near his tent. 

You kneel in the soft silt, water lapping at your knees as you lean over to stare at your reflection. 

You don’t even recognize yourself, not only because of the small ripples on the surface, but because of the changes that have come over you because of your fall. 

But the thing that captures your attention most is your wings. You have to fight back the gasp that wants to slip past your lips as your eyes trail over the damage. 

On instinct you unfurl them from your back, bringing them to curl around you so you are able to see them better. Tears spring to your eyes as you see them for the first time, truly see them. 

You weren’t wrong when you woke the first time. Your wings are dying. 

They are still the pearlescent white you’re so familiar with, but they’re damaged beyond repair. Singed and burned black in some places and some chunks of feathers gone all together. 

Even the simple motion of unfurling them to wrap around you sends a handful of white feathers falling off, landing softly to the water's surface where the current starts to carry them lazily away. 

You can’t help but find the small moment fitting. Natures’ current carrying the feathers down stream and out of sight. Pulling them away from you, away from all they’ve known, the only place they’ve ever been. 

Just like you. 

Sadness wells up inside you, but this time it’s accompanied by something else. Something dark and thick and viscous inside your chest. A black mass that bubbles and burns and threatens to boil over until a gentle hand lands on your shoulder, reducing the boil to a simmer as you turn to face your companion. 

Halsin gazes down at you where you kneel in the silt, eyes soft and full of more understanding than you deserve. 

“I am sorry I have been unable to do more,” he says softly, moving to kneel beside you as he reaches out to pluck a feather that had gotten stuck in the sand. “My magic is…well it hasn’t been the same in recent days,” he admits, voice filled with guilt. “I think the shadow curse is affecting even that - a deserving punishment I suppose.” 

You shake your head as you look at him, your own sense of understanding cloaking any sadness you felt just moments ago. 

“You’ve done everything you can,” you assure him, turning back to face your rippling reflection in the water. “These injuries are beyond the best healers. It is a punishment. Not meant to be repaired by mortal hands.” 

It’s quiet for a moment, neither of you sure what to say next. So, Halsin just gives your shoulder a soft squeeze before standing to his feet and offering you his hand. 

“Why don’t you come meet the others? Sit by the fire and warm up and perhaps eat something?” 

At first you want to refuse. All the feelings swirling around in your chest and thoughts in your mind feeling like too much to do much else but dwell on them. However, one look at Halsin’s gentle smile has you unable to refuse, and for the first time since your fall, you find your lips tugging up in return. 

“That would be nice. I owe thanks to those who have let me stay here if nothing else.” 

Still smiling, Halsin shakes his head as he leads you towards the center of camp, never dropping your hand. “There is no thanks needed. Our leader has a habit of helping those in need, and it just so happens that I do as well. You needed help, it is only natural to offer it when able.”

His words bring forth that all too familiar wave of guilt. Guilt over the fact that of all people he is the one that found you. Guilt over the truth you’ve been keeping from him.

You are the last person who deserves help. 

All you can manage is a weak nod in response, any joviality you’d felt disappearing with just a few simple words as you approach the last stretch to the center of camp. 

Only when you start to hear other’s voices do you stop, Halsin doing the same when he feels the gentle tug of his hand. 

“Wait,” you say softly, pulling your hand from his as you cast a glance at your wings. 

They still look the same as they did moments ago, damaged and dull gray in majority of places. You have no desire for anyone else to see them, not now. Not yet. 

You search within yourself for a moment, unsure if the power that you seek is still there. Only to be surprised when you find a barely there glimmer within your chest. Maybe your god hadn’t completely forsaken you. 

Or perhaps he only felt pity for your state, not wanting mortals to lay eyes on his disgraced angel. 

Sighing, you reach for that small pool of power, using what little you have left to cast a simple glamour over yourself. Your wings disappear with a spoken word, leaving Halsin looking at you with a raised brow. 

“You’re able to dismiss your wings?” He asks, voice curious as you both continue your earlier path. 

“No,” you tell him. “It’s a glamour. Just to hide them for now. I’m not…I’m not sure I’m ready for the questions they’d raise just yet,” you admit softly. 

Halsin nods in understanding, lips turned downwards slightly. “I understand. If it makes you feel at ease, I have instructed the others to be gentle, to stay away from topics of your…situation,” he says carefully. “They all seemed amenable to the request.”

You nod, a small weight lifted from your shoulders. You go to speak, but are cut off as you and Halsin finally approach the epicenter of camp, several voices calling out in greeting from around the fire. 

“Oh! You’re just in time-“ A human man calls as he spoons something from the pot over the fire into bowls before passing them around. “I’ve just finished dinner, beef stew if you can believe it. I never thought we’d be able to find edible meat in this cursed place…” he laughs as his eyes turn from Halsin to you.

“Hello! The name’s Gale - resident wizard and defacto cook of the camp, since no else else seems to understand what seasoning is-“

The mans introduction is cut off as a githyanki woman all but snatches a bowl from Gale’s hand. “Chk, seasoning is for those weak of stomach, the best warriors can eat even the blandest most wretched of sustenance.”

Gale scoffs, spooning out another portion to hand to a smaller dark haired woman. “Just because it’s possible, Lae’zel, does not mean one should settle, I think we deserve a little flavor in our lives, all things considered.”

You watch as the gith, who you now know as Lae’zel, lets out another small noise before retreating to her tent just as a tall elven woman walks up, smiling kindly as Gale hands her a portion of stew.

“Well, I for one am beyond grateful for a good meal. I was getting tired of road rations,” she says, her eyes falling to you as she smiles again. 

She approaches you and Halsin with quick graceful steps, the tattoo on her face crinkling as she smiles and offers you her bowl. 

“I’m Tav,” she says. “Halsin told me a bit about what happened and I just wanted to let you know that you are more than welcome here. So, don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise-“ she casts a look over her shoulder to a pale elven man lounging languidly by the fire. “I’m talking to you Astarion. Be nice.”

Astarion scoffs, placing a delicate hand over his chest. “Me? Not Nice? Darling, you wound me. I would never dream of being cruel to our new angel friend,” he lets out a laugh. “In fact I could probably use a few friends in that department, so it’s in my best interest to be overly nice, is it not?”

Tav rolls her eyes, turning to walk over and take a seat next to him. “Yes, because you have the most wonderful habit of being nice to strangers…”

Your attention drifts from the two to instead turn to look up at Halsin just as he places a gentle hand on your low back. 

“Why don’t you have a seat? I’ll join you in a moment.”

You oblige quietly, taking a seat on a log by the fire, as you cradle the bowl carefully in your hands. You don’t even realize the feeling of hunger in your belly until you look down at the contents. Chunks of beef and vegetables in a thick dark brown gravy has your mouth watering as the scents hit your nose. Before you can even think about it, the edge of the bowl is pressed against your lips and you’re swallowing faster than you can chew. The gravy is salty on your tongue, the meat savory and the vegetables tasting of the earth. 

Right now, it feels like the most exquisite thing you’ve ever experienced. 

“Woah, slow down, little one,” Halsin’s voice meets your ears as he eases the bowl from your lips as he sits down next to you. “You’re likely to make yourself ill if you eat that quickly. There will be more if you’re still hungry after.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks at his words, your eyes falling sheepishly to your now almost empty bowl, avoiding the gazes of the others as they try and fail to be subtle in their eavesdropping. 

“I’m sorry,” you say softly. “I just…I’ve never truly felt hunger before. Not like this.”

You hear Astarion scoff from his place across the fire, mumbling a quiet, “Must be nice.” Which is followed quickly by a muffled thud as Tav smacks his arm and commands him to be nice again. 

Halsin merely chuckles at their antics before returning his gaze to you, eyes soft as he speaks. 

“It’s alright. It must be an adjustment, certain things will come with time.”

You nod, offering him a quiet thank you before returning to your dinner at a more reasonable pace. Halsin even replaces your soon empty bowl with a new full one, smiling warmly at you as the others soon return to their own conversations. 

The evening continues much like this. Everyone eating their fill and then settling in around the fire to talk or tell tales of their past. Even Lae’zel joins back in when a particular battle story catches her attention. Soon, you’re introduced to all of Halsin’s companions, all of them piping in the conversation in one way or another. 

You even find yourself laughing at one point, a particularly humorous story of Karlach’s making the laughter bubble up in your chest. 

It feels good.

Good to be able to forget just for a moment all that has happened in these short few days. Good to feel alive again, that sadness, and grief, and anger all but forgotten amongst this unlikely group of friends. 

But nothing lasts forever. 

You are the first one to notice it. The smell of sulfur making your nose wrinkle in disgust and the ever so subtle shift in the air making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. 

Your spine stiffens, the smile falling from your face as your entire being reacts to what you know is coming. Halsin notices immensely, brows furrowing in concern as he places a hand on your back.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

There’s only one word you’re able to utter before a large burst of infernal light explodes across the campfire from where you sit. A man appearing in the aftermath, a smug smirk on his face. 

“Devil.”

Halsin is standing just as you do, putting himself between you and the creature that is by very nature your sworn enemy. The other companions follow suit, all of them standing up immediately, some hands falling to weapons while others brace for spellcasting. 

Yet, none of them leap into battle. Instead, the devil takes this moments pause to speak.

“Ah, if it isn’t my favorite band of heroes,” he says, his voice unmistakable. “I believe a visit is overdue. I have information you desire and well…you have something I am most curious about.”

At this, you hear Astarion pipe up, unable to see the rogue from your position behind Halsin. 

“It better be information about my scars, devil. We killed the Othon, now it’s time you held up your end of the deal.”

You hear the devil chuckle, and you can’t help but to lean around the druid in front of you to lay eyes on the infernal intruder. 

“Yes, yes, all in due time, Astarion,” the devils says dismissively, his eyes searching the crowd. “For now, I’ve heard whispers of a certain divine being falling from the sky.” 

The moment he speaks, his eyes land on you, that infuriating smile tugging even wider. You step out from behind Halsin, that familiar blackness bubbling back up inside of you. 

“Do not speak in riddles, Raphael, what do you want?” You ask, voice venomous. 

Raphael lets out a ‘tsk’ , a faux frown tugging at his lips. “Now, now, no need to be so contrite. I’m here to help after all.”

You watch, eyes widening as he snaps his fingers and you feel your glamour shatter, your wings revealed to everyone around you as they seem to expand outwards of their own accord. You can see the way the others stare in awe, pity quickly filling their gazes at the state of your wings. 

Before you can blink, Raphael is standing right in front of you, dark eyes challenging your own as that clever smile returns.

“So, the little angel loses her wings…What a shame,” he tuts, voice mocking. “Tell me,” he says, reaching out to brush a finger over the tops of one of the damaged appendages. “Do you miss them?”

“Don’t touch me!” You say, reaching out to slam a powerful hand into his chest. It sends the devil flying backwards, landing him in the dirt a few feet away until you stalk towards him, your anger building as that stupid smile never leaves his face. 

“You forget to whom you speak,” you hiss. “I will not bargain with the likes of you. Not for my wings. Not for power. Not even for my life.”

The devil tuts again as he stands, brushing off the front of his doublet. “A shame,” he says simply. “But, you know where to find me should you change your mind. And I do hope it changes,” he smiles that infuriating smile, “I would so love to have an angel in my debt.”

And in a flash of light and infernal power - he’s gone.

“What?” Astarion asks incredulously. “Where did he go? He was supposed to tell me what my scars say!” He growls in frustration, crimson eyes snapping to your own.

“You might be too holy to accept help when offered, but some of us don’t have such qualms-“

“Astarion-“ Tav cuts in sternly, leading the pale elf away as you turn into yourself. 

Without so much as a word, you turn on your heel to walk back towards Halsin’s small clearing away from camp, your emotions threatening to overrun you. 

“Wait-“ Halsin says, a warm hand landing on your shoulder. 

You shrug it off, refusing to look at him. “Not now Halsin I…I need time to think. I need…just-“ you sigh. “Please.”

He doesn’t respond immediately and for a moment you think he’s going to argue. But soon his hand falls away from you, and he lets you go. 

———————

You’ve come to find that the water surrounding the camp is calming. But even as you sit by the river’s edge, the silt soft beneath your knees, you find that nothing is getting rid of the cloud of anger in your chest. 

You want to ask why. Why has this happened to you? Why did your god cast you out? 

But you already know the answers. And perhaps, that is why when you hear footsteps approaching you, you’re unable to properly direct your anger inwards. But you try, you truly do try.

As Halsin approaches you, taking a seat by your side as his eyes too fall to the slowly passing stream, you try to keep the anger at bay. You try to keep that blackness festering inside of you from slipping out. 

“I brought you some new clothes,” He says, handing you a small bundle of cloth. “They should fit. Tav helped me guess your size, and from all of us we found something that should suffice.”

You never expected a kind gesture to be the thing that would make you break. But the small pile of clothing, soft between your fingers, makes something inside of you snap, and that blackness comes rushing out as you turn to look at Halsin sharply. 

“Why are you doing this?” You ask, voice cold. 

He seems taken aback at the words and your distant tone. He pauses for a moment before speaking. “I only thought…your dress was torn, i thought you might like something else-“

“Not the clothes, Halsin!” You cry, standing to your feet causing more feathers to fall from your wings. “This! Help me. Why are you helping me?”

He looks even more confused now. “You were hurt, injured. I could not very well have left you to the shadow curse. It’s not…It’s not right.”

His words do the opposite of his earlier actions. They make that blackness, that anger evaporate as quickly as it came. Leaving room for grief to pour in.

Halsin…The sweet archdruid, who has faced more hardship in his life than most, would help a stranger. A stranger he has yet to know the truth behind. A stranger that knows more about him than he could ever imagine. 

You collapse back down to the sand. Hands curled tightly into the bundle of clothes as tears threaten to pour down your cheeks. 

“You wouldn’t be helping me if you knew,” you whisper.

“Knew what?” He asks, voice kind. 

You have to force down the lump in your throat to speak. 

“It was Silvanus,” you say softly, the tears finally slipping from your eyes. “I was his angel. Silvanus was the one to cast me out.”

You hear his breath hitch, and you know - you know, what you have left to say will break him. But you refuse to lie any further. 

“The Oak Father? Why…” he pauses, voice full of confusion. “Why would he cast you out?”

You take a shuddering breath before forcing your watery gaze to meet his hazel one. 

“Because of you.”

[fordohyon]

BEAR MASCOT...

PAIRING -

Kim Woonhak x GN! Reader

SUMMARY - (not really s summary but a preview(ish) thingy??)

You sigh as you remove the heavy mascots head, a cool breeze from a fan chilling your flushed cheeks. You notice one of the basketball players standing behind you. Number 23. "I never knew you were a girl," he comments. "Or pretty."

TAGS -

fluff, fluff, and…. fluff!!

WARNING(s) -

mistaking reader for a girl, calling reader pretty, Mutual pining? maybe being too short. English isn’t my first language so please expect grammatical & spelling errors 😭

lmk if i left out anything,, Not proofread!

WORD COUNT - 1.3k

A/N - should i make this into a series??? also plz tell me if there are any grammatical errors or what. I'd also really appreciate it if you give me feedback and reblog!!

It's been precisely two hours since you donned the bear mascot outfit representing your school. You only agreed to do it because no one else volunteered and thought it might be fun. However, the experience has been anything but fun. With only 30 to 40 minutes left in the costume, you are counting down the seconds until you can take it off.

The basketball jersey, hat, and shoes the bear is wearing are decorated with your school's logo, with the school's signature colors of yellow and green accenting the trim, number, and player names. You are thankful that nobody from other sections knows it's you inside the costume; otherwise, you would feel incredibly embarrassed.

You check the time and realize that 20 minutes have already passed. You hope the game will end in the next 10 minutes or so. A few students request a picture with you, and you oblige them. Five more minutes pass, and the game is nearly over. You can’t wait to get out of the mascot outfit and take a shower.

Sweat drips down to your ankles, causing you to shiver. This is the longest you have ever worn the mascot, 2 hours and 10 minutes.

After what had seemed about an eternity, the game finally finished. All of the players and spectators collected their belongings and fled. Except for a handful who freshened up or spent time with their friends prior to heading home, unfortunately for you, Kim Woonhak happened to be one of those individuals, for whom you were growing feelings.

Once everyone had left, you finally had the chance to rid of the ludicrous costume that had caused you to sweat profusely. Though you noticed a few lingering figures in the vicinity, you chose not to approach them, assuming they were likely teachers, janitors, or guards. As you removed the mascot's head, a cool breeze struck your face. you were taken aback to find Kim fucking Woonhak standing there, his jaw dropping and eyes bulging in what appeared to be an utter shock - as though he had just witnessed the most unbelievable thing in his life.  "I... I never knew you were a girl, or uhm.. uhh... pretty!" Holy shit. This is extremely mortifying. You can't even begin to express the depths of humiliation you're feeling. The fact that it involves Kim Woonhak, the person you've had the most obvious crush on since sixth grade, makes it incredibly, excruciatingly, so intensely humiliating. Is it just you or does it seem like the fan isn't working? 

"Thank... you?" The words slipped out of your mouth, your voice wavering with uncertainty. As you fidgeted with the bottom half of the mascot, your hands betrayed your nervousness. The expression on your face told the whole story - a mix of embarrassment, anxiety, and the discomfort of being caught off guard. Sweat trickled down your forehead, emphasizing the redness that flushed your face, a combination of the stifling heat and the overwhelming humiliation of the moment. Woonhak's unexpected presence only intensified your unease, leaving you at a loss for words. 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to catch you off guard. I-I was just checking if anyone was here since I was uh, gonna lock up the.. uhm... gym!" Woonhak stammered, his apology filled with genuine concern. He tried his best to shed the awkward tension that enveloped the air but fell short in his attempt.

"It's alright. No need to apologize," you reassured him, your voice trembling slightly. "I wasn't expecting anyone else to be here either. I assumed it was just teachers and guardians. Guess we both got caught off guard." You utter as you took hold of the lower half of the costume, a sudden chill in the air sent a shiver down your spine. The contrast between the hot and humid gym and the cooler surroundings intensified the discomfort, further adding to the already awkward situation.   

Woonhak nodded in agreement, his eyes still fixed on you with an intensity that made you feel self-conscious. You tried to disregard it, but the emotion only grew stronger. You wished you could just evaporate- or at least get out of this sweaty, reeking costume.

As you struggled to remove the rest of the bear suit, Woonhak stepped forward to help. You were grateful for the gesture, but it only caused you to feel more exposed and vulnerable. You tried to focus on the task at hand, but your hands were quivering so badly that you could barely get a hold of the zipper.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, you were unburdened by the costume. You took a deep breath of fresh air and felt the calm draft wash over your sweaty skin. You turned to thank Woonhak, but he was already walking away, his head down and his hands playing with the fabric of his jersey.

You felt a pang of disappointment, but you couldn't blame him for wanting to get away from the awkward situation. You gathered your things and headed out of the gym, feeling fatigued and embarrassed. you couldn't help but replay the uncomfortable encounter in your head, wondering if things would ever be the same between you and Woonhak.

As you make your way out of the gym, you notice Woonhak and his group of friends looking at you. Just as you try to avoid their gaze, he rides up to you on his bike, beckoning you to join him. "It'll be faster if you ride with me. Don't forget to take a warm shower, wouldn't want you to catch a cold. I want to see you tomorrow!" His words catch you off guard, and you can't help but feel a mix of confusion and excitement.

Up close, Woonhak looks even better than you remembered. His endearing smile and delicate demeanor make him seem like a big teddy bear. You hesitate for a moment, recalling the events that happened earlier, but ultimately agree to ride with him. "Uh, okay," you reply, your voice tinged with nervousness. Despite your uneasiness, you're grateful for the opportunity to spend more time with him.

As Woonhak makes his way down the road on his bike, he suddenly turns to you. "Hug me, so you don't fall." he says with a smile. You're surprised by his proposal, but you don't hesitate to envelop your arms around him. As you hold on to him tightly, you feel a sense of warmth and comfort wash over you. It's as if all of your nervousness vanished at that moment, and you can't help but feel grateful for his presence. Being in his arms feels like a dream come true, and you can't help but wonder if this is the start of something special.

As you ride on his bicycle, you can't help but feel a sense of security and contentment. The wind rushes through your hair, and the relaxed breeze washes over your skin. You feel alive and free, and for the first time in a long while, Woonhak's company is enough to make you feel safe.

As you reach your destination, you shift to thank Woonhak for the ride. But before you can say anything, he leans in and plants a soft kiss on your cheek. You feel your face flush with warmth, and your heart races with excitement. You can't believe that this is happening to you - it's like something out of romance fiction.

"Thanks for the ride," you murmur, your voice barely audible. Woonhak beams at you, and you feel a sense of belonging wash over you. Maybe this is the start of something special, something you've been yearning for all your life. As you make your way back home, you can't help but let out a squeal of excitement. You're grateful for the unexpected turn of events, and you can't wait to see what the future holds. But for now, you're content just being in the moment with the person who makes your heart skip a beat.

do not translate, repost on other websites, or take my work. posts on tumblr, stay on tumblr. I do not cross-post my work unless I say so!

[hannieluvsyou]

Super shy.

Kwon Soonyoung x Reader

description: Wherein the loud boy gets smitten with his seatmate, the shy girl.

genre: fluff

warnings: swearing.

note: I apologize in advance for any typos or grammatical errors.

'This guy keeps staring at me...' I thought as I shift uncomfortably in my seat, trying to ignore the intense stare that shoots holes through the side of my head.

Who you may ask? Kwon Soonyoung. My seatmate.

Ever since he became my seatmate, he's a bit too uh... Loud for my liking. I don't really pay him any mind but his stares and loud mouth make me sweat literal fucking bullets.

"Hey uh– do you have a spare pen?" I quickly looked at him, surprised at the sudden question. He just stares at me as he waits for my response.

'Shit shit shit what do I say?!' I internally panic as I look for a pen.

Soonyoung patiently waits with sweaty palms. He finally talked to you! Even if you looked scared shitless, he talked to you! All he has to do now is do it every chance he gets. The hard part is well, talking to you.

Talking to people is like taking a walk in the park for him. But when it comes to you, it's a completely different story. His usual loud ass mouth becomes a thin line and his usually relaxed eyes are almost bulging out of it's sockets.

After some time, he saw a pen slide on his side of the desk.

"Here, I hope you don't mind. I don't have any other pen available." I say as I play with the pages of my book.

Soonyoung stares at the unicorn themed pen in his hand.

'Cute.' He fanboyed in his mind, pink dusting his cheeks.

He clutched it and looked at you with sparkly eyes.

"I like it!" He started. "Thank you." He said while sporting a blinding smile.

"No problem..." I whisper lowly. I don't think he heard me but his smile that widened says otherwise.

He knows that you're a shy one, but that does not stop him from feeling these particular emotions. He strongly believes that 'opposites attract'.

A few days have passed since that interaction. I have embarrassed myself once, I'm not letting myself get embarrassed twice. I just have to avoid him for as long as I can. It's not that I don't like the guy, I just don't think that we'll ever get along.

Soonyoung on the other hand, will do anything just to talk to you. Accidentally bumping into you, asking for notes, inviting you for lunch, he has tried everything. Yet what does he get? A scared expression and quick nods. It's not like he's not hurt about it, but he understands that you may be a bit overwhelmed with his advances.

But today may be the day that things will change.

I have a quiz today, and that means that I only got 2 hours of sleep. I might've aced the exam but I am tired as hell.

I can't help the bobbing of my head. 'It feels like I have a fucking brick as a head.' I thought while my eyes are only halfway open.

Soonyoung of course notices, and is about to ask if you're okay. But before he can, your head is immediately met by the hard table resulting in a loud 'bam!' sound. You remained still, already fast asleep. Luckily for you, there was only four other people in the room that don't seem to really care.

'Her position looks really uncomfortable..' he thought. An idea came up, but he ponders for a bit since you might not approve.

Finally he caves in and gently brushes the stray hairs out of your face, admiring your face in the process.

"So cute.." he said quietly as to not wake you up.

He shifts your position and now you're head is laying on his shoulder while his arm is securely wrapped around you. You unconsciously snuggle closer to him.

You stir a bit and notice your change in position. You look up and see Soonyoungs face, but before you can say anything he silently assures you that it's okay.

You ponder for a bit but doze off again, wrapping your arms around his waist slowly.

'I guess he's not that bad..' I thought before fully letting darkness engulf my vision.

He prays that you won't kill him when you fully wake up but for now, he'll enjoy this moment with you.

[generic-whumperz]

Bullshit & Masterlist(s)

THIS BLOG CONTAINS ADULT (NSFW) CONTENT, VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED! 

(This ain’t a daycare, minors kick rocks)

/Bring tha motherfuckin’ ruckus/

Side blogs:

•@generic-whumper (SFW whumping) •@generic-throw-away-blog (random bs & some fandom stuff) •@generic-writing-tips (exactly as it sounds) •@generic-horror-slut (for just straight up horror and gore)

The Aid Masterlist (current WIP, 18+)

Apocamerica AU

Other works can be found at the bottom of this post under “Story Stuff,” but there isn't much else because I'm focusing on The Aid for now.

Congratulations, you have stumbled upon another (generic) whump blog, hence the name! Blog est. Aug 2023. Currently just working on one story right now (yay hyperfixations), that is slowly consuming every waking thought. Help

Fun facts to share with the class:

I prefer to be anonymous on here, so just call me “Generic/Gen,” them/them, mid (quit lying to yourself) late-20’s

Dyslexic bitch & silly goose—please excuse typos, misspellings, and any grammatical errors! I re-read and edit as best as I can, but my brain be playin’ tricks on me, and shit falls through the cracks! Just manage your expectations is all I’m sayin’, I’m not a professional.

I’m (unfortunately) an American and my obnoxious word choice will probably reflect that.

I’m currently… taking a semester off cause wtf this shit is expensive, maybe I’m dropping out for the 6th time?! But still, any written works I choose to share will not be uploaded on a set schedule (I write slow, my brain only occasionally works, & yada-yada), I apologize in advance!    

I run a queue—and nah I won’t tag it.

Lover of cryptids (Mothman fucks), paranormal enthusiast and certified Haunted™️. Weird shit WILL leak into my writing eventually. Don’t be surprised if a ghost or skin walker makes a cameo. It’s more fun this way, just go with the flow.

House plant addict. They are all my children. Ask me how big my monstera is ;)

Dog parent

Irl I’m a (professional) stained glass artist & should be doing that instead of torturing ocs as much as I do?

What You’ll See Here: 

All types of Whump; I’m talking all of it bay-bee (detailed types below this section), including: polls, writings, prompts, tropes, scenarios, art, gifs, etc.

Reblogs-a-plenty

Really bad home grown memes 

Whumpy rambling coming straight from my delirious brain

My own sub-par short stories, ficlits, and maybe even an eventual series or two

My own mediocre art

I fuck with a lot and don’t really have any “squicks”, but to narrow it down, the prime pickings are:

All gender & POC whump (including lady whump, lady whumpers, mixed gendered Whumpee & Whumper combos, etc. Errybody getting whumped ‘round here. But yes I love to see men particularly in distress and blubbering bloody messes, sue me.)

APOCALYPSE (+ sci-fi, military, historical, alternative-reality, & fantasy)

RED ROOMING

CULT

SLAVERY (+ captivity, short & long term)

TORTURE & violence

Cannibalism & weird blood shit (yet I’m a vegetarian/vegan and have been so most of my life—saying this to show the duality of man and that fictional tastes are FICTIONAL)

Gore and body horror (including puke and all that)

Hurt/little to no comfort, maximum pain and immense suffering is the name of the game 🤘

When I do dabble in comfort—recovery and caretaking is preferably longer with nuanced healing journeys and after character has been through absolute hell and it’s messy AF

Physical, emotional, and psychological whump (if there’s all three it’s a magical trifecta of hurt)

Stabbing, impalement

Failed escape attempts

Drug (illicit and otherwise)—substance abuse, and addiction

Dehumanization, demoralization

Vampires & zombies (see GORE & CANNIBALISM)

Multiple Whumpees, multiple Whumpers

Family of whumpers (this is niche I know but fuck is it my kryptonite) 

The biggest POS and/or terrifying Whumpers imaginable (for the love of all things unholy, make them shamelessly bad and vile)

Chains, restrains, collars, gags, muzzles, rope (etc.)—just tie that biz-nitch down!

Explicit stuff like non-con, dub-con, BDSM, forced drugging, etc.

Other Story Stuff & Random Things:

Subject X: BB217 Intro

[meet-the-coffee]

Nemesis | [ Speeding Bullet ]

A very cringe and gay fanfic I published on wattpad originally :')

They are so gay actually... and I am cringe but I am free.......

Authors Note: I don't really write or read fanfics or even books in general these days... sad. But I was inspired by an artist and I made this, lmao,, it's not graphic and no it barely contains any fluff or anything, but it does imply something at one part.

Please keep in mind that I don't write or read often at all, so this being pure shite isn't supposed to come as a surprise lmao...

That said, I'm also Swedish, so I apologize for awkward wording, misspellings or grammatical errors!

Content Warning: This story contains content such as suggestive reactions, aggressive behaviour, blood, internalized homophobia and homophobic behavior and slurs.

Read at your own risk.

~ ~ ~

What would otherwise be a very typical friday afternoon for team Red, had turned in to a few hours of complete frustration for the team's scout.

Jeremy had rounds before this felt the exciting thrills of bouncing off rooftops and straight in to the enemy team's spawn to whack people right in their heads, as well as zooming up to the enemy Sniper to give him a whack as well. He had been snickering the whole morning, putting enemy after enemy in the spawner, blasting them right in the face, bouncing around avoiding missiles, grenades and bulletshots.

He had been downright annoying, and he loved it. 

Finally he could maybe for once be respected for his success and ability.

He was so ready for it.

One of the snipers in team Blu completely raged after getting hit with a fish, splashing that rotting ocean water not only over the sniper's face, but also over the walls and anything else within range.

That same sniper sat in spawn after that, furious and cussing outloud, when another one, a fellow sniper, had finally decided to crawl out of his hole and come fight the red team.

The latter sat on the bench and watched as the former was complaining. While the first was always loud, furious and whiney, the latter was a reserved and methodical man. He always thought the other was a bit of an obnoxious mouthbreather, who never seemed to learn from his experiences. The theory was that he was too busy fuming about things and wanting black-seighted revenge.

The loudmouth's name was Lawrence, "Larry", while the other was Mick, "Mickey".

Mick had recently joined the team, but seemed to be a solid bullseye. He had a feeling Larry might be laid off if he didn't learn from his mistakes soon.

The two of them entered the battlefield again, both heading over to sit in their own little towers to peer through their scopes. They were not located many feet off from each other. Every once in a while, the trigger went off, and the familiar echo of the rifle rang through the valley.

While Mick sat in silence, he could hear the "Shit!" escaping Larry's mouth every now and then.

'Amateur.'

He listened intently. He took a silent, deep breath. At the very peak, he holds it... Bang.

'Down you go.'

He watched the enemy collapse as he reloaded his rifle. He jolted by the yelping of his fellow sniper in the tower to his east. He snapped his gaze to his teammate, who he discovered to be overrun by the same scout he had been whining about earlier. 

Mick got on his feet, raised his scope against his shoulder. Clear shot on the obnoxious scout. He pulled the trigger, and silence once again befalls the two towers.

Mick lowered his rifle, his eyes fixed on Larry, who was now correcting his vest and sunglasses.

Larry tried a nonchalant sniffle and gave a thumbs up.

Mick replied with an amused huff before sitting back down.

It didn't take long before Larry had been left alone by the enemy scout, and instead been frustrated by Mick "stealing" his kills.

Mick hadn't any intent to steal anything -- He was only doing his job after all.

It soon lead up to Larry throwing in the towel for the night, as the battle seemed to tire itself out.

There weren't many fighters left on the field. Even fewer were the enemies remaining.

Mickey, who had arrived a few hours later than the others, had only gotten started, he figured.

Besides, he had found a new favourite toy...

That scout from before.

He hadn't been able to get even close to the towers since Mick had been taking a liking to him.

This scout was fast. He was skilled. Unfortunately, Mick was just a bit quicker. And calculating.

~ ~ ~

The sun laid low now. It was snuggling up behind the mountains, and Mickey needed a small break soon. He choked a yawn, wondering where that scout had gone off to. The last four rounds, Mick had been chasing that speeder around with his scope, making him dance before blasting him back to last week.

It had been a while now...

Had he given up for the day? Was he pouting in his spawn?

Mick sat in his silence, sipping his coffee.

And suddenly...

The slightest change in atmosphere.

The softest pat of rubbersole on wooden boards.

Mickey shot up on his feet, kukri in hand, now facing the doorway.

There he stood. Sweating. There was a sense of horror in the scout's eyes, like stepping right in to a bear's den.

The scout had let his mouth slightly ajar, breathing whispering huffs of adrenaline, staring straight in to Mickey's glass-shaded eyes.

Mick held the kukri firmly in his hand. The corner of his mouth pulled, and he snickered.

Scout was, surprisingly enough, holding his handgun, pointed somewhere in chest-height of Mick's stature. Scout took slow steps in to the room before moving along the wall.

The odds were against Mick this time.

And yet, he went for it. He wasn't sure if the scout's aim was genuinely awful or if he only pulled the trigger when the sniper had thrown himself out of the way, but something felt off about it. He missed his shot.

Mick went in with his kukri, throwing the scout against the wall, threatening Scout's throat with a perfect angle for a good slice. In this motion, Mick had managed pinning the scout's right arm to the wall, holding the gun aimed away from their faces. 

Scout had yelped at the motion, thrashing and kicking. Mick held steady. The former was now frantically staring at his arm, as if trying to force it to muster strength to overpower the sniper's grasp. He darted his eyes into the stranger's eyes before trying to find somewhere less uncomfortable to look.

Mick wasn't wavering. He held himself composed, sternly looking at this quivering puppy.

'So helpless.'

The scout gave labored huffs of attempts to keep fighting back.

This was where Mick noticed the tears.

It distracted him enough to instinctively letting his guard down, which slightly loosened his grip.

This gave Scout an opportunity. It was only a split second, but it was enough for him.

Jeremy head-butted the sniper, and once a brief distance had been allowed, Scout flicked the gun upside down in his hand and struck the sniper over the face.

Mickey dropped the kukri as he staggered back, yet remained on his feet. That had pissed him off.

He came back with a swing of his fist and sat a solid bullseye on the scout's nose. There was loud crack, and blood.

And yet, Scout composed himself before he went in again, and this time, fired his gun with seemingly more attempt to kill.

In a last-second decision to move out of the way, the sniper's wound landed in the shoulder. He grunted and staggered, before swinging his other arm out. He managed to knock the gun out of the Red's hand, before grabbing him in the collar and shoving him around. They danced half a circle, landing the scout on the desk.

Mickey was fuming. He had made a mistake letting the scout distract him with those puppy eyes.

He really shoved him on the desk. He held a hard grasp of the enemy's jaw, almost squishing his well-sculptured face. Mick growled through a tooth-gritting smirk.

"Dominated," he almost snarled through his teeth, pushing his face close enough to Scout's to feel his own warm breath bounce back.

The scout teared up once again. The blood from his nose was running still, while the tears mirrored it, running down his right cheek.

"Sissy," the blue whispered coldly into Jeremy's ear.

Jeremy had tried so hard to get rid of this enemy.

He had no clue why the team had decided to appoint him the mission of taking him down.

Did they think it would be the same as with the other sniper? Regardless, they viewed him as a carpet. There had been plenty of other people capable in the red team, yet none seemed willing. They had shoved that mission on Scout, rather than admit their own incapability.

He had gotten his ass totally kicked the entire afternoon and evening, with his closest thing to success being wounding his nemesis in the shoulder.

He felt defenseless.

This man was leaning over him, pressing himself onto Jeremy.

He felt the stranger's hand searching for its way up under Jeremy's own arm, which he had put on the sniper's shoulder in an attempt to hold distance between them.

He felt the soft tug of the chain around his neck. The man was peering down at it. He sneered once again, and the scout realized immediately.

"Jeremy, eh?" he now looked at Scout, satisfaction plastered in those cold eyes. The dogtag had just given a name to the enemy, which was not a comforting fact to Jeremy. 

"You've been quite a mayhem to my colleague, I've heard," Mickey finally admitted. "And you've been quite a toy for me to mess with."

The timing of getting his head shoved in the gutter didn't feel appropriate, so Jeremy forced himself out of there. It sent goosebumps down his arms.

"You're quick on your feet, Jeremy," the aussie chuckled. "You almost had me... You were so, so close."

Jeremy listened. Usually, Jeremy is one to put up a good conversation while others sat in silence. As of right now, he just wasn't sure what to respond.

"You were however completely dominated. I've been dominating you since you showed up in my colleague's tower."

He corrected his stance, still pushing the scout to the desk.

He moved his leg, as it had gotten uncomfortable where it stood.

He moved it just a bit hastily, landing his mid-thigh where he thought was next to Jeremy's inner thigh.

Which... It was. However, this sudden movement had landed too well between the scout's legs.

Jeremy gave a surprised gasp, shoving hard on the other's vest, forcing distance between them.

Mick stopped dead in his tracks, studying Jeremy's reaction through unbelieving eyes. He didn't notice it himself at first, but it was instantly salivating in his mouth.

"You like that, you li'l freak," Mickey stated, rather than asked. "You can't even help your own face."

He continued studying the Red's body language, as Jeremy composed himself and stood up.

"You wish," Jeremy now wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand.

"It seems more like... you wish." Mick sneered, giving a nod as he shot an implying glance down Scout's body.

Scout got flustered and looked squirmy.

"You... we're both guys! You know that just happens sometimes, I mean... c'mon, man! As if that hasn't happened to you in absolutely awkward moments... I mean... c'mon...!"

The time seemed to pause for a second.

They just looked at each other for a moment.

Until Mick broke out in full laughter.

Jeremy wasn't sure how to react. He started nervously joining in, before he also realized just how funny this was.

Scout and Sniper had just been trying to murder each other, and now they were laughing at men's anatomy needing a bug fix.

At least that's what Scout was laughing at. Until the blue asked the question, still cackling.

"You are a definite gay, aren't you!"

Scout sort of calmed his laughter a bit, processing this comment, before he laughed a bit further.

"Takes one to know one, am I right?"

The two of them laughed themselves to tears for a while, before having to sit on the floor and calm down.

They sat there in silence for a while.

Mickey gave Jeremy a cup of coffee.

"So... same time tomorrow, then?" Jeremy broke the silence.

"Sure."

"Cool, cool..."

...

...

"So are you actually gay? Or did you just call me that to insult me?"

"Do you want me to be?" Mick peered up at him, taking a sip from his cup.

"Is that an invitation?" Jeremy chuckled nervously, "nah, I mean... I like girls..."

Another pause. The sniper took a silent sip of his coffee.

"You mean, you like girls too."

"Huh? What? Oh! Erm... no! I mean... yes? Wait... I like girls. That's it. Yeah. I like girls. That's all."

"... Do you like girls dominating you, too?"

Jeremy's ears got hot. His cheeks too.

"No."

"So why'd you react like that?"

"Because. I... just. I don't know. I don't know, okay! I don't know. I like girls."

They sat silent for a bit, Mick sweeping the last bit of coffee before getting up. He cracked his back.

"You're like an old man, y'know." Scout teased him, also getting up on his feet.

"I sure feel like one," Sniper sighed as his body was snapping and cracking.

"Aren't you only like, literally four years older than me?"

"Yes."

"So why do you look like a grandpa?"

"Not sure. Why do you look like a 10 year old?"

"I do not!" Scout punched his arm.

"Maybe not, but you sure act like one."

Jeremy scoffed. "Unbelievable! What a jerk-face."

"Jerk-face? You are a walking example of what I just said."

Both of them gave a small laugh.

"Alright, asshole, I'm heading back to base. Thanks for not murdering me, and for breaking my nose."

"You're alright, Jeremy."

"You, too! Though... I never got your name?"

"Mick."

"Mick? Alright. I know what that rhymes with."

"You can grow up aaany moment now..." Mick pretended to look at a wristwatch.

"Oh, fuck off. I'm funny." Another mutual laughter.

"Alright. Head off, then."

"Aight. Get yourself to bed now, grandpa!"

"Sure will."

"Buh-bye!"

Mick hesitated, but decided anyway.

"Hey Jeremy?"

"Huh?"

"I like girls, too."

Jeremy's uncertain chuckle echoed.

"Alright, good to know!"

"Emphasis on 'too'"

"... oh... Oh! Oh, alright! Uh... Same, dude."

"Yeah."

"... Yeah... G'night then!"

"G'night"

The moon was sitting high on the sky by now. The red shirt of the scout vanishing down the valley had turned to purple in the blue moon light, and the sniper gathered his stuff before heading out as well.

What an odd day at work.

He could barely wait until dawn to meet his new-found nemesis again.

[seoness]

hey!! so i had a request: if the idea is interesting to you, how would the hound feel about falling for a powerful nobleman/monarch (maybe essosi?) who's chronically ill & has facial/body disfigurements from a birth defect?

sorry if this is too specific!! i've just been wondering how the hound would feel about essos & royalty and that big cultural gap, and i'm a self-indulgent (and disabled) hag who wants to hear about him having a disabled man as a partner, lol. whether you take this request or not, i love your writing, especially your characterization of sandor! keep up the good work!!

(Sandor Clegane x male!reader) Hi, if this was meant as a request for a fic then just holler at me again and I'll add you to the waiting list. Planning on plowing through them on my vacation. 🤗 Otherwise, here are my thoughts and rambles. Thank you for your kind words! Apologies for any spelling or grammatical errors, I'm trying to be less pedantic.

I just had to draw him acclimated to his new home. Relaxing and having a snack. I dunno what the dude's eating. A large plum? A red onion?

Let's begin with the setting:

We alter his canon. The Hound never became the Hound... well, not Joffrey's. Let the Lannisters have Gregor, there is gold to be had elsewhere. He's heard the tales. Listened as sailors regaled of spice merchants that could rival the riches within Casterly Rock, of princes, magistrates, and emperors worshiped as gods beyond the Jade Sea. One of them will have the need for good steel. As long as his master can point and his purse is full, they need not share the same tongue, Sandor's sword will speak for him. One of those many spice merchants, princes, magistrates, and emperors will be you.

How would it start?

Slowly. Regardless if he's aware and accepting of his bisexuality, he's not some fool desperate to lose his maidenhead. Especially if you're in control of the coin that pays for his wants and needs. His view of you will not be one that is kind. His world is a cruel one, and the life he's lived has been no different. In canon, Sandor tells Sansa (while joking about a traumatized and raped Lollys Stokeworth):

"...if you can't protect yourself, die and get out of the way of those who can..."

This is not a man that is considerate or empathetic by nature, which can be refreshing in its own right. He'll not eagerly bite the hands that feed him, but neither will he lie and say you didn't avoid his views on a technicality. It isn't your strong arms and steel that protect you. It is gold, and that gold has bought you his. This mindset applies to a wide spectrum of illnesses, ailments, disfigurement (that hinder physical performance), and disabilities. Sandor will wonder if you wanted his services because of his burn, that you see it like some sort of brotherhood. He'll not be completely open to the notion that you are clever enough to not pass on a good swordsman based on appearance. That you can see what more there is to Sandor Clegane than his scar and perhaps you hope he can show the same courtesy.

He won't.

Not at first. Your collaboration together will surround work and only work. You point, and the Hound goes. Sandor will start to pick up words here and there in your tongue. He knows and understands more than he lets on, but dislikes the chuckles whenever he speaks with a heavy Westerosi accent. The armor of dark plate will slowly switch to layered fabrics, chainmail, and pieces of plating (rather than a full set of plate). The once pale skin will darken under the Eastern sun. In Westeros, Sandor despised the showmanship of knights, but there is an honesty to how the Essosi deal with their gold and silk. It's not to boast of valor or honor, it is simple. Wealth. Gone are the comparing of lineages and legends of long-dead men, in Essos gold is everything.

As Sandor begins to adapt to his new surroundings, it won't be lost on the man that it's mostly due to you. You put down the time to explain your customs to him, you are the one ordering the many learned men to tutor your sellsword and you are the one that teaches the Hound what rules can be broken and which will cost him his head. Sandor isn't blind and he isn't ungrateful. His work is no longer a means to pay for his enjoyment, but something that brings him fulfillment in and of itself. He starts to devote time to learning more about you, your interests, and your past.

A good shield knows the one it guards.

That excuse will serve him well for a time. It's when his concern starts to shift that the man no longer can lie to himself. He can protect you from any danger heading your way. A madman with an axe, some assassins here and there, but the struggles that are your own? He knows shit about it. If the gods were true they sure as hells had no intention for him to be a maester.

Sod off

Sandor won't ask about it. He still doesn't want the reason for your friendship to be the brotherhood of the scarred and maimed. Your struggles are yours, his are his. There's no help in stealing the others. His growing care for you will show as the opposite, he'll ask less and seem more distant as you talk. The Hound will become more solitary overall, your servants tell you that he's stopped his usual route to the brothels. Sandor knows he should leave Essos. Gregor has lived for far too long. He'll pack once or twice, try and muster the will to tell you that he's leaving.

More excuses. The rest of your guard is too weak. Didn't that merchant give you an odd look at the last feast? Best stay a little longer, just until you're safe. If pressed too much during this period, the Hound might very well bite the hand that feeds him. He'd like the excuse of being sent away.

Sparks and relationship

When this strange friendship changes to romance is hard to say. He'll not be sober when he makes any deeper feelings known. A blunder. Something Sandor planned to keep his mouth shut about until he died. As a relationship begins to form between you, his support will grow into new areas. If someone rubs you the wrong way, he'll make a note and whisper an insult in your ear. He'll do that too many that trouble you. It's not a brotherhood, but he knows just how annoying it is to be surrounded by whispers and fleeting looks.

Sandor would have found joy in Essos, in your service, and unlike in his homeland, he would have been open that you were the man that he loved... you would have protected him from the hardships that await him.

[ameftowriter]

Sigh ... XD I think I may have bitten more than I could chew with those fic ideas I had earlier. The one where I wrote in 3 of them. Anyway, so I ended up writing one of them more in depth than the others, but still incomplete, but I wanna show what I have so here's a snippet of one of those ideas.

I hate to use this but English isn't my first language so there will be grammatical errors, but I did my best in writing them properly.

It's about Clavell's PoV of the Starfall Street route, and also I played Violet so it's in this version.

I begin to doubt my own resolve…

The Treasure Hunt is approaching and yet no member of Team Star has spoken up about anything.

And the deadline is fast approaching.

I really am at a loss of what to do. I pace around my office thinking of how to communicate with Team Star. It is one thing to be rebellious and break the rules. But this… this is beyond simple youthful rebellion. It's been more than a year since a few students have set foot to the school let alone a classroom. This ultimatum would surely try to cease this persistent truancy.

And yet ..

And yet… I have only been met with stubbornness and no response.

There must be a reason. There has to be. Why would Team Star and it's members blatantly break these many rules without any consideration to its consequences. It's maddening… 

Or perhaps… I am looking at this from the wrong angle. It is not why they break these rules, rather they have to… but then…

I sigh as I collapse on my chair. 

If there is a way, a way for me to communicate to the Team, maybe I could see their reasoning, understand their mindset…

See this whole situation through their eyes….

Maybe I could prevent any at all from being expelled.

I felt an embarrassing rumble in my stomach. I check my watch to see that it is lunch time. I seem to have lost track of time trying to think of anything that could help me and these students.

Perhaps a good lunch and a cup of coffee from the cafeteria could help me clear my head.

I want to know and understand their reasoning behind all of this. No one would just blatantly ignore this ultimatum. Otherwise, it would have been simpler for them to just drop out. 

But I shouldn't think that way.

I just …

I just don't want to expel any of them…

They don't deserve any of this… 

"Oh! Hello Mr. Director sir!" My attention was caught by a student who was taken by surprise. "I'm really sorry for getting in your way, sir…" 

"Oh no, don't worry you're not, I was just in deep thought and I wasn't paying attention to where I was going. I must apologize."

The student looked at me with a face etched with shock and disbelief. I was simply apologizing for a silly mistake I made. Why would he look shocked that I have said that?

"O-okay then sir…" the student managed to utter, "Then I'll just head on to class then, thank you sir."

Even a thank you.

For what?

The student took off down the hall.

It was nothing more than a silly mistake that I had made. After all, I should have been playing close attention to where I was going….

….

I see…

If I was a student, like them…

I wouldn't have been faced with that disbelief expression.

If I was like any other student in this academy, especially with that young one, then that interaction wouldn't have happened.

But I am not a student.

I'm Director Clavell, the esteemed Director of this prestigious Uva Academy.

I'm the director.

And yet this is another silly mistake I have committed.

No wonder that student looked so nervous and anxious around me.

I look to see a group of students from what I can guess gossiping around the hallway. Then they turn to my directon and their conversation went to a halt.

I simply waved and said hello and went on my way.

The further I walk away from them, the more I began to hear them talking again.

How could I have been so blind?

If I simply approached Team Star as Director Clavell, I would be faced with nothing but stubbornness and silence. There would be no change.

If i were a student, maybe it would improve my chances and could proper answers I seek.

But I can't just….

I immediately noticed Master Arven running past me at a quick speed. I was in deep thought to once again not realize he was coming, but I reacted quickly enough to avoid him just barely. I wanted to tell him to stop running down the halls but it was too late as the teenager had dashed further from earshot. 

I shook my head. I am surprised that he even came to school today.  I’ve been worried about Master Arven ever since his father, Professor Turo, has fallen off the radar so to speak. I do worry about Turo as well. Maybe I should send him an email…

“This is Juliana, correct?”

“Yeah? Who are you?”

I stopped just at the Cafeteria doors. I hear someone from a phone speaking to Miss Juliana, the new transfer student that just enrolled. 

“I hacked your smartphone so I could talk to you. Hope you don't mind.” The voice from the phone sounded like a young girl. But did she just say–

“Wait a minute, What do you mean hacked?!” Miss Juliana sounded angry.

“My name’s Cassiopeia.” the girl from the phone introduced herself. Is she a student? It feels wrong to listen in to this conversation, but I couldn’t help myself but to listen in.

“But never mind that–it’s you I want to talk about. I hear you're a trainer with serious potential.”

It is true, Miss Juliana has only been here for a day or so and the whole school has already been talking about her. Especially after she had beaten two members from Team Star earlier.

“If that description is accurate, there’s something I'd like to ask of you. Tell me, Juliana… You know about Team Star right?”

… Wait a minute. Is this about Team Star?

“Yeah I know of them…” I hear Miss Juliana hesitantly reply to her.

“Great. I appreciate you being up-front here.” I could hear that this Cassiopeia person felt relieved. “Team Star is a group of troublemakers formed by some academy students a while back… They cause headaches for the school and try to bring other students down to their level.”

Is this true? If so, have I really gone blind and deaf to the problems the school is facing? Was I so oblivious about all of this? In that case, what have I been doing this whole time?!

“And I refuse to sit idly by and let them get away with it!” It seems Miss Cassiopeia is determined to take down Team Star. How noble of her. But somehow I doubt this whole speech is her only reason.

“So I’ve come up with a plan to bring down Team Star and force them to disband for good.” A plan? The Academy and the School Board have tried everything at their disposal to try to disband Team Star and yet this girl has a plan to do so? 

“I call it… Operation Starfall!” She sounds confident about it too. But how? And why?

“But I’ll need allies to carry out this operation… and I’d like you to be one of them.” Of course, Miss Juliana has already made a name for herself despite being her first day at school. Defeating those Team Star members surely must have helped in this as well.

“Really?” Miss Juliana sounded surprised. I wonder if she is unaware of the cause of her recruitment by Miss Cassiopeia. “Well… those grunts earlier were an annoying pain, honestly trying to convince that shy eevee backpack girl to join them even if she said no. So sure, I’ll help ya.”

I am not sure if Miss Juliana is naive or determined. But she did sound eager to help the girl who hacked her smartphone…

“No need to reply right this second. We can discuss the details some other time.”

I wonder…

“Till then, I’ll leave you to it. Bye.” Miss Cassiopeia is quick to hang up.

I shouldn’t linger around here as it would get suspicious if Miss Juliana comes out of the Cafeteria and sees me.

So i opened the door and walked inside and feigned ignorance to ensure that she wouldn’t think I’ve eavesdropped on the conversation.

“Ah, Miss Juliana.” I greeted her as I walked into the room, “Please do try to keep your voice down if you're making calls within the school, won't you?"

"O-of course, sir!" She sounded flustered, "I'll be more careful, sir!"

I nodded, "You don't want anyone else overhearing any personal information, after all." I do worry about you Miss Juliana, especially of what you have gotten yourself into. 

"Honestly… there's so many things we need to be careful about in this day and age…" Not just the hacking but rather the Operation Starfall itself too… I don't want you to get into a lot of trouble and could even get expelled because of this…

"On you go then, young lady!" Please don't get into any more trouble…

I waved goodbye to her as I watched her leave the Cafeteria…

"Team Star, you say….?"

[arazialotis]

Gabriel(a)? - Part 5

Characters: DeanxReader, Sam, Jack

Word Count: Around 5860

Warnings: Season 14 Spoilers (Does not follow plot exactly, but takes from main ideas), Swearing, Typical SPN Violence/Gore

Summary: Team free will seems to be out of answers and hopeless as one of their own falls sick. Yet a micheavous and annoying mystery girl pops up out of nowhere and may be able to offer a solution, if not more.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

This is purely for a hobby and my enjoyment. Maybe some of you will enjoy it too. I am by no means a writer so I apologize in advance for any mistakes or grammatical/spelling errors. I appreciate any feedback or suggestions!

----

“Yeah, yeah. The motel just up there.” You pointed and leaned over the front bench, guiding Dean to the near-empty lot.

It was a crappy estate, but hopefully cheap to host the lot of you. Shutters hung askew, tiles were missing from the roof, and paint was peeling off the plastic siding. The current state of the place had nothing to do with the string of tornados earlier this month. You had viewed the damage of one driving into town. The roads were clear, but only a few fallen trees had been sawed up. Debris was piled high, electric wires were down, and homes were unsalvagable. Whatever the demons were up to, it was some heavy shit.

The Impala shuttered to a halt in the parking life. Even as Dean turned her off, the engine rattled from the mere exhaustion of the non-stop drive. Heat radiated off the hood as you made your way to the room. Dean said he was instantly ready for action, but the dark circles under his eyes proved otherwise. Sam was in better shape, but not by much. So you convinced them a quick clean-up would do them well with the hopes that sleep would find them once they sat down and were no longer in motion.

“Room numbers?” Sam asked.

“Six.”

They both stopped when you didn’t continue.

“Y/N.” Dean’s eyes were closed. “There’s five of us.”

“And three of us don’t sleep or need to, at least. I still enjoy the occasional unconscious jaunt so long as colorful hallucinations are present.” You rambled.

“And I enjoy my privacy.” Dean snipped back.

Sam sighed. “I’ll check in and get us another room.”

“God,” You complained as you neared room number six. “Are you ever going to learn to trust me?” You opened the door and waited.

Dean analyzed you and took the first step forward. Sam stayed put as Dean turned the corner and eagerly crossed the threshold.

Dean sighed in astonishment or relief, or a little of both. “Where have you been all my life?”

You still held the door open, staring down Sam like a lioness would her prey. It was clear that you had won over his brother, won over Jack. Would he and Castiel fall? Would he betray his instincts so easily as Dean had? Or was he wrong?

Sam adjusted the shoulder strap of his duffle and followed his older brother. The expression on his face changed like the stages of tasting a complex whiskey, first from shock, to amusement, to confusion at the possibility.

“Waiting for the Doctor Who moment.” You looked at an imaginary watch.

Sam stepped back outside, glimpsing the length of the motel. “It’s bigger on the inside.”

“There it is.” You held out your hand for a fist bump.

He shook his head and let out a huff with laughter as if to let you know; no, he couldn’t be won over, but he would be taking full advantage of the accommodations while he had to bear your presence. And surprisingly, he didn’t leave you hanging.

The door behind you closed with a soft click, and Sam still stood at the entrance. The duffle bag fell to his feet. The entryway led into a sunken living room with a wrap-around couch large enough for twelve people. Jack watched Harry Potter The Chamber of Secrets on the big screen TV over a white brick fireplace. The fire within crackled and popped. The open space included a dining room with a farmhouse-style table and matching benches.

Further back was a reading nook with an emerald barrel chair and a bookshelf. It was sectioned off from the kitchen by two rooms. The reading nook was separated from the kitchen by two rooms. The kitchen contained an island, modern appliances, and a gas stove. Aside from the entrance, each wall had two doors leading into bedrooms. Everyone's name was posted in silver lettering, assigning each one a room. The sixth said spa.

“Can’t spare any power for Jack, huh?” He questioned.

“Come on, Sammy.” You challenged him. “Grace is more complex than that… It's like heat. Well, that’s my running theory anyways. I assume you’re familiar with thermodynamics?" He nodded his head, and you contained an eye roll. "Naturally. Nephilim, from what I can tell, granted, there are only two of us (that we know of), are some of the most powerful beings in existence, but that translates to requiring more grace to heat us. There’s also the dynamic of specific heat, how well we store grace. Nephilim are like water, and angels like aluminum. Water has a higher specific heat; thus, more heat is required to change the temperature. And then there are the phase changes… Are you following? I’d happily pull out a chalkboard and review the specific physics with you.”

Sam couldn’t deny it; he was impressed. “No, the theory makes sense. For Jack to get to his full potential, he would need a massive amount of grace. To use your example, what you can give him without compromising your own is like melting ice on a stove. You can get him from a solid to a liquid, but you’re never going to be able to reach a boil without an external source of energy to keep yourself powered. It was enough to heal him but not sustain his power."

Dean, who had explored the space a little, was now near asleep as the two of you debated biology and mathematics.

"Honestly, I'm just making it up and hoping for the best." You confessed. "There isn't exactly a handbook on this shit. Heaven having wiped out my kind, and I suspect most of any recorded history about it."

Sam bent down, reached inside his bag, pulled out his laptop, and wandered to the dining room table. "You're absolutely right; we should start recording some of this down."

“We watched a YouTube video!” Jack called from his seat. “But I still don’t understand the math. I guess that is why I'm not a Ravenclaw."

“My money’s on Hufflepuff.” You commented.

“So long as it’s not Slytherin,” Jack mumbled.

“Hey,” You snipped. “We talked about this. Not all Slytherins are evil.”

“Yeah, but Ron said there isn’t a bad wizard who didn’t come from Slytherin, and no one here is either,” Jack argued back. “Sam’s a Ravenclaw, Cas is a Hufflepuff, Dean’s a Gryffindor, and you….” He furrowed his brows and tilted his head, trying to piece a puzzle together.

You only winked at him, wondering if he could settle on the right house. “I guess we will just have to keep watching the movies to see if Ron is right, won’t we.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “We didn’t drive all the way here for a movie marathon. We can paint each other’s toes and put on the sorting hat later; right now, we have a case to work.”

“Dean, you need to rest.” You tried to hold the lecturing tone out of your voice, but a small hint broke through.

Of course, he was defiant. “I need twenty minutes to freshen up, and I’ll be good to go.”

He paused, his eyes glazed over like he was staring at something far away. He put his hand against the wall to steady himself. This wasn’t the first time you noticed that look. He was here physically but not mentally.

“You’re exhausted.” Sam agreed. “We can get a head start and catch you up in the afternoon.”

Dean shook his head. “No, I’m good. I’m good.”

“Well, if you are certain you are good, freshen up and join Jack and me for the Prisoner of Azkaban.” You near ordered. “I’ve already got the day scheduled out. Going in as press, you and Cas have an appointment with the sheriff at 3:00. They wouldn’t let you speak with the coroner. My fault, yes, should have gone in hot with FBI, but I’m sure you can find a way around that. At the same time, Sam and Jack have an interview with the first victim's family and then at 4:00 with the second.”

“And what will you be up to?” Sam asked.

At the same time, Dean asked. “Where is Cas, anyways?”

You addressed Sam first. “Our miraculously revived coma patient has gone missing. I bet you can guess why with the amount of sulfur in this town. I’ll start sweeping the town for her and any potential buddies. We’ll regroup for dinner and discuss any potential leads. As for Cas…”

The room labeled spa opened, and Castiel emerged from a cloud of steam in nothing but a tan bathrobe. Sam and Dean’s mouths parted.

“I would highly suggest scheduling to see Helga for a deep tissue massage before our time here ends,” Castiel advised.

Dean took a deep breath and sighed. His eyes snapped to yours. “God, I love you.”

Those weren’t the words you expected. He didn’t mean it like that, and you knew it. Despite that, bubbles rose in your stomach, and heat ignited in your core. Yet, somewhere deeper and darker, something twisted. Guilt, shame, fear. You couldn’t let them see any of it. Any part of you, the good or the bad. Especially with Sam’s unmistakable scoff. So you did your best and channel a neutral reply.

You examined your nails, “I know, right? I’ve honed in pretty well on the Alps and Cancun packages. The Shiatsu massage is still a work in progress, but my contacts in Shizuoka are closing in on a deal.”

“If there is anything I can do to be of assistance.” Castiel eagerly offered.

“We may need to roll our sleeves up for a minor miracle, but I’ll keep you posted.” You responded.

Sam couldn’t believe it. He was the one to invite you in. To trust you enough in the beginning, solely for Jack’s sake. But something about this didn’t settle right. Surrounding them with comfort so they would stay compliant and placid. Like you were fattening up a calf before slaughter. He dropped the conversation earlier with Dean but had to get this feeling off his chest. The problem was, finding the opportunity to do so privately. Even as he jotted down notes from your conversation, he took everything with a grain of salt, knowing you may be intentionally misleading him.

“Well, since we have a while, I guess a few hours of shut-eye wouldn’t hurt,” Dean announced before heading to his room, playing it off as casual as if he hadn’t almost fainted moments before.

You and Jack shared a look. More than a look, a conversation, a language that only you two could understand, that was privy to only you.

Jack nodded his head slightly and then put on an act again. “So, I can keep watching Harry Potter, right? There are still six movies to go. And I need to finish so I can decide if I should be a Jedi or a wizard.”

“That’s the best part, Jacky.” You hopped over the couch and joined him, summoning a bowl of popcorn and a Hogwarts blanket. “So long as the stories stay in our head, we can be a part of them. All of them.”

Sam eyed you a while longer, but you simply explained what movie details were missed during the conversation. Until Cas joined you on the couch and asked what a Hufflepuff was, you paused the movie so you and Jack could catch him up on the lore. Finally, Sam decided to surrender his reservations, and after saving his Word document, he headed to his room to freshen up.

With Jack present, you knew he could sense a split. The look you had shared had been concern over Dean. This spell he had was not from pure exhaustion alone. You had noticed one or two other occurrences, and Jack had noticed separate occasions as well. He agreed that you should check on him while a projection of you remained here not to alarm the others.

The bedrooms were not extravagant by any means. But they each consisted of a king-sized memory foam bed, a 4k tv, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the same lake that showed in the kitchen window, and a private bathroom with a jacuzzi tub. Okay, so maybe you had overdone it a little. But why stay in a shitty motel when you could manifest a more pleasurable experience.

Dean came out of the bathroom; his face splashed with water. You stood inside the room at the closed door and rapped your knuckle on it, signaling your presence.

His eyes traveled over your body, and he sighed. “Not now, Y/N. I’m exhausted.”

The brave front he had plastered on for the boys had dropped. It stung a little bit, him assuming what you were here for.

There was concern in your voice as you spoke. “Are you okay, Dean?”

“I’m fine.”

The bed dipped under his weight as he sat on the edge and began to unlace his boots.

“Dean…” You whispered.

“Please. Y/N. I’m just so tired.” He stated plainly.

You pushed off the wall and stalked towards him. His weary eyes followed you across the room until you landed beside him. You cupped his cheek in your hand, and he leaned into it, fully resting and closing his eyes. Prying wasn’t what he needed right now; he just needed support, somebody to hold him.

“Trust me.” You pleaded as if saying the words would make it so. What you have been begging him since the very beginning.

You guided him with you as you leaned back on the bed, half reclining and half sitting against the headboard. When he realized you weren’t asking anything of him, Dean relaxed. He wrapped his arms tightly around your torso and nuzzled his head against your chest. You hummed a soft tune and ran your fingers gently through his hair. His breath slowed and deepened as sleep quickly took him. Were you being overly sappy and romantic, humming Can’t Help Falling in Love? Yes, but he didn’t seem to mind. Did you mean it? Again, yes. With all your heart. Even if you weren’t ready to say the words. Even though he had said them to you, but didn’t mean it. He didn’t understand. A tear broke free from the corner of your eye.

*****

Dean and Cas had just finished their fruitless interview with the sheriff and took a purposeful wrong turn to head to the county office’s morgue instead of the exit. Dean wore green flannel, a beige cardigan, dark-rimmed glasses, and a press badge. Castiel didn’t take to looking the part too seriously. He was back in his trenchcoat and blue tie, but at least it wasn’t the bathrobe. Dean looked over his shoulder once, twice, and again as he reached the door, trying the handle. It only jiggled slightly but wouldn't budge.

Dean reached inside his cardigan for the concealed pocket. A case slowly zipped open as Dean went for his lock-picking set. Cas eyed him with disbelief, took the handle, and popped the door open. With raised eyebrows, Dean huffed and placed the kit back in his pocket.

The morgue was empty, and a chill deeper than air conditioning ran up Dean’s spine. The silence was heavy as their footsteps echoed. There was currently a body covered on the main examination table. Dean snapped on latex gloves and checked the toe tag. It wasn’t one of the victims they were looking for. Papers rustled as Castiel began reading through reports, and Dean went to check the lockers.

“Ah, here we go,” Dean said.

The latch clicked open, and Dean rolled out the sliding metal table, snapping at the end. Castiel kept the notes flipped open in his hands but wandered over, the body able to reveal more than the corner’s observations ever could. Dean carefully pulled back the sheet and instinctively stepped back.

"What the hell?" He asked.

Castiel peered in closer. Dean regained composure and took a better look. The eyes were burned out alright, taking with it half the face. It had to be chemical, acid, or some sort. Dean took a deep breath to calm his racing heart.

"That is no angel." So he concluded, starting a thorough exam to seek further clues.

"Or." Castiel hypothesized. "An angel covering their tracks."

They stared each other down, sharing an unspoken conversation, questions more than answers. What was Michael up to that needed covering up? If Michael was here, was he connected to the demonic activity? Weren’t demons beneath him? Was it even Michael to begin with? If not him, then who? The same person came to mind.

“Dean…” Cas began in a lecturing tone.

“Cas.” Dean interrupted. “We are treating this as any other case, and all evidence so far points to demons until we have something contrary….”

He held his open hand towards the corpse. “This is contrary evidence.”

Dean couldn’t deny it. “Well, until we have a solid lead, there is no need to go around pointing fingers.”

The angel scoffed. “Says the man who she has wrapped around her finger.”

Dean did not take kindly to that accusation. “I wasn’t the one fawning over the sauna this morning.”

“Sam sees it too.” Castiel continued to argue. “Everything she has done since her arrival has either caused us to be distracted from hunting Michael or making us so comfortable we forget Michael is even out there, to begin with.”

“She’s being too nice, which equals her murdering two randos in nowhere, Pennsylvania. You forget she literally saved Jack’s life.” He defended.

“As her way in.” He wasn’t going to drop it. “What else has she done to help us?”

Dean thought about it. You were helping Jack with his powers but with a limited grace supply; to say he was lacking was an understatement. The theory you proposed conveniently made sense and let you control the biggest potential threat. Yet the kid adored you. True, he wasn’t the best judge of character. You made really good pie which only played into the comfort aspect, and you were even better at fucking. God, how he wished to be buried inside you instead of entertaining this bullshit conspiracy theory. But it was more than all these things Cas and Sam argued were the cause of docility; it was the way Dean felt about you. The determination, the boldness, the fragility and loneliness underneath it all, the radiating care for team free will that had won Dean’s trust. If there was ill will, those intimate moments shared would feel more sickly, leery, and gated. There was still no good response for Cas, but Dean would try anyway.

“You’re just jealous I have a new friend.” He was already kicking himself as the words came out.

Before he could redeem himself, a flutter of wings cut him off, and you appeared from thin air, bringing with you the reek of sulfur.

You bent over, leaning on your knees and gasping for breath. “We have a major problem.”

They both waited for you to continue, but you were more concerned about steading your heart. When you resumed normal breathing, you looked between them, and the tension was so thick it could but cut with a butter knife.

“Am I interrupting something?” You asked.

“No.” Dean said as Castiel said, “Yes.”

“Great, well, my matter takes precedent.” You ignored Castiel’s honest response. “Do either of you know how to close a gate of hell?”

Dean’s eyes widened. This was bigger than they thought.

“Did you open it?” Castiel immediately accused.

Your voice raised what seemed to be ten octaves. “What in God’s name would I want to open a gate of hell for?”

“That’s what I’m waiting for you to tell us.” Castiel prompted.

“You are this close to losing all sauna privileges.” You threatened.

He faltered for a second but ultimately held his ground. “Answer the question.”

Your eyes darkened, peering at him as you carefully spelled out each syllable. “If I opened a way to Hell, I surely wouldn’t come around announcing to you asshats that it was open in the first place. Furthermore, if I opened it, I would know how to fucking close it!”

“A yes or no will be sufficient.” He practically ordered.

You chuckled. “Forget it. I don’t need this! I will try again to figure it out on my own. And when demon hordes overrun this state, you will have no one to blame but yourself, and don’t think for a second I will help you without copious amounts of groveling.”

Dean saw you fading and rushed, “Start with a devil’s trap to contain it, then come back, and we’ll figure out how to seal it back up.”

Before you completely vanished, you winked and shot him with a finger gun. The tension between Cas and Dean fully resumed. Dean pointed to where you had been.

“Go apologize. And help her close the damn thing.” He barked.

Castiel rolled his eyes but knew Dean was right on more than one count. Maybe he was just being jealous. They could figure out the details and reconvene after the gate was sealed. He sighed and went to find you.

After all this was over, Dean needed a fucking vacation. A real vacation. On a beach, in the sun, and with never-ending bottles of beer in his hand. He pulled out his phone to update Sam, only to see Sam was calling him.

“Yeah?” Dean answered.

“We got one,” Sam informed him.

“One what?” He asked.

“A demon. Inhabiting the girl who was comatose.” Sam said.

Finally, a way to get some proper answers. “Send me your location; I’m on my way. Oh, and Sam, this is bigger than we thought.”

----

Sam, Dean, and Jack stood outside a devil’s trap, the demon tied to a chair in the center. Everyone’s patience was frayed to the edges. The vessel currently inhabited was a girl in her late twenties. She was weak in appearance from the years of lying in a hospital bed and being fed only from a tube. But the monster inside her was any but, like a feral cat caged. Her hair was field mouse brown and unstyled. Her eyes a doe brown when they weren’t shining black. At least the thing had the decency to change from the hospital gown. As for its personality, well, what could you expect from a demon?

Dean checked his phone; they still hadn’t heard from you or Cas.

“Who opened the devil’s gate?” Sam asked through his teeth.

“I already told you, no fucking clue, hot shot.” She spat out.

“Funny how I told your leader….”

That made her laugh. “Hell has no leader. You thought it was chaos down there before. I haven’t seen anything like it—faction against faction—dog eat dog. All power-hungry narcissists clawing for the throne. As soon as that gate opened, I and anyone else with an inkling of self-preservation hightailed it outta there. I’d rather face you Winchesters any day of the week than face what’s down there. You’re not even an ounce as bad as they say you are.”

Dean twirled the demon blade in his hand. “Oh, that’s just because we're just getting started, sweetheart.”

“Whatever gets you off, Dean,” She teased. “I was on your rack before.” Her smile spread at his reaction. “Don’t you remember? You’re not as bad as you think you are. I can take anything you throw at me.”

Sam looked Dean up and down, realizing how strained Dean was at trying to keep it together. He stepped forward, protectively of Dean.

“Was it Michael who opened the gate?” Sam asked, this time, more kindness apparent in his voice, trying to coax out any drop of empathy this creature might have left.

She leaned forward, doubling over in laughter, her body falling as far as the restraints granted her. “I’m sorry, I’m… I didn’t realize how stupid you were. Must be hard to make space for a brain when you're filled up with all that muscle.”

“Tell us what you know!” Jack snapped, power radiating off him.

That got her quiet. “All I’m saying is why would an angel open up the gate when it’s their very job to wave about their moral superiority and keep us locked up in the first place?”

Sam rested a hand on Jack’s shoulder, hoping to help calm him down. The energy around him still hummed but was no longer on full display.

“Who here on earth then would help you escape?” Jack breathed out, trying to remain steady.

“Could be a number of my kind,” She acted dumbfounded. “I’ll make ya a deal; let me go, and I’ll help you find out who.” A smirk grew across her lips.

A flutter of wings announced the arrival of you and Cas. An angel blade fell from Castiel’s hand, clattering on the ground beneath, as he slid down the wall, resting with his head between his knees. The clothes that garbed you both were dirty and ragged. You leaned your head against the wall, taking deep shallow breaths, trying to keep your head from spinning. Imagine hiking up Mount Kilimanjaro (a five to nine-day trek to the summit) without any endurance or cardio training; that is what closing the gate felt like without a proper team or the necessary equipment.

Castiel looked up at the concerned faces. “It’s done.” He announced.

“Glad I got out when I had the chance.” The demon smirked.

“About how many of your friends joined you?” Dean demanded.

“It’s hard to say. Once we saw it, it was like a Black Friday rush; people were trampled, others clawed their way through the crowd. I’m just lucky to have gotten the prize.”

Sam was through. They were not going to get anything further from her. They had caught themselves a demon who was only looking out for themselves, not part of some grand scheme.

“I hope the short bout of freedom was worth it.” He raised a hand and began the incantation. He had long since had it memorized. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…”

“Sam, let’s gank her.” Dean stopped his brother. “There’s no one in that meat suit.”

Sam sighed. He didn’t like it, but his brother was right. The girl had been like this since she was a teenager. No one was coming back after an exorcism. It would just be one less demon to deal with. Dean twirled the blade in his hand once more and approached the circle.

“Want me to beg, pretty boy?” The demon taunted. “That was one of your favorite parts in the underworld, as I recall.” She licked her lips.

Dean's fist tightened, and he raised the blade.

“Wait!” You called out and pushed off the wall. “Wait.”

Dean almost didn’t. If he was being honest, he wanted to. But regardless, he took a step back and deferred to you. You crossed the circle, unafraid, knowing she held no power over you. You crouched before her, looking her up and down. She could sense you were the same as Jack, and it made her sweat. Finally, you settled on her eyes.

“Do you know why you were sent to hell?” You asked, your brows furrowing.

She scoffed a laugh, but her eyes pricked with tears, and her lips pinched together. “I can’t say I recall. It’s not if you get a trial. You just wake up there one day on a rack.”

“Do you think you deserved it?” You asked.

“Deserved what? To be tortured for all eternity? To burn in a lake of fire? To not know mercy and love from a God who is said to abound in it simply because I was born human, because I was born imperfect because I didn’t have the chance of knowing him in my mortal life.” Her eyes snapped towards Castiel. “Tell me, angel, how is your God omnibenevolent when being born surrounded by circumstances of generational religion, geological location, violence, and trauma, keeps one from his saving grace, and yet he is omnipotent and omniscient, thus condemning his very creation to hell from the beginning. He cannot be all three, so tell me, which is he? What did I do that was so bad to be condemned to hell? What did any of us do?”

You swallowed a lump in your throat. You looked past her, past the vessel, past the anger, past the trauma, into the very depths of her soul. It was so tormented, so twisted. Her pain was cascading in violent waves against you. And at the very center, she was alone and lost. You tuned the world out, and it was just you and her.

“Let me help you.” You whispered.

The others watched as your eyes glazed over and emitted a glowing gold light. Then, your hand extended forward, your fingers blurring into the space that was her heart. At that, the demon started screaming, straining against the binds, desperate for an escape.

“What is she doing?!” It howled. “Make it stop, make it stop!”

Tears spilled out, and she opened her mouth, trying to flee, but you had the soul held in the palm of your hand, picking the tangled mess apart like a necklace chain that was wound up together.

“Y/N,” Dean whispered. “Let her go.”

But he couldn’t reach you.

You did your best to console the terrified girl lost in the center. The words were only spoken to her. “It’ll be over quickly, I promise.”

The demon wailed in pain. Dean recognized her now. He squinted his eyes shut and shook his head, reminding himself he wasn’t there.

“Y/N.” He ordered more forcefully. “Stop.”

He went to grab you by the shoulder to shake you out of this, but he was greeted by a bolt of electricity that shot him back, falling on his ass. Everyone’s eyes widened with shock as they saw tendrils of black leaking out of her heart, slithering up your arm and into yours. Dean’s concern was no longer for the screams to stop but for your safety.

“Cas, Jack.” He barked. “Get her out of there!”

Hold, on. You slowed time around them as you continued to work. Just a few more seconds. There! Momentarily the gold in your eyes showed black, but you blinked it away.

“What did you do to me?” She sobbed.

You stood up, dusted off your jeans, and undid her bindings. Dean and Sam stood on defense, ready for any trickery. But she only fell out of the chair and curled into herself, inconsolable.

You leaned over and brushed her hair out of her face, the ends damp from tears. “It’ll take some time, but you’ll be okay.”

Castiel, who had since gotten up himself, came over to inspect her as well. As he did, you broke the devil’s trap with the heel of your shoe. Castiel’s brow was furrowed; he pressed two fingers to her forehead, and instead of pooling with darkness, her eyes filled with white light.

“What did you do?” He looked at you, bewildered.

You stepped staggered, and Dean caught you by your elbow. He gazed into your eyes, assessing your state. Your pupils were wider than before as if you were a cat in the darkness. You weren’t concerned. They should recede after a few hours. A raspy breath drew your attention. The girls sobbing was softening, but she still shook. Castiel draped his trenchcoat over her, his hand resting on her shoulder.

“Y/N?” Dean asked.

“I showed her she wasn’t alone. I took her pain as my own. I healed her soul.” You gulped, forcing tears from spilling out. “She has a second chance now.”

Sam was calculating it out. “She not human again, is she?”

“No.” You and Cas answered in unison.

“But she’s not a demon either.” You clarified. “She’s something new.”

A pounding split your head, and your knees gave out. Jack raced to your side, supporting you with the help of Dean. You caged the swirling in your head and stood again. The world was spinning, and off balance, you thought you would faint. Could you even faint? That didn’t seem like a very nephilim thing to do.

“I need some air.” You steadied yourself in their grasp and started off, but Dean didn’t let you go. “I’ll be okay.” You assured him and nodded back to her. “Once she’s calm, you might have a decent chance at questioning her this time ‘round.”

Dean stayed put either by you forcing your will onto him or him simply respecting your need for space; you weren’t sure. The barn was one of several rundown outbuildings in the area. It must have been a big farming operation at one point, managing both livestock and crops. Now tall grass grew between them. There were no discernible paths. Concrete that used to be parking areas for tractors and trucks was now cracked and angled from the push of the earth. An old, forgotten wood pile was stacked and rotting against one of the buildings, probably once used to keep warm during winter months.

You closed your eyes as the breeze carried the smell of wheat and sweet grass. The air was helping, yet a nauseous feeling was growing in the pit of your stomach. You heaved over as pools of liquid obsidian spilled out of you. Three or four heaves, and it was done. You spit several times to clean your mouth. Creating distance from your sickness, you found a red barn and sat down against it.

A sniffle caught in your nose, and the feeling of liquid running down caused you to wipe at it with the back of your hand, revealing further obsidian that smelled of sulfur. Clearly, your body was trying to purge you of the pain and evil you had taken on.

Heavy footsteps crunched the gravel and dry grass underneath. You sighed; you weren’t ready for this. You needed a few more moments alone to process, to grief, to heal yourself. You weren’t ready to face one of them, to convince them that this wasn’t some twisted plan, that they could trust you. Breaths shook out of you as you tried to steady yourself and build strength.

The sun was bright as the looming figure approached you. Relief flooded you as Dean’s outline, not one of the others approached. But as he blocked the sun, outlining him like a halo, the alleviation turned to terror. His posture, stance, and how he oozed arrogance clued you into who it really was. You pushed up against the wall to meet him head-on. He had already discovered you in a vulnerable state, and you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of prolonging that experience.

“Michael.” You gritted your teeth together.

He adjusted the cuffs on Dean’s flannel. You could tell it bothered him to be clothed in anything less than an Armani suit. Hopefully, it itched.

“Care to fill me in on that little stunt you pulled back there, Gabriela?”

[theshinysnivy1]

When I’m looking for new fics to read I might sort by kudos, but I also generally find that there is usually very little association between fic popularity and how much I’m going to like it, simply due to the randomness of popularity, the fact that older fics have an advantage, and the fact that I’m not huge on romance, the most popular genre.

So I use kudos as a starting place and not much else.

If a fic has been around for a while and has a suspiciously small amount of kudos I might eye it warily, but I usually find that those fics tend to have other things on the surface that deter me as well. If a fic’s description and tags interest me but the fic only has a few kudos, I will usually still open it.

I will almost never read a fic if there are typos or grammatical mistakes in the summary, ‘I couldn’t think of a description’ descriptions, or signs of things that are squicks for me in the tags or description.

I can tolerate some grammatical and spelling mistakes if I really like the concept of a story, but otherwise I can’t handle them. If somebody didn’t double-check their description for errors, or use a spellchecker or something, I usually assume the fic will have too many errors for me to get immersed.

I always look at the ships of course, even though I’m not a romance person. If I read a shipfic, I’m usually reading despite the romance, drawn in by some other aspect of the story that caught my attention (usually angst). I don’t really have any ships that I like enough to make me read a fic, but there are definitely plenty of ships that will make me immediately scroll to the next story.

I also always read tags. In addition to squicks, I avoid most fics with character bashing, especially of characters I like. I’ve also noticed that ‘author is a _ apologist’ tags with villains often means the story woobifies the heck out of the villain, which is also not my cup of tea— and villain apologism often goes hand-in-hand with bashing the heroes of the story, which I’m also rarely fond of.

I use the tags to determine who the main characters are. If my favorite characters show up, how prominent will they be in the story? Aside from character tagging order, relationship tags also hint at this. Ex “(character) & (rest of group)” pretty clearly indicates that the character important enough to be mentioned by name is the focus. Character-specific freeform tags are also a big hint, like “(character) needs a hug” or “(character) is asexual”. Authors rarely bother with these for characters that don’t show up much.

For multi chapter fics, I look at word count to chapter count ratio. Fics with really short chapters tend to move quickly, jumping from event to event without dwelling on things, which isn’t super appealing to me.

Another thing with word counts is that there are some fics I would consider ‘suspiciously long’. 100K+ word fics are a big time/attention commitment, and they tend to take a while to get the plot rolling, so I particularly want to know if the story will appeal to me with those. For fics that are really, really long, I wonder if there might be some quantity vs quality tradeoff happening, or if the plot kind of drags on. I’ve read a few fics above the 200K word mark, but usually I only do so if the concept really catches my attention or somebody who I know has similar tastes to me recommended it.

For a fic with a standard description free of typos, no ships or tags I dislike, what does it take for me to read it then?

First, a concept, plotline, or other hook that gets my attention, ideally featuring one of my favorite characters as the focus, but not required to. Then, a word count that matches with my current energy level. Finally, the vibes must be right.

If a story has no deterrents and looks interesting, but I decide not to read it due to word count or vibes, I’ll usually mark it for later to check out when the vibes are correct.

Another AO3 thing I’m curious about, how do yall decide if something is good enough to read? Usually I follow a rule of 1 kudos for every 10 hits. One because it’s easy math and two it’s yet to fail me. Thoughts? Do you just go for it and pray it’s good?

[whispers-of-heaven]

𝐓𝐨 𝐄𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬, 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞

💌ྀི｡ﾟ. cupid, what'd you do to me? (·•᷄‎ࡇ•᷅)

𝗚𝗨𝗜𝗗𝗘𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗘𝗦 𝗚𝗜𝗩𝗘𝗡 𝗕𝗬 𝗠𝗢𝗘𝗦𝗜𝗘𝗟𝗟𝗘.

i would like to note that I'm not any of the artists i post, this account isn't affiliated with any of them & i don't have any sort of connection to them in any way, and i made this for roleplaying purposes only.

this account, its contents, and interactions are merely fictional.

contents, photos, videos, etc. tweeted or used are not mine unless it's stated otherwise.

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚.

this account will contain nsfw as stated for some adult material content such as explicit contents, triggering content, harsh words that will be done by her. cautions will be stated. follow at your own risk.

the languages i used are english (60%), bahasa (35%), and the other languages (5%) to adjust the conversation and writings.

however, the foreign language is not my mother tongue, therefore, i would like to apologize in advance if there are any grammatical errors.

[hei-diari]

a mandate to scrutinize,

DISCLAIMER: Similarities in names, characters, places, events, et cetera is purely unintentional. Brands and business named in the story is for the purpose to support the character’s storyline.

A few important things are stated her as a guidance to interact with Heidi Amarisa.

Account: Heidi Amarisa is an original character. A made up from the reverie of Morticia, inspired by various movies, books, and songs. Heidi ia a multiverse character. The account is labeled as a strictly-strict in character.

Trigger Warnings: Explicit content which is not safe for work nor minors. Viewer discretion is advised.

Languages: English and Bahasa Indonesia. Apology in advance for any typos and grammatical errors on both languages.

Prohibitions: Godmodding and metagaming unless it is discussed beforehand. Make permanent damage to the character physically.

Brackets: Tweets without brackets indicates that it is in character. The use of (˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ⠀ Lorem ipsum) indicates that it is out of character. Whilst (𝑴͟𝑶͟𝑹͟𝑻͟𝑰͟𝑪͟𝑰͟𝑨͟: ⠀ Lorem ipsum) indicates that the writer is taking over.

Credits: All the media used belongs to it’s rightful owner. I do not own any of it unless it is stated otherwise. Edits are made by me or will be posted with a credit if it is not.

[vouvivre]

⠀ ❛ The Gardener

The author inclined to mention that she is not the real Kim Min Jeong of AESPA. There are no other intentions other than to roleplay.

Character: Nicole’s story is merely a reverie of billet-doux and is inspired or based on various movies, books, and songs. If there are any similarities in names, stories, places, events, etc. It is purely unintentional.

Trigger and Content Warning: Nicole’s story might contain triggering contents and other content that might not be suitable for minors—viewer discretion is advised.

Language: Nicole interact with two languages which is English and Bahasa Indonesia. Please take note that billet-doux is more comfortable to write and interact with English.

Writing: Billet-doux writes in first, second, and third person POV. The POV used can be discussed before a partnered plot. Apologies in advance for any grammatical errors and misspelling.

Prohibition: Godmodding* and metagaming in any way. Write a story that can cause a permanent damage to Nicole’s character (physically).

*acceptable if discussed beforehand.

Bracket: Information to differs who’s speaking or in charge.

In character:

No bracket or “My sweet dainty baby”

Out of Character:

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹

My sweet dainty baby.

Author’s note:

billet-doux.

My sweet dainty baby.

Credit: All media (be it photos, videos, musics, poems, quotes, etc) belong to its rightful owner. I do not own any content unless it is stated otherwise. Edits are made by me or will be stated with a credit if it isn’t mine.

Billet-doux is open for any criticism and suggestions that can help her improve her character. DM is always open for any relation or plotting discussion, criticism and suggestions, light talk (to build chemistry between our characters), etc. Don’t hesitate to reach for me.

Replies will be given depending on billet-doux’s availability and mood. Your patience is highly appreciated. Do leave your urgent messages in DM for a faster response.

[clearskiesandsunrise]

gender (identity) is an unfalsifiable metaphysical belief, just like religion, and the majority of people who believe in it are white american kids raised christian who went atheist during adolescence but then realised they still desperately needed something completely unprovable and unscientific to believe in bc it's what they've been accustomed to since early childhood ✌️

I'm going to treat this like a teachable moment!

Now, I'm cis, so take all of this with a grain of salt. Much like many things in society, gender is itself a cultural construct that shapes and is shaped by our bodies. You're not wrong to compare it to religion, though less in the sense of it being a strict doctrine or conscious belief system and more like an underlying cultural current, in the same way Biblical morality influences nominally secular culture in countries like Canada, America, England and so forth. Perceptions of what a given gender should and shouldn't be are not entirely based in biology**, but are deeply rooted in our psyches nonetheless. Perceptions of what is "masculine" and "feminine" differ a lot across cultures, and our own perception of a clear divide between sex and gender is, itself, a construction based on previous concepts of what gender is and isn't, and this is all shown through behaviours. This is what people like Dr. Butler mean when they say gender is "performative," which is to say "achieved through repetition across populations*" in that it's something that is done. Saying gender is unfalsifiable is a bit silly grammatically - it'd be kind of like saying "riding a bike is unfalsifiable." As for what you might term "gender identity" being "unfalsifiable" I would ask you to consider whether your own gender is falsifiable. If you were to tell me you were a man, would I be able to prove you wrong? Any kind of physical assumption I could make, even in intimate circumstances and with the strictest definitions bound solely in physiology (itself a fallacy), is bound to lead to errors. The only reliable metric of gender is the person's own behaviour and testimony.

Based on your response, I would guess that you don't know many trans people personally. To that end I would recommend listening to some of the narratives of what we in the west call trans people from across the world, as there are many, many voices willing to do this subject more justice than this white cis man would be able to. More importantly, though, it's important to surround yourself with voices that differ from what you know now - how else will you grow? I've been blessed with many lovely trans friends over the years, and I am grateful for their love and their patience with me.

On a last note, trans people in America have been mostly represented by white people, certainly, and that exposes a media bias in favour of white people in America. There are lots and lots of trans people of all different backgrounds, from all designated racial and ethnic groups, and in all socioeconomic contexts. And of course, America is not the only country, though coincidentally its Public Broadcasting Service has done an admirable job in cataloguing non-binary identities from across the world here: https://www.pbs.org/independentlens/content/two-spirits_map-html/

To any trans person reading this who isn't the sender of this ask: apologies for the information I might have misinterpreted or oversimplified here (Butler's a factually dense read!). You are culturally significant, and your history is both global and ancient. You are loved, and are deserving of that love, even and especially in the face of those that say otherwise.

*this is a massive simplification and I don't do it justice, but it's not the worst working definition

** the interplay of biology, environment, and culture is a pretty deep rabbit hole, though I would be open to talking about it in DMs.

[personinthepalace]

Dream Movie

@singledarkshade​ came up with the Dream Movie Challenge, in which we were given six actors from our favorite tv shows/movies, a wildcard actor, and a random item. We then had to incorporate these elements into our own movie/movie franchise. 

I was given:  Dalila Bela (Odd Squad), Joshua Sitch (Little Lunch), Aston Droomer (The Inbestigators), Henry Lewis (The Goes Wrong Show), Pearl Mackie (Doctor Who), Tala Ashe (Legends of Tommorrow), Wild Card - Harrison Ford, Item - Toy Robot

Here is what I came up with!

Follow that Duck!

Synopsis: Amy (Dalila Bela) has lost her duck, Otis, and recruits her friends and neighbors to help her find him. However, after a long winded chase, they track Otis to The Wizard’s (Harrison Ford) manor. And everyone knows that nobody has ever left that place alive.

Otis the Duck

Info on the cast and plot under the break:

Main Cast

Dalila Bela as Amy Lawrence: The girl who lost the duck. Amy didn’t mean for him to wander off. But she looked away for a minute to clean out her spyglass, and when she looked back he was gone. Most likely through the front door that she accidentally left open. Even with her spy gear, she knows that it wouldn’t be an easy job finding Otis so she recruits her friends to help.

Joshua Sitch as Eric Gardner: Julia’s friend. Carrying around a magnifying glass, Eric is always looking for a mystery even when there isn’t one. Luckily, he spotted Otis leaving Amy’s house so Eric knows in which direction they should go.

Aston Droomer as Ian Miller: Julia’s other friend. Ian has a photographic memory which definitely comes in handy when they need to retrace their steps. He can get sidetracked easily though, but a shouted “IAN” will get him back on track (usually).

Tala Ashe as Julia Atashin: Amy’s neighbor. Julia is initially annoyed by the duck chasers and refuses to help them because they are interrupting her cooking show. However, her roommate, Charlie, drags her along, and soon Julia is invested in the chase as well.

Pearl Mackie as Charlie Banks: Amy’s other neighbor and Julia’s roommate.  Charlie has spotted Otis waddling pass. She has looked after Otis before, and she is willing to help the duck chasers find him. After all, a duck chase would give her something to do before her next marathon.

Henry Lewis as James Thorne: The donut shop owner. Amy, Eric, and Ian are some of his regular customers. When the duck chasers tracks Otis the duck to his shop, he offers to help them by driving them around in his donut van. With the occasional stop for a customer of course.

Wild Card - Harrison Ford as The Wizard: The man who lives in the manor on top of the hill. According to legend, he is an all powerful wizard and whatever passes through his gates never returns. Otis the duck has somehow gotten onto his premises. Luckily for the duck chasers, the latter half of the legend isn’t true. The first part though...

Item - Toy Robot- Max the Robot Duck: During their search for Otis, the duck chasers meet Max. Well less “meet” and more “accidentally catch”. But Max is willing to forgive them for their mix-up because he knows where Otis has gone. And yet even Max refuses to step through The Wizard’s gates.

Plot Arc

Shot in a mockumentary style, the movie starts off with Amy introducing the video as a “video blog case because someone [intense off screen stare] wants to keep it in his files.” We later learn that it’s Eric. Throughout the movie, whenever it cuts back to Amy narrating, we see her carrying a bucket of paint, using a rope to scale a wall, and painting the wall.

We see how Amy recruits Ian and Eric, then Julia and Charlie, and finally James to help her find Otis. Then we see some of their comedic and wild shenanigans of catching glimpses of Otis and chasing after him, but they lose sight of him every time.

They finally manage to catch a duck, but it turns out to be Max, a talking robot duck. He knows where Otis went though and leads them to The Wizard’s rundown manor. 

Everyone is scared to go in, but Amy is determined to get Otis back. We notice that Max is extremely reluctant. The group meets The Wizard, who introduces himself as Mr. Purser. He has been looking after Otis.

Mr. Purser notices Max and starts laughing. With a murmured incantation and a wave of his hand, Mr. Purser transforms Max into a human. Apparently, Max is his apprentice. While practicing his spells, he accidentally turned himself into a toy duck robot and couldn’t figure out how to reverse the spell. He was too embarrassed to go back to Mr. Purser’s place and ask for help.

We cut back to Amy who has finished recounting the story. She seems to have finished painting the wall and jumps down from the rope. The camera shifts, and we see Eric, Ian, Charlie, Max, and Otis (yes Otis) painting Mr. Purser’s house. A shout of “Donuts!” is heard. The camera shifts again, and we see James, Julia, and Mr. Purser carrying trays of fresh donuts and other foods to a table. As everyone rushes to the table, Amy turns off the camera.

Unexpected cast: Arthur Darvill as Max the Robot Duck