#I have a hellish week at work ahead of me

[theladycarpathia]

Empty Places chapter 3 - Apparition

Back to Chapter 2

Alright, so Billy isn’t totally immune to whatever bullshit is going on.

This house gives him the creeps. Like the actual heebie-jeebies, like his Grandma Lizzie used to say. There’s a strange shiver down his spine, like someone is just watching. Watching him, watching Robin, watching Steve.

But he goes down to the basement anyway. He knows Steve fucking hates it, so he volunteers. He does it every time.

One of these days, they really need to stop splitting up for these walkthroughs. He doesn’t believe in it like Steve does but he still thinks that one of these days, they’re gonna get killed that way. Either he’ll fall through a floor or some drifter will slit their throats, because they’re still stupid kids wandering into places that they don’t belong.

The basement door swings open smoothly on its hinges and somehow that’s worse. But Billy flicks on his flashlight, turns on his camera and heads down into the darkness anyway.

The stairs creak underfoot and Billy checks each one before he puts down his weight. But despite their age, they all hold and Billy steps down onto the concrete floor in one piece.

He’s not going to find anything down here. He’ll find junk that the Packards left behind when they abandoned the place, maybe some other stuff from previous owners. If he’s really lucky, he’ll find yet another creepy portrait of the Creels, but that’s probably going to be the scariest thing he finds today.   

The basement is cold concrete, a hollow shell that was never fully filled out. Not one of the house's residents ever felt the need to renovate to make a spare room, a play room, or even bothered to slap a pool table and an old sofa down here and call it a man cave. There’s a bulb on a cable overhead but Billy doesn’t bother finding a switch. 

According to their research, the basement is in a strange configuration, corridors set out in a neat square until you eventually double back on yourself. Billy looks back behind him, at the dark corridor past the staircase and shrugs. He may as well make a loop.

The first room he comes to is nothing but boxes packed against every available wall space. Judging by the dust on some of them, the faded writing and the quality of the cardboard, the Packards weren’t the only ones to leave stuff behind. The basement must have accumulated everyone’s unwanted crap - every time someone moved in they just added their own boxes to the ones in the basement and no one ever cleared them out. And the next room is more of the same - boxes and boxes, a kid’s old trike, a bassinet shoved into a corner. Billy frowns and moves on. Jesus. This is going to be the most boring walkthrough he’s ever done.

But as he moves through the rooms, something begins to pick away at him. This basement is far too large for the size of the house. And while it’s a pretty big house, the basement offers nearly as much space as the whole first floor. And when Billy shines his torch down the hallway, he gets the idea that it’s not a dead end there either.

What was the point? Did Andrew Newton hope to host some sort of speakeasy down here before he’d kicked it? Because why would you need a space of this size underneath an already pretty sizable house? No one ever even made use of it - they chucked their crap down here and left it alone.

And Billy doesn’t blame them. Even without the stark concrete walls, cold floors and dark, windowless rooms this basement has a strange feeling about it. If the house felt empty and sad, then this place is even worse, leaving Billy with an uneasy feeling in his gut.

This one is weird. Maybe the Packards booked it for a fucking reason. 

He hits the end of the hallway and is met by even more doors. Briefly, Billy wonders if there’s even any point in looking in them. The most he can expect to find is more boxes, some huge cobwebs and a whole lot of musty stale air. He’s not exactly expecting that they’ll watch the footage back and see spirits flickering across the screen.

But the next corridor throws up something new. A passageway split right down the center, probably leading him back to where he started at the staircase…or so it should. Billy shines his light down it and frowns. He didn’t see any other entrance when he came down here. So where the hell does this go? 

He wanders down it, shining his light over the walls. Unlike the other corridors that offer two or three rooms, there’s only one door here. It looks older than all the rest, made of some strange, splintered, reddish wood. All the other doors are more modern and new, so why the hell does this one look like it was made in the dark ages? Billy’s fingers just about graze the weathered old wood when he hears something that takes several years off of his life.

“Billy?” 

Billy automatically jerks a hand down to the walkie on his belt before he realizes. The voice didn’t come from the walkie. It came from behind him.

He jerks his head around, shining the torch across every inch of the hallway, heart thudding furiously in his chest. But there’s nothing there. He’s alone.

“What the fuck?” Billy whispers, cold trickling down his spine. But he shakes it off. He’s letting the others get to him. Steve especially knows just about every trope and horror cliche going. In all honesty, if they were actually in a horror movie, Steve is probably the only one getting out alive. 

“Billy?” the voice continues, high-pitched and clear. Billy’s fingers grow clammy around the flashlight. It’s not fucking possible. The house is empty.

And yet, someone is calling him.

“Billy!” There’s urgency in this last plea, some desperation from the unseen caller. Billy steps towards it, moving his torch from side to side across the hallway, only to find it completely empty. 

Someone’s fucking with him, they have to be. Maybe Steve or Robin decided to mess around with him for this one, and are actually playing a recording from behind him in the dark.

Billy returns back the way he came, unable to stop his heart racing as he searches for the voice. There’s still space here that he hasn’t covered, the remains of this corridor and the one leading back to the stairs. 

But there’s the logical side of his brain pointing out that they probably couldn’t have gotten down the stairs to the basement without him noticing and that the cellar door is still firmly locked. And what’s really creeping him out is the fact that it doesn’t sound like a voice playing over a recorder. It almost sounds like she could be whispering in his ear. 

Billy eyeballs the remaining two doors. Only one way to be sure.

The door slams into the wall as it swings open, propelled by Billy’s foot. But aside from the crash of the metal handle meeting concrete, there’s nothing else. The voice is gone, and as Billy swings his torch from side to side, the room is completely empty. 

Shit. He’s freaking himself out.

But he heard a voice. He knows he did - this wasn’t something carrying on the wind, and it wasn’t Robin’s husky tones echoing from upstairs. This was someone small, a female child, and she was calling Billy.

Billy’s gut twists. In the year and a few months that they’ve been doing this, Billy has never once believed any of the ghouls and goblins shit about any of the places he’s visited. And what makes this house worse is that there’s not even any of that. The Miller barn was supposedly haunted by Old Man Miller, who’d hang you up by your throat. That cottage on Bartlett Lane was supposed to contain a woman in white, who’d kill every man who wandered through her door. Creepy twins, poltergeists, men with axes, blood leaking out of the walls, rattling chains…Billy’s heard it all. Every rumor, legend and folktale going about every supposedly haunted building for miles.

But this one doesn’t have any. Not a dime. Just…people who’ve died. People die. Billy didn’t see any mystery in that. 

Maybe he was wrong. 

A cool breeze drifts across the back of his neck and he nearly jumps out of his skin. So far the basement has been full of still, stale air, the kind that hasn’t known a fresh breeze in nearly a decade. Billy rubs a hand across the back of his neck, unable to stop the prickle of goosebumps. Okay, that’s his limit. Even by the very high standards of bullshit that he operates by, he’s done with this fucking basement. 

And that’s when he hears the chimes.

It’s not quite like the old church bell that used to ring the hour in Hawkins, but the similar heavy toll gives Billy deja vu. It resounds through the hallways, and Billy whirls around, feeling like the walls are closing in. 

And then as quickly as they started, the bells are gone, leaving only an echo and cold sweat down Billy’s back.

His fingers are growing clammy around his torch. Something wants him out of this basement.

But there’s only one door left and Billy thinks that he might be the stupidest person that’s ever lived as he closes his hand around the doorknob. 

There’s a man with his back to the wall; medium height, medium build, with brown hair cut close to the back and sides of his head. He’s wearing jeans and a dark canvas jacket, sturdy black boots peeking out from his hems.

No. This is fucked up. This isn’t real. 

“Dad?” Billy asks in disbelief, because last time he checked, his dad was living in a house two towns over with his new wife and stepdaughter. There’s no reason for him to be here, inspecting the dirt on the walls. 

But then the man turns and Billy feels about seven years old again as Neil Hargrove turns to look at Billy with the same cold eyes he used to have when he beat Billy’s mother.

“Fucking things up again?” Neil inquires, looking around at the dripping pipes, the dust on the windowsill. “You’re meant to be doing things with your life, Billy. Not fucking around with those idiot friends and this waste of time.”

Billy steels himself, no matter how much his throat burns. He sees his dad maybe twice a year for a weekend, and he knows exactly how to behave. He smiles at Max, he compliments Susan. He keeps everything tidy and does every chore before Neil can think to ask it of him. He dresses in more moderate clothes and talks about fake dates with imaginary girls. He doesn’t talk about Steve and Robin, he isn’t sarcastic or rude or loud, and he keeps out of Neil’s way. It’s an ordeal that has to be endured for two days twice a year. He survives. 

This isn’t Neil. But that doesn’t make Billy any less afraid.

“It’s for fun,” Billy says, immediately hating the tremble in his voice. “It’s just a hobby.”

“There are better hobbies,” Neil says immediately, every word like a gunshot. “Worthwhile hobbies. You play a sport, you learn a skill. What exactly does hanging around with the queer freaks and chasing ghosts get you? Hmm? Nothing.” Billy flinches, like he can feel the spit as Neil hisses the last word.

“They’re my friends,” Billy says defensively, because he’s not going to let this cruel parody of his father insult his friends. “And I don’t have to do everything because it’s worthwhile, because colleges will like it. Because it’s deemed worthwhile by you.”

The Neil creature stalks across the room so fast that Billy’s back hits the wall before he has a chance to think about it, his camera clattering to the ground. And oh God, he thought that this thing was a ghost but Neil has a forearm pressed against Billy’s neck before he has the time to react. He can see everything - the glint in Neil’s cold blue eyes, the lines around his mouth, every neatly trimmed hair in his mustache. Billy stifles a sob. He’s not a kid anymore. He’s bigger than Neil, stronger than Neil. He plays basketball and hockey, he bench presses and gets up to run every morning. He’s spent years trying to make sure that he can fight back.

He forgot about his heart. That’s the thing that still gives out on him. 

“I am your father, boy,” Neil says, voice raspy and low. “What have I told you about backtalk?”

Billy closes his eyes. This isn’t real. He doesn’t know how it’s happening but this isn’t real. 

“I'm real enough,” the monster says, mouth twisting in a smirk. And it’s just such a Neil smirk, the same one he used to do when he’d caught Billy in a lie, when he found makeup under Billy’s bed, the torn out pictures of basketball players. “And I still know that there's a whole lot of wrong in you, boy.�� Billy sucks in a mouthful of air, because he half forgot to, because this is an old wound that refuses to heal over.

“Oh, yes, I know it,” Neil whispers, pressing down on Billy’s throat. It hurts but Billy’s had worse. “You think I wanted you for a son? Some make-up wearing fag? I’ve seen whores that dress less like sluts! You can push it down and play pretend but you can’t fool me.” 

“I see you four days out of the year, old man,” Billy says, through gritted teeth. Because that was the agreement, even though his mom cries every time one of those weekends comes around. Even though that was the price they paid to be free of Neil. Four days for Billy to play at the picture perfect family. A completely normal son, who likes women and watches sports and has different friends. Billy got used to the fact that Neil didn’t want him as he is a long time ago. “I’m amazed that you notice fucking anything about me.”

Billy’s head connects with the wall as Neil grabs hold of his shirt and yanks him forward, just to whip him back. Billy bites down on the cry that forms in his throat.

“I know a hell of a lot,” Neil purrs. There’s something inhuman about the way he tilts his head, how his eyes are more pupil than iris. “I know what you feel when you let boys touch you. And how you still can’t quite badmouth me to all your friends. And I know about all those dark little thoughts that run through your pretty little head late at night. Do you think that they know?” His eyes flick up coyly to the ceiling, to where several stories above, Steve and Robin are wandering around. Alone. Unprepared.

“Leave them out of this!” Billy says furiously. Neil hums thoughtfully, his fingers tightening in Billy’s shirt.

“Nah, they’ve got their own problems. Maybe not so much the girl. Not a lot that she pushes down. Your friend, Steve, though…” Neil whistles sharply, shaking his head, like Steve is a lost cause. “That boy has it as bad as you. Repression out of the wazoo.”

“Don’t fucking touch him!” Billy bites out, suddenly even more afraid than he’d been before. He stares into the thing’s eyes, because this is just something pushing his buttons and that’s almost a better monster than Neil. And it’s also threatening Steve. 

“You’re in my house,” the thing says, dipping its head low to Billy’s ear. The breath that drifts across Billy’s cheek is cold and rank and Billy squirms. “You hear that a lot, don’t you? My house, my rules.”

“Get fucked,” Billy spits, and the thing grins, mouth splitting open just a little too wide. There’s something behind Neil’s eyes now, some flicker of a sickly bright yellow, with the gleam of a hunter’s eyes catching the light.

“I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you have,” it promises, running a tongue over its bottom lip. Billy watches, sickened, as the tongue extends far longer than any normal human’s should, a little too red and a little too pointed. “And I’m not alone in here. Get out, if you think you can.”

It releases Billy and it’s so unexpected that his legs give way beneath him. He slides to the floor, coughing slightly now that the pressure on his throat has eased. When he looks up, the room is empty, whatever was wearing his dad’s face has vanished. Billy doesn’t stick around to find out if it’s coming back.

He books it to the staircase before he tugs his walkie from his belt. He can’t go racing all over this mansion to find Steve and Robin. He needs to get his friends and get out of here. If they happen to throw gasoline and a lit match on the house as they go, Hawkins is probably better off for it.

“Steve!” he barks, worry rising like a rush of bile in his throat. If he’s seen his worst nightmare, what the hell appeared to them?

The darkness of the basement looms behind him, feeling more like a shroud than before. Billy nervously takes a few more steps up, like a man watching the floodwater roll in.

“Steve, Ro, I’m not fucking around,” he says sharply, real terror beginning to set in. His friends are capable but the element of surprise can be a real fuck up. Even Steve might not manage against a fight he’s not expecting. 

“Someone answer the fucking walkie!” Billy shrieks, slapping a hand against the wall.

Steve’s voice when it comes through is the sweetest sound that he could have imagined.

“Thank fuck, Steve,” he snaps, relief settling over his body and, as usual, coming out with rough edges. Aside from his mom, his friends are the only thing like family that he’s got. He’d sooner die than lose them.  “I’ve been out of my mind. Shit’s weird down here. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, after a beat. He sounds rough, a strange tone to his voice. “I’m okay.”

“Jesus,” Billy mutters, because Steve sounds like shit. He begins to climb the stairs, two or three at a time. One down, one to go. “I’m coming up. Is Ro with you?”

“What?” Steve’s voice sounds confused, and then worry starts to seep in. “No, she’s not with me.” Billy reaches the top and pushes through the basement door, hurriedly kicking it shut behind him. Fuck his stuff, he’s not fucking going in there again. He’s getting the others and getting the hell out of here.

“Then where the hell is she?” he asks in frustration, and sets off down the hall to find Steve.

Onto chapter 4

[itsmealaiahh]

"Much Needed Release"

TW: tom being pussymuncher69, pussy eating, clit stimulation, minor profanity, some angst in the beginning, head (fem rec obviously), praise, some overstimulation, somnophilia

Request: older Tom X younger petite reader. reader had a bad day and Tom was tired of hearing abt how bad she was being treated. when r (reader) went upstairs for a nap, Tom woke her up with his face in between her thighs. He makes r cum A TON! Yea. Thx baeee!

IM ACK 😚😚`😚😚😦😦😦 NON T DEAD

Rating: under 15 dni!! explicit situations lie ahead!!

"I hate weekdays"

You complained to tom the minute you walked through the door, tired and spent from the hellish day you had just went through. It just wouldn't stop! The terrible treatment from certain co-workers, and even your boss was unbearable, to say the least.

Each day, you always came home, your mood miserable, and tom wanted to fix it. He was honestly getting a little bit annoyed at how every day at your officeplace was going. Why were your co-workers so rude towards you? Hell, why was even your boss so rude? He was sure you hadn't done anything to warrant the treatment. You were sweeter than anyone he had ever met, and it took a lot to get you angry or upset.

He wanted to help you out and give you a break from the tough week, but how so? You would surely fall asleep during a movie or an activity where you both just sat on the couch together, so how could he possibly help? He didn't notice you were no longer in the living room until he snapped out of his thoughts, and he knew you were taking a nap. He could try to..no.

That would be wrong, and quite frankly, disgusting, unless...

Tom made his way to the bedroom, seeing you napping on his pillow, your body covered by the duvet. Quietly closing the door behind him, he padded over to the mattress where you slept, picking the covers off. His eyes widened just a bit at seeing your underwear the only thing that you were wearing, and his cock twitched in his pants, slowing coming to life. His lips parted a bit, his tongue swiping over his bottom one as he gazed over your sleeping frame, drinking you in fully.

The more he looked, the more turned on he became, his member now straining almost painfully against the restraint of his pants. He pulled the covers over himself, stripping you of your remaining clothes, throwing them to the side; your precious cunt now exposed.

He groaned a little at the sight, placing a gentle lick on your clit before delving into your pussy. His hands held your hips down as you squirmed every now and then in your sleep, letting out little whines as well. He closed his eyes, lapping up and down your core, ravishing your taste on his tongue.

"so fucking sweet" he murmured, his tongue flicking up and down your little bud occasionally, working wonders on you. More moans and other small noises escaped you, slowly coming to from your sleep. Tom didn't see your eyes opening up as he continued to bury his face into your pussy, now sucking tastefully on your clit. You let out a loud moan, your vision no longer blurry. Your legs wrapped around tom's head, squeezing just a bit. You didn't have any time to adjust, your body overcome with pleasure.

Breathing in slowly, you met eyes with tom, who looked up at you with a grin, his beard glistening with your juices. "w-what are you doing?" You questioned, pulling yourself upright with your elbows. "Well" he started, giving another small lick to your core, before going back to speaking. "You had a rough day, so I wanted to make it better. Just sit and relax and let me please you, okay baby? I'll make it worth your while"

You laid back down with a sigh, enjoying the feeling of tom's tongue lapping insistently at your pussy. The tongue was a very wet and strong organ, and having tom's on your core? Fucking heaven. Your legs squeezed his head again, not too rough to cut off air supply, just enough to let him know how good you were feeling. "You like that baby? My tongue on this pretty little pussy?" He smirked. You nodded, giving another small whimper. Your hips bucked up against his mouth, already giving way to your orgasm. "To-tom"

Many, many, many, delicious orgasms later, and now you and tom were snuggled up together in bed, his hand stroking your hair softly. After being so spent from simply his tongue, he was calming you down and letting you go back to sleep, no more tricks up his sleeve for the rest of the night. He was going to let you get some much needed rest, and he'd try to convince you to stay home tomorrow so you could regroup and hopefully ease up from all of the tension your work was putting on you. But that was for tomorrow, right now, it was just about you and him, snuggled up together, happy and content.

also sorry jordan if this isn't what you wanted pookie lmk if you want some diff and i'll try to fix it 😋😋😋

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

The Dangers of Hope Ch. 7

Series Summary: When Y/N shows up at Camp Chitaqua with her little girl in tow, her bloodshot eyes leave no doubt that she's infected. Or is she? Everything Dean has come to know for certain over the last five hellish years, is about to be challenged.

Pairings/Characters in the series: Endverse!Dean x Reader, Emma (OFC), Castiel, Sam Winchester, Lucifer, Michael, Zachariah, Risa, Johnston (OMC), Patrick (OMC), Theresa (OFC), other survivors and soldiers.

Series Explicit 18 +/Warnings: Show level violence, some gore, angst, smut, fluff all the usual for a series of mine. ❤️ Endverse!Dean (that's a warning for his anger and callousness as well as his extreme hotness. 😁) Each chapter will have their own specific warnings.

Chapter Warnings: Angst, bit of smut.

Word Count: 4,813

A/N: So, I've had this idea for quite a while. Basically since I watched The Last of Us. I loved Pedro in the role of Joel, but I kept thinking how incredible Jensen would have been. Which then made me think of how amazing he was as Endverse!Dean which then led me to this idea. Lol! I've stolen the premise of Ellie's storyline from TLOU, but made her a grown up, a reader insert, and a love interest for Dean.

If you've never seen TLOU, don't worry - you don't need to have seen it to understand this story. 😊

I've taken some liberties with the Endverse in my story, changed a few things from canon, but kept lots of things too.

I sincerely hope you enjoy the story. It will be ten chapters and I will do my very best to post one chapter every weekend. ❤️

A/N 2: Chapter 7 has arrived. 😊 I hope you enjoy it! Thanks so much to everyone who has been reading, liking, commenting and reblogging this series! It means SO much! ❤️

Series Master List || Main Master List || Tag Lists

The dividers below were created by @saradika

Three and a half weeks later

“And these would be beside every tent?” Dean asked Brandy as he looked at the rough drawings she’d made of her latest idea.

She nodded. “Yeah, on the West side of every tent. It would mean families don’t have to come to Food Storage every few days for more rations, and once the deep snow comes that’s gonna be a huge benefit for folks. Plus it’s easier for people to plan ahead and stretch their food if they have two weeks worth of rations sitting outside their tent. I mean, it won’t work once spring comes, but that’s a problem for spring.”

Dean nodded. He looked at their builders, the group of half a dozen survivors that were tasked with providing new buildings and necessities as the camp required. They’d built the sheds earlier in the year, the chicken coop last summer and were currently finishing up a small barn for the cow.

“Is this gonna interfere with completing the barn?” He asked, nodding at Brandy’s drawings. 

One of the women, he was pretty sure her name was Vanessa, shook her head. “No, we’ll be finished with the barn in a couple of days, and be able to get Lily settled for the winter all snug, and then move on to the food sheds.” She looked at the drawing again and shrugged. “They’re small enough that we should be able to get them all done within a few weeks?” 

She looked to the rest of the builders who nodded their agreement.

Dean frowned. “Lily?”

Vanessa grinned. “Yeah, sorry that’s what the kids have dubbed our little cow. Y/N has them going to visit her once a week so Ralph can teach them about farming.” She said, referring to the old farmer who had helped to plant the winter vegetables.

Dean felt his stomach twist as it always did when someone brought up her name. But he just nodded. “Okay, good. Get started on the food sheds as soon as you’re able. The deep snow is gonna come in the next couple weeks. It’d be good to have them all done by then.”

They all gave a chorus of “Okay, Boss” or “Sure thing Boss” as they nodded and took their leave. They wrapped their scarves tight and pulled on their mittens. The deep snow may not have come yet, but the ground was layered in white, and winter was sharp and stinging in the late November air.

Brandy gathered up her drawings and was headed out when Dean called her back.

“Brandy?”

She turned back to him, an eyebrow raised in question. They'd never discussed their meeting in the cabin with Y/N, but he'd noticed a slightly colder demeanor from her lately.

And he knew why, of course. 

Brandy had been one of the original dozen survivors who had built the camp together. She'd been an incredible asset from the beginning, and they probably wouldn't have survived without her planning and strategies for running the camp. He and the soldiers may have kept the survivors alive, but Brandy kept them living by organizing and planning for their food and shelter. She was an invaluable member of the camp.

But three weeks ago he'd treated her like a servant meant to do his bidding. He knew he owed her an apology, but it had been so long since he'd apologized for anything that it stuck in his throat.

Now she contemplated him, waiting for him to speak, and he just nodded. He pointed towards her drawings. 

“This is a good idea.” He cleared his throat. “So, thanks.”

Brandy stared a moment longer before a small smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. She nodded.

“No problem, Boss. That's what we're all here for, right?”

Dean just nodded and she lifted her scarf over her face and left the big cabin where Dean conducted most of his business these days, since it was warmer than his tent and could fit more people.

As he ran a hand over his face, the door opened again and most of his soldiers tromped inside. They were there to talk about security and possible threats, but Dean immediately looked at Johnston. 

“Hey, did you tell her I want to see her?”

The thin man nodded vigorously. “Yes sir. I told her yesterday. Has…has she not come to see you yet?” He looked around the room as though Y/N might be hiding somewhere. 

Dean shook his head. “No, she hasn't.” He pointed towards the door. “So why don't you go get her and tell her I expect to see her now.”

Johnston looked wary and as though he definitely didn't want to follow that order. But when Dean just stared him down, he turned and left quickly.

The rest of his soldiers began giving their reports about any problems they were having at the outposts, like equipment that needed repair or items that needed replenishing. But Dean was only half listening; his gaze kept straying to the door, waiting for Y/N to show. 

Ten minutes later, Patrick was briefing him and Dean tried to focus on what he was saying. 

“Williams has seen the group twice now, but -” Patrick cut himself off as Y/N and Johnston pushed through the door.

Y/N smiled at the soldiers as she came in. “Sorry to interrupt, but apparently I was summoned.” 

She cut her glance to Dean and her smile turned brittle. 

“I was told you needed to see me.”

“Yeah, since yesterday.” Dean responded, hardening his voice in an attempt to not seem desperate, especially in front of his soldiers.

“Sorry. Busy.” Was Y/N's curt reply. “What do you need?”

Dean took a deep breath. “I just wanted to know how you're -” he altered his words, “your school, or, uh, the school was going?”

Y/N paused for a moment before answering with a shrug. 

“Fine.”

When it was clear that was all she was going to say, Dean scowled at her. “You wanna elaborate on that?”

She raised her chin a fraction. “Oh, I'm sorry, Boss, I don’t have anything else to say right now, but I’ll be sure to write out a full report for next week.”

Her eyes shot daggers that found their mark, bringing a pain to his chest that he felt a lot these days. He’d thought it might go away if he could talk to her, see her, but it was just worse with her there.

He shook his head. “That won't be necessary.” He said quietly.

“Anything else then, Sir?”

He'd never hated that moniker more. “No, that's it.” 

She spun on her heel and walked out of the cabin. Silence reigned when she left. Dean waved at everyone else. “We'll finish this another time.” When they didn't immediately move, he made his voice a bit sharper. 

“Dismissed.”

That got them moving and they all shuffled their way out the door - all except Risa. She closed the door behind her fellow soldiers and then turned back to face Dean. 

He caught her eye and lifted his hands. “What?”

She shook her head slowly. “You're such an idiot.”

Dean dropped his hands and raised an eyebrow. “Wanna try that again?”

Risa shook her head as she walked back to him. “No, I said what I said.” 

Dean gave her a look of annoyance as she reached him and leaned one hip on the table where he stood. She raised her hand to his cheek, her countenance softening. 

“I really wanted to be the one.”

Dean scowled in confusion. “The one what?”

Risa pushed her fingers through his short hair. “The one to make you smile.” There was a long pause between them and Dean had no idea how to respond to that. She shook her head and stood up straight, dropping her hand. “But, it was obviously meant to be her.”

Dean scoffed. “What are you talking about?”

“Y/N. You know I'm talking about Y/N.”

He gave a short burst of sarcastic, humorless laughter. “Yeah, right. You think Y/N's gonna make me smile? I've done nothing but pull my hair out since she got here, so ..” He trailed off and looked away from Risa's knowing gaze.

Risa nodded. “Yeah, cause you're an idiot.” She reiterated.

When he looked back at her, Risa was smiling softly and wistfully. “Apologize to her, idiot. Try to get back what you've nearly lost. She's pissed, don't get me wrong, it might take some real groveling on your part but,” she nodded, “she has a very kind heart, so she might forgive you. It's definitely worth a try.”

Dean stared at her for a moment before he looked down at the ground, conceding the truth in her words. “I don't know how to do it.”

Risa gave a gentle laugh. “You're a smart guy. Bet you'll figure it out.”

She put her hand on his cheek again, resting the other on his chest as she stood on tiptoe to reach his lips. She placed a light, lingering kiss there and then pulled away. 

“Goodbye, Dean.”

Dean felt a jolt of worry at the farewell. “You’re leaving? Am I losing a soldier?”

She smiled and shook her head. “No, the soldier is staying. I'm saying goodbye to the woman I wanted to be for you. And the man that she…cared about a lot. I hope he lets himself be happy.”

Dean frowned, feeling the weight of her goodbye, with all of its disappointed hopes. 

“Goodbye Risa.” He said, and knowing it wasn't enough, he cupped her cheeks in his hands and kissed her lips, light and brief. “Thank you…for being the woman you are.”

He thought he saw a glimmer of moisture in her eye, but she blinked it away quickly and pulled out from under his hands. She moved to the door in a few strides and, with one last smile thrown over her shoulder, she walked away.

***

That afternoon as the winter sun headed into the west, Dean made the decision to go talk to Y/N. This was ridiculous. They were a camp of less than 150 people, continuing to try and avoid each other was impractical.

He'd just go tell her that.

He walked to the school because she was usually still there this time of day. But when he got there, the schoolroom was empty. He looked around the space that he hadn't seen in over a month and had to shake his head.

What had been a cold empty shed not even three months ago was now a warm, inviting, cozy space. She'd had a little camp stove installed, and on the Northern wall, replacing the fall leaves that had been there, was a giant, beautifully sewn quilt. He recognized it as the same design as the one that hung in the big cabin. 

Hannah, who was Ralph-the-farmer's wife, had made it out of old scraps of material. It took a long time to gather enough scraps for a whole quilt so he knew this quilt probably took her months of hard work. But of course she'd gifted it to Y/N and the school. That's what Y/N brought out in people - hard work and generosity.

The small wooden table in the room had four chairs around it now and he wondered where she'd snagged the other two chairs. 

The kids’ blanket seating had been enhanced slightly with the addition of a few pillows, and on the western wall, beside the old map, two long, weathered planks of wood had been nailed in place to serve as bookshelves. The books he'd brought back had been placed lovingly on the shelves, not a single corner bent on any of them. 

He sighed at the changes and felt a warmth flare to life in his heart. Y/N did this too - seeming to warm the spaces around her without trying.

He walked out of the schoolroom and was just starting to walk back to his tent when he heard high pitched giggles coming from the side of the school just seconds before three small bodies hurtled forward, chasing and grabbing on to one another - Emma and her two little friends. He couldn't remember their names.

When they all saw him, the laughter fell away and Emma's eyes got wide, fear and suspicion filling them instantly. It felt like a punch when he remembered the way she'd climbed up on the chair beside him that one time, shy acceptance in her expression as she asked him to read to her.

He hated that she was so scared of him; he had to try and fix that much, at least. 

“Hi girls.” He said in what he hoped was a friendly sounding voice. Emma's friends nodded and waved at him slightly. But Emma stayed on high alert.

He looked at her two friends. “I need to talk to Emma, so you girls head on home now.” 

They looked to Emma who looked more scared than ever. But she whispered goodbye to them and they ran off.

Dean got a bit closer to her and went down on his haunches. He took a second to think what to say to her.

“You know, you don't have to be scared of me.”

“I'm not.” Emma said quickly while her big blue eyes were shrouded in fear.

Dean nodded. “Okay, good because…” He struggled to find the words that would help. “Cause I thought maybe I scared you a bit before. When I, uh, needed to talk to your mom alone.”

Emma nodded, the suspicion growing in her gaze. “When you were mad at Mommy.”

Dean shook his head. “No, I wasn't mad.” 

Emma gave him a look that said she didn't believe him and he conceded with a nod. 

“Okay, I was a little…upset, but I was just…confused. Eventually everything got figured out.”

She didn't say anything, clearly still highly skeptical. 

Dean took a deep breath and decided  to just go for it. “Anyway, I didn't mean to scare you and I'm…sorry about it.” He cleared his throat. “And I promise not to scare you like that again. Okay?”

Emma stared at him for a long time and he kept hold of her earnest blue gaze throughout her scrutiny. Slowly a smile spread across her face.

“Okay.” She said, accepting him at his word. “Then can you come over again for supper tonight? I can read a bunch of words now, mommy taught me in the books. So, I could help you read the story this time.”

Dean shook his head at the speedy ways of forgiveness in a child's heart, and for the first time in more years than he could remember, a small smile turned up one side of his mouth. 

He reached out to pat her cold cheek. “I'm not sure, kiddo. We'll have to wait and see.” Emma was about to argue the point but Dean stood up. “Now it's gonna be dark soon and it's way too cold for you to be out here without a scarf. Don't you have one?” He asked.

Emma nodded. “Yeah, but I don't like it. It itches.”

Dean hummed. “Ah, yeah wool does that sometimes.” He unwound his own scarf from around his neck.

“Here, I'll trade you.” He said as he wound the polyester scarf around her neck and up over her cheeks. “Now, you head home.”

Emma's eyes were bright and happy above her new scarf as she danced away, skipping through the light snow that blanketed the ground.

He watched her go for a moment before turning back to head home himself. But he stopped dead in his tracks as he saw Y/N standing in the path with an arm full of wood. Silence reigned for nearly a full minute. Finally he reached forward to take the wood, but Y/N shook her head.

“No, I’m fine.” She nodded toward the school. “Just stocking up for tomorrow.”

“Right.” 

More silence. Y/N’s voice was quiet when she finally spoke. “Thank you for the scarf. It’s been impossible to get her to wear one.”

He nodded and then realized something. “How long were you standing there?”

Y/N took a deep breath, answering on an exhale. “Since just before you promised my daughter not to scare the shit out of her again.”

Dean nodded and closed his eyes. “So, basically the whole time.”

“Yeah, basically.” She took a beat pause. “Thank you for that.” 

Dean nodded. She walked towards the school again but before she could close the door and shut him out, Dean called to her, knowing his voice sounded desperate.

“I needed to believe it.”

Y/N turned in the doorway, a frown on her face. “Needed to believe what?”

He took a step closer, feeling choked by all the words he wanted to say that wouldn’t form properly in his mind. Y/N stared at him for a moment more before huffing slightly and walking into the schoolroom. He followed her inside, closing the door against the wind as she dropped the pile of wood into a metal bucket by the stove.

When she turned back to face him, she was scowling. “Dean, I don’t know what you want here. What do you want me to say?”

He shook his head. He didn’t want her to say anything. He wanted to say things, so many things. “No, nothing.” He croaked out.

She crossed her arms over her chest, bunching up her too big jacket. “Then what are you doing here?”

He took deep breaths in through his nose, pushing the words out through a closed throat. “I needed to believe it.” He said again, quieter this time.

“Believe what?” Y/N asked in frustration.

He stepped close to her and she took a step back before refusing to retreat. He gazed at her and wished more than anything that she really could just see inside his head so he wouldn’t have to try and get it out.

But he looked at the ground quickly and then back at her. His breathing was slightly labored and his voice was thin as he spoke. “You’re so dangerous to me, Y/N.”

He knew he said the wrong words when her forehead wrinkled into a deep frown and she nodded. “Because - I’m a psychic monster? Or because I’m a croat? Why exactly am I dangerous this time?”

“Because you’re you.” Dean answered loudly, speaking over the end of her question. He sighed in frustration; he was getting all of this wrong. He looked up to the heavens, as though they could possibly help him, and tried again, speaking softer.

“I needed to believe that you could control my mind or my…my feelings because…” He trailed off and looked at Y/N hoping she’d just know what he was saying and finish the sentence for him. But she was still just frowning in confusion.

“Because,” he continued, “my feelings when I'm around you are…dangerous. For me, I mean, they’re dangerous. Y/N I can’t…” He shook his head. “The way you look at the world? And the way you change how I see it too? It’s so fucking dangerous.”

He waved his hand, trying to encompass everything. “This world is ugly and shitty, and fucking ended! We literally lived through the end of the world, and now all that’s left is this - this dark, violent, bullshit reality.” 

He shook his head and his voice was filled with awe. “Yet somehow you move through it like this,” again he struggled for the words to describe her, “like some kind of lighthouse, like a refuge for every cold, lost thing. And I - “

He cut himself off, not sure he was making any sense. But Y/N had stopped frowning and was now just contemplating him.

He shrugged. “And when I’m around you, I feel warmer than I’ve felt in years, brighter.” He shook his head and moved away from her, embarrassed by his confession and knowing he wasn't saying it right. 

He stared at the map as he spoke. “So, I needed to believe that the feelings weren’t real, that you’d just forced me to feel that way. Because if the feelings and thoughts you bring out of me are real?” His shoulders slumped. “God, I’m so fucked.”

He felt Y/N come up to stand just behind him on his right, but he stayed staring at the map as she spoke.

“Why? What’s so dangerous about warmth and light?”

His voice was barely audible as he answered slowly. “Because they bring hope. And hope is a lie. It’s a lie I believed for a long time, a lie I clung to. The lie of possibilities, of family, of good conquering evil. And when the lie was revealed and the world fell apart, the truth almost killed me.”

After a moment he turned to face her and felt his heart skip as he saw her expression of sadness and the tears that sparkled in her eyes, even in the growing dusk.

He lifted a hand to cup her cheek and thumbed away a tear as it fell over her bottom lashes. “And Y/N, if I allow myself to hope again, and it gets crushed by the world again…” He shook his head. “I won’t survive it, I know I won’t.”

He took a step closer to her and felt her warmth penetrating his cold bones. She grabbed his free hand and held it in both of hers as he dropped his other hand from her cheek.

“Or…” she said, her voice filled with conviction, “or we can both hope, both fight, and both win. Even if we never get big wins, the little ones still count. And they add up. Every day we’re here alive is a win. Every time we smile at someone and they smile back is a win. Every time the sun shines so bright you have to close your eyes, every time we hear Emma giggle, every time our stomachs are full, every time we do something to make our home here better - every small thing adds up to big wins.”

Dean shook his head. He knew that trying to resist the pull of her light and life was pointless; she’d been pulling him out of the dark, and changing his plans since the moment she’d come into his life. 

He used their connected hands to pull her tight against him and watched heat enter her beautiful, red-ringed eyes.

He bent his head, but before his lips touched hers, he whispered words that came much easier now. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. For all of it. I’m so sorry.”

Another tear fell down her cheek and she smiled and bit her lip. “If I say you’re forgiven will you kiss me?”

He pretended to mull it over and then nodded. “Yes, I think that’s fair.”

In the dusky twilight around them he pulled her close and pressed his lips to hers; his arms tightened around her as she moaned softly. 

He was definitely counting that sound as a win.

***

Over the next month Dean resumed his dinners with Y/N, the difference being that he was there nearly every night, and he’d stopped pretending to himself that he didn’t relish every moment with her and Emma. 

Over the evenings spent together, Emma had warmed more and more to him so that now she ran to meet him every time he walked through their tent flap, holding her arms up so he’d pick her up and toss her up into the air, catching her in a swooping motion as she came down. It made Y/N gasp every time, but Emma squealed with delight. He’d set her down and she’d grab his hand, nearly three times the size of hers, and pull him over to the table.

He’d take off his heavy canvas jacket within the relative warmth of the tent, and drape it over Emma’s shoulders, making her giggle as she drowned inside it. 

They’d sit around the table and share the day's events, though Emma usually did the majority of the talking. It always brought a mixture of feelings when he listened to her bubbly, excited stories. It made him happy and terrified at the same time. She was so precious he couldn’t help but smile, an expression that was becoming easier for him as the days went by. But also, his chest felt tight and he could feel terror creep in as the darkness whispered a warning, telling him that he couldn’t possibly keep her safe. He’d lose her, and Y/N too.

Sometimes that thought woke him from a deep sleep and made him shake and sweat. It was proving incredibly difficult to make all his fears go away. But as soon as he saw Y/N’s smile the next day, it felt easier.

In fact it was becoming increasingly difficult to go home at all, to leave her warm cozy tent and return to his dismal gray one. But they were trying to be careful and move slowly in deference to Emma. They didn’t want her to feel confused or unsure of things now that she finally seemed so at ease. 

So they hid their kisses and their caresses until after Emma was sleeping, at which point they’d usually try and brave the cold long enough to enjoy some alone time, even if it was encumbered by bulky jackets and scarves. They never had enough time, but they’d managed slightly more satisfactory make out sessions in the empty school and in Dean’s tent. But they were always too rushed and things had to end too quickly.

Dean ached for her more and more every day.

One evening in mid December, the air was much milder than usual; the day had been unseasonably warm and the night held on to a trace of it. Dean had Y/N pressed up against the side of the thick canvas tent, sucking on the soft skin just below her ear. As her breath caught and she angled her head so that he had better access, he was practically vibrating with how badly he needed to feel her. 

As he breathed into her mouth, he slowly unzipped her jeans, letting her tell him no if she wanted. But she just nodded and bit her lip.

He watched her face as he slipped his fingers under the waistband of the leggings she wore as an extra layer against the cold, and then down into her panties. He desperately tried to stifle the moan that wanted to escape as he felt how soaking wet she was for him.

“Goddamn.” He whispered roughly as he slid two fingers inside her, rubbing his thumb against her little bundle of nerves and making her bite harder into her lip to keep quiet. He decided to help her out and closed his mouth over hers, swallowing up her small moans.

He pushed in and out of her body, his cock hardening as she gripped his forearm where it disappeared into her pants while her cunt clenched tight around his fingers. He passed his fingers over her sweet spot a couple of times and she fell over the edge. She broke off their kiss to bury a scream in his neck, muffling it with his thick collar. 

As she came down she clung to him, her hot breaths creating puffs of white in the cold air. She moved her hand to cup his hard on through his jeans and was just reaching for his zipper when they suddenly heard Cas’ voice inside the tent.

“Emma, where is your mother and Dean?” 

Dean groaned. What the fuck? Y/N squeaked slightly and pulled her hand back, making him absolutely throb with need. He was gonna slaughter his best friend. 

They were quickly righting their clothing when Emma's voice reached them, and it didn’t really sound like she’d been sleeping.

“They’re outside the tent, kissing each other.”

Y/N’s eyes got huge and round and Dean stifled a snorted laugh behind his palm while she slapped his bicep. 

“It’s not funny. Jesus, we’re gonna traumatize her!” She said in a horrified whisper.

Suddenly Cas’ head poked around the side of the tent and he frowned. “Are you finished kissing?”

Y/N buried her head in Dean’s chest and Dean scowled at the angel. “Well, we sure as hell are now.”

Cas nodded, completely ignoring Dean’s frustration. “Good. You need to come inside. I have incredible news.”

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes. “What news, Cas?”

The angel’s smile was surprising in its rarity and it made Dean raise an eyebrow.

“I know why Y/N isn’t a psychic.”

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters: @lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33 @akshi8278 @evznackles @jackles010378 @impala67rollingthroughtown @krazykelly @candy-coated-misery0731 @envyaurora95 @spnwoman @deans-baby-momma

Dean Fics Only: @roonthelittlespoon920 @slamminmine @zepskies @safiyas-world

Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom: @kazsrm67 @slut-for-evans-stan @sexyvixen7 @nancymcl @hobby27 @waywardcheshire

Everything Incl. Fan Edits: @k-slla @leigh70 @eevvvaa @kickingitwithkirk @foxyjwls007 @notinthislife50 @roseblue373 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @avanatural @mrsjenniferwinchester @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @deangirl96

[mytheoristavenue]

Day 10-

OP Tafalgar Law x Reader - Christmas Shopping

Summary: Law struggles to slip away from you during your shopping trip long enough to find a gift for you.

Warnings: short/rushed, grammar, grumpy!Law, pre-established relationship, takes place before the events of Film: Red but after Uta's debute, fluff

This was hellish to Law. Trapped in a seaside shopping center the week of Christmas, being drug along by you. His every upper appendage was occupied by some type of box or bag, even separate ones dangerously dangling from separate fingers. The worst part of this was, that even though he'd passed billions of things you'd love, he couldn't stop to get them without being noticed.

Suddenly, law nearly jumped out of his skin, hearing you squeal. Before he could react, you were pulling him into a pop culture shop and dancing giddily in front of a display. "You're kidding..." he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Oh, come on, Traffy!" you whined. "Anything from here and we can cross Bepo off the list! He'd love it!" The captain's shoulders dropped in defeat, looking across the table of Uta merchandise. "Please, babe?"

"Fine," he scoffed, knowing he could never tell you otherwise. "Two things maxium."

You squealed again in delight and went to work picking out the best options. "Thank you, thank you!"

Now that you were busy, he could look around the shop himself. Wandering off and surveying the selection they had, he noticed a very soft, plush blanket in your favorite color. Glancing over his shoulder and seeing you still tied up, he carefully took it off the shelf and held it in front of himself, letting gravity unfold it. Oh, yeah. It was plenty big, much more than any old throw blanket. Cautiously, he rolled it up and stuffed it under his arm and began to creep towards the check out counter. When suddenly...

"Hey, hun, whatcha got there?" The gig was up and he sighed.

"Nothing," he deadpanned, unceremoniously tossing it onto an incorrect shelf. "Did you get the stuff for Bepo picked out?"

Uh huh!" you chirped, shoving a CD and a boxed figurine into his hands. "What do you think?"

"Perfect, now let's move on."

-----

A short while later, the pair of you were sharing some lunch from the shopping center, when Law noticed your gaze fixed on something. Following it, his eyes landed on a boutique window with a mannequin wearing a lovely dress in that special hue. "I wish I had something like that," you mused. "Not that I'd ever have an occasion to wear it to."

"I have to use the bathroom," he said suddenly, jumping up. "You should go on ahead of me. I'll meet you at the bookstore."

You looked up at him, puzzled. "The bookstore? That's all the way on the other side of the center, we should go there last."

"No." he insisted. "They..." he paused for a moment. "They close earlier than all the other stores. I wanna get there with time to look around."

You thought for a moment before smiling. "You're right, you're so smart, Traffy!"

-----

With you now all the way across the shopping center, Law had the perfect opportunity to slip away and get you that dress. And he did indeed, with minimal need for assistance. Little did he know as he strutted out of the store, bag in hand, what the 'thing' you were referring to in the window, was actually the diamond necklace that the staff had used to accessorize the dress.

Oh well, at least he could cross you off his Christmas list.

[coffyao]

emotionless

link to my a03: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalaloopsyland

---

summary:

made a playlist for this: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0TvrAOVlHNdCEzRXI1flgE?si=qn3LB2m_Q36n5uMnsEFGCA

As a new investigator, you find yourself drawn to an enigmatic senior, developing a crush on the CCG reaper.

--

When I came to work for CCG, freshly graduated and only a rank 2 investigator – assigned to measly grunt work and tiresome office days – I would occasionally see him walk past. Sickly white hair, sharp specs and a stoic stare.

CCG’S reaper.

First-hand witness and instigator of bloodshed, for many, many years. Never flinched at the face of a terrifying ghoul characterized by the following: blood-shot crazed eyes, remorseless cannibalism and saw humans as running livestock, just for them to eat alive. there might have been the superstitious rumour roaming around that he was secretly a ghoul, but the main consensus rang true.

he was a one-of-a-kind genius.

Naturally, I was in awe of him.

-

a few weeks into my work, we exchanged words for the first time.

"welcome to the team," he said, his cold hands shaking my own.

His eyes were similar to his hair. dead, and devoid of any emotion.

So, my assumption was that he must have been numb to the gruesome killings that he had to deliver. This made me think of what I would need to do in the near future, and my heart, trembled in anxiety.

the thought of cold blood and ghoul guts running down my face made me shivery.

so naturally, I sympathised with him. 

-

It was only a month later when I started being assigned for cases with him that I saw another side. With his quinque, he slaughtered a group of ghouls. They weren't overly threatening, being mere gang members who patrolled the street like hungry hyenas, and impersonated real power. nonetheless, he left no room for mercy, and once they surrounded us, the battle was over as soon as my pupils dilated from the sudden flash of light. when he finished delivering righteous retribution, he calmly wiped his quinque off with a napkin, saying nothing at all. but the message was clear enough.

He was disappointed that we didn't act sooner. it was worse than being openly reprimanded.

Naturally, I became nervous of him.

-

after witnessing that, I mostly kept to myself, but when it was time to act; I did, under his aloof, and calculated commands. much like The Queen on a chess board, he was in control of everything, and he was always twenty steps ahead. If my teams plan fell through, he was our black joker, a card that I started to become dependent on.

When I took a ghoul's life for the first time, I think, in his own way, comforted me by remarking how well I dealt the final blow to their skull.

"well done."

the mystical reaper that everyone talked about complimented me. after we finished the mission, I kept thinking about what he said, as unorthodox as it was.

 naturally, I became curious about him.

-

He had a collection of books, in which varied from historical fiction to literary works containing many pages.

He told me he rarely read them these days anyway, so he lends a few to me. I noticed that he hadn't done this for anyone else, but I didn't want to assume anything beyond needing to get rid of them, as it was convenient enough to give it to the quietest one in the group. Despite preconceiving his intentions, I read most of the books he gave me, and it became my therapy when I started to have recurrent nightmares about the ghouls I've taken.  They were coming to life to pull me down to their hellish grave with them.

When it became too much for my psyche, those nightmares slipped out like ice during a practice spar that we had. I didn't expect a sympathetic response, as I already knew the nature of our work.

But he stopped, and parted words that impacted my spirit.

  "...the nightmares are temporary, but the cause your fighting for is permanent."

from there, I put my trust in him fully.

-

over the next couple of months, we dealt with cases both within Tokyo and outside of it, in which my own life was dangled as a carrot. however, like he accurately predicted, those nightmares became a few and far between. my soul became intertwined with this dangerous lifestyle, but it was worth it if it meant I could always fight alongside him.

There was one time where our team decided to make a pit-stop at a café. this was one we went to often, as it was quiet and didn't attract much attention due to its old exterior. while we made our orders, I realised that I had forgotten his first name. the persistent chaos that had ripped through the world made my memory fuzzy, plus, referring him as kishou was my way of respecting him and his authority. since he never corrected me, I assumed what I did was right.

but, I wanted to be closer to him.

when we finished our time at the cafe, and walked behind the others, I worked up the nerve to ask him. his reaction to my question wasn't what I expected.

"oh. is that why you have called me kishou this entire time?"

it was a split second, but his lips slightly curled, indicating a flash of amusement.

another first. I got to see him smile. 

from then on, I wanted to see a thousand more.

-

outside of our schedules, I didn't know much about him.

the line of work that I carried out didn't allow many friends into my vacancy, so I spent many long weekends at home, counting the hours where I could finally return to work. I quickly realised that was unproductive, so I created a internal goal; learn about arima and what he likes. 

when Friday evening came around, I finally had the opportunity to slip into his office. when I came, it always had a distinctive, bookish smell, with paperwork on his desk neatly layered, where it always stayed. I often wondered where he managed to find the time to clean up.

predictability, he was sat straight on his chair, and his computer screen covered half of his face. entering the room, I held a cup of americano, and brought to his desk, trying to sweeten the mood.

"I hope this is to your liking," I said.

"thank you," he responded, continuing to type away on his laptop. 

when I thought about it, I don't think there ever had been a right time to approach him casually, as we were either working on a case, training or he had shut himself somewhere, in solitude and out of reach.

like those times, this was painfully true here, since he seemed to have no time for conversation. 

but when I stood, tense and cogs turning as I tried to figure out how to even talk to him, he sensed my discomfort.

"is there anything you wanted to say?" turning his laptop away, so I could see him.

"...I wanted to know what you like eating."

he remain straight-faced, which made it harder to express myself.

"...but you seen me eat before, haven't you?" he inquired, sounding perplexed.

"No I meant...your favourite food."

although the question was dull, that was the only one I could think of as I felt his steely eyes on me, dissecting my motives.

"I don't have one," he states, and he goes back onto his laptop.

"but, if you want to try finding that for me, go ahead."

when he said that, that miniscule crumb of letting me in, I couldn't take that invitation lightly. 

from then on, I started to make and bring food for him to try.

-

To destress from missions, I suggested to my team that we occasionally come together to play board games. It was my time to contribute, I bought a pack of card for tonight. We gathered snacks for the table, as well as alcohol if things became especially interesting.

I usually handled my alcohol well, but I couldn’t say the same for the other members. ten minutes into the game, one member kept asking if Arima could join, even though I explained that he didn’t want to.

I knew that because I asked him before I let the others know.

One or two glasses into the game, at the corner of the room, I noticed how intently he read his book. More than wanting to know what he was reading, I wanted to know what he was thinking, while reading it.

Is it engaging? Does he resonate with the characters? Is it escapism for the current world we live in? Is he amused, but on the inside?

While I was terrified of his eyes before, I wanted him to look at me more, analyse me. Judge me and acknowledge me.

 Yet, he never lifted them once, even while the game became competitive, and we yelled over each other.

to be candid, when I yelled, it was a different reason from the rest.

I wanted him to pay attention to me.

-

While I usually handled myself with care, I underestimated the toll the missions had taken on my body - from the combination of fatigue, and the pressure to fulfil my work obligations, I had suddenly hit a wall. after fighting a ghoul with a unexpectedly strong kagune, I could no longer hold myself together and collapsed during the altercation. 

When I woke up, IV attached to my arm and blanket covering my upper half - I was disappointed in myself; I couldn't meet arima's expectations. I wondered what he thought of me as I failed to hold my own - which also made me resent him at the same time. 

But I wasn't allowed to stew in my thoughts for too long.

"...your awake."

his eyes were darker than usual, and his tie was loosened; his perfectionist edge was little to be seen. he sat at the edge of the sofa, which was rare, even for him. It was a pleasant contrast to the rigid composure I grew used to. nonetheless, facing him at my rawest was too emotional of a burden to bear, and I couldn't hold my front up.

"I-I couldn't keep up," I stuttered, putting my hands against my aching head, "I couldn't beat them."

"It's not about beating them," he replied, retaining the same emotionless expression, "its about knowing your limits."

"I-I know that," I said, my regret contorting into anger, needing to reason with myself and him, "but I wanted to try, I wanted to keep fighting."

"but your pushing yourself unnecessarily."

even though I've grown to appreciate his introversion, I've grown to abhor his robotic ways of dealing with me and everyone else. at that moment, resentment had become my voice.  

"that's something you could at least try to understand, couldn't you?"

the silence followed by my outburst was deafening. Although he didn't say anything, his gaze slowly lowered towards my arm, then the IV. he seemed to be in introspection - I had no rebuttal to it. when he finally looked up at me, it was akin to someone who had been tired for a long time.

"...I do. which is why your priority should always be surviving, not winning."

he was still in mentor mode, and I hated it but, I found it strangely soothing. 

"your life is my priority," he said, and the deadness in his eyes that always presented itself became livelier, another glint into someone who is human. He turned away, but as my heart thumped against my chest, I had finally confirmed it.

I have feelings for arima.

--

I only found this out in a passing conversation my teammate had with another. I didn't mean to gossip, but I pried, and they told me that it was in-fact, arima's birthday.

as close as I thought we started to become by his own standards - I was far from really knowing him. someone, who likely lived his life in secrecy, and kept everything within him - was also capable of hiding his birthday. when I found out more, the distance grew, and the questions never seemed to stop running out. 

does he not care about his birthday? is the day painful for him? why did I have to find out from someone else?

ironically enough, I didn't even have that right to ask, since he never told me.

Maybe it would of just been worth letting it go - but that insistent nag wouldn't leave me. it was telling me I shouldn't leave this alone. I wanted to infiltrate his space and close myself in. I had to inspect the matter and give him something that could be of worth. something sweet - something like...

cake.

I  went to the bakery in the afternoon - there were many choices. 

red velvet, lemon drizzle, triple chocolate.

But I decided to go with a flavour befitting for him.

vanilla.

I had it wrapped in a white box, and when he was out, I left it on his desk. I wrote a paper note, which indicated that I knew - but there was no pressure. no grand gesture, no upcoming party. he could decide, all on his own.

"for you. I hope this is to your liking."

the day carried on as normal, but my nerves were tense. I waited, to see if he would acknowledge my deed, but he was indifferent. I wondered if I made a mistake.

However, as I packed my utilities up and went to my desk to check if I had missed anything - there was a small note stuck on top of it. 

"you managed to find my favourite food."

palpitations filled my heart. I was on the right track.

whether our relationship stilled as mentee and mentor or it evolved into something more, I was grateful.

his acknowledge became my fuel.

--

--

a year has already past, and I've begun to see a unexpected change.

after his birthday, he's been giving more and more parts of himself.

affiliation with the CCG since his teens. eighteen years as a investigator. his burdensome but fulfilling responsibilities. the inevitability of loss. I've yet to know about his formative years, but his musings suggested that it must have been difficult. 

he only opened up when the sun disappeared, and the sky became tangerine. like wax, he melted, but when the next day came, he hardened. However, that was more than fine. I took these private moments as his way of connecting with me, and I listened. I absorbed it into my skin.

I've also noticed something else.

when we sparred - 

it was usually with sharp, and deadly tenacity. recently, i sensed that within our exchanges of our weapons clashing against each other, there was a undercurrent of something electrifying brewing. occasionally, there would be times where he would let me gain the upper hand on purpose, and when I took as much advantage as possible, he pushed back -  just enough to give me room to exceed my limitations.

there was one time he had me stuck against the wall - quinque pierced through, and inches away from my face. rather than being uneasy - I was exhilarated by the adrenaline that pumped through me, secretly concocting on what I could next to blindsight him.

I've observed him to the point where I could notice hints of playfulness when we fought - with every "move faster," there was a "you surprised me." with every "you need to focus," there was a "not bad at all."

if anything, I could take what I can get.

when I sat with him on the same sofa, I was bed-ridden on and he talked about his wishes on what he wanted the world to become - I slid my palm onto his hand, hoping to at least sooth his worries. I noticed his eyes linger on me longer than usual, so I pulled my hand back, hoping to rectify the confusion I've caused. 

he resumed, but it was hard to stop my thoughts from going to...

unsanitary places.

could I live like this forever, just being content working by his side?

I felt more unsure as the days lingered on...

---

the only place where I could reflect on my own thoughts was at the top of the building - the rooftop. From there - I could look down at the city from a birds-eye view, where it made all kinds of noise, and the sun radiated above me - giving me momentary clarity on what to do next. 

The rooftop was calling for me.

As I ran up the stairs and stepped outside, dark grey clouds loomed above me. There, at the edge of it, stood arima, the impending storm surrounding his figure. excitement surged within me, letting me know how long I've been waiting for this moment.

could this be the day?

drizzle started falling from the sky as I slowly approached him from behind, putting my hand on his shoulder.

when he turned, surprise flickered across his face.

"what are you doing here?" 

his voice was steady yet laced with curiosity.

"I just wanted some quiet time..." I lied, regretting it as soon as it left my lips.

the rain began to fall heavier, turning arima into that of an ethereal angel instead of a reaper, his hair becoming damp, and droplets running down his face. between him, and the city that illuminated below, it was a sign that I had to listen to. 

"...I don't believe you." he said, skepticism or perhaps, a challenge being hinted through his tone.

"why not?"

"because I can see your restlessness," narrowing his eyes, analysing the unspoken language in my body.

"why would I be restless?" I countered, stepping closer, indignance running through my veins.

"because your hiding something."

so he could tell. he could tell this entire time.

I tethered between the wash of relief, and the hurricane of panic, as my layers are forcibly peeled off, by only the sharpness of his words.

"...what's there to hide?" I admitted, the viscosity between the water uncomfortably sticking against my skin, and what I planned to say next.

"...maybe I just wanted to find you."

his analytical mind usually had something of substance to say, but for the first time - he looked to be in a state of genuine perplexity, akin to when a system undergoes downtime.

Only when the rain starts to downpour at rapid rates, does he manage to say, "it's getting too heavy. let's go inside."

--

as we walked down the stairs, any fear I had about the silence between us was overwritten by the resolution that had settled in my mind.

once we made it into his office, I called out to him.

"...arima."

the boundaries that were delicately in place before, I wanted to tear them into pieces.

"I can't hide what I feel for you anymore."

instead of sitting in his seat, he leaned over on his desk and his eyes settled on me, unwavering in the face of my sudden admission.

"...what is it that you feel?" he questioned, as if searching for confirmation.

I became braver, attuned to the difference between his previous indifference, and this slight opening for vulnerability.

"your an observant person, you could already tell long ago, haven't you?"

I held my breath, carefully gauging any change to his face, anything that could indicate cracks to his intricately crafted persona. I continued.

"I wouldn't risk our professional relationship, if I didn't think this was worth it,” intentionally appealing to his cautious nature, closing in on our gap.

his resolve seemed to be weakened, remaining tight-lipped, but visibly struggling under the emotional impact of my confession.

" So please, tell me. do you know what I feel? for you?" 

I finally said it out loud. everything that I've experienced, what I've felt, and the unexplainable tension that I could hardly put a finger on.

it's simmered beneath the surface, and now it's imploded on me, and hopefully, him. 

if he will allow me in.

"...I know. I know what you feel." his voice was low, almost a whisper, taking in the air between us.

it was as if we were in our own world, raindrops thumping against the glass like a synchronised melody. it was simply the backdrop - it was waiting for the chorus. I almost leaned in, the desire becoming insuperable to stop, but it was interrupted - 

"is it just you, here?" he muttered, breaking the spell that I was under.

"I-I think so."

He reiterated his question, "did you see anyone, prior to you coming here?"

"I-I think..." wavering against his intense stare, wondering if I had truly made the wrong choice.

when I managed to finally look him in the eye, his hesitation seemed to settle, becoming more confident in his decision. in his own way, this must of been confirmation some way or another...

"that's good enough," he said, and before I could digest his answer, he caresses my cheek with his hands. they felt warm despite the dampness of his skin. As he started leaning in, I could sense his apprehensiveness, despite the want in his eyes.

I decided to lean as well - pressing my lips against his - albeit clumsy, but all the same, what I've needed for so long.

as our kiss deepened, his hesitation started to dissolve and I became enveloped in our connection, the collision of our worlds - it was coming together in this union. but I was desperate, and he was affected by the same affliction. He pulled my face to his, and I responded by climbing over the desk - pulling his face to mine. I held onto his lapels, dragging him in until I was laid on it.

he took off his jacket and resumed with his attack - his hands moving towards my waist, with my body flourishing against his gentle touch. I was under a state of pure euphoria - I visualized this moment many times to the point that it became maladaptive - but now that it was coming alive - couldn't I indulge in it?

it was a domino effect - my skin became his canvas, decorating my throat with long, searing kisses - marking it as his own paint. I was enriched by his artistry.

It wasn’t until the rain stopped and the sun peeked out from behind the building that he paused his painting, whispering, "...what you feel, I feel it too," looking at me for one tender moment before letting me go.

whatever we were meant to be after that, at least I knew, that he wasn't truly emotionless.

--

[weebsinstash]

Not to be chugging Valentino juice again (😏) but I was thinking of like, sometimes when you're working long hours and sleeping weird, sometimes you can enter a 'zone' where you're basically running on autopilot and youre not tired or even hungry anymore? Sometimes I've been awake over 24 hours depending on... environmental factors

So imagine at one point Reader is like "well, I can already basically smoke weed and fast and somehow stay up for 2 days straight, and if you overdose down here you kind of just spring back up, so what if I just start taking uppers to stay awake so I can work as long as I can so I can move out of this shitty rented room at Val's studio as fast as possible"

It starts off small. You're young and only give yourself maybe 4 hours of sleep before your evening shift and just sleep again when you get off. Maybe you take a two hour nap, wake up, go to work, take another 2 hour nap, go to the secret second job you're not supposed to have. Eventually you're going entire days without sleeping with maybe 2 solid meals a day. Most of the time people see you drinking protein/meal replacement drinks

You're on the clock and removing drinks from your tray for the Overlord and his girls as they all sit around and mingle. your hands are visibly shaking and he grabs you to make you face him and all but laughs in your face. You think someone like him wouldn't know a pill popper when he sees one, with your fucking jitters and pin-prick pupils and the jerky way you won't keep eye contact with him? He'd mock you and act like you're pathetic before getting more mad because you're doing this shit on the clock and this isn't what he's paying you for (like gee when are you going to realize he tips you more when you stroke his ego and suck up to him, maybe he doesn't even care about your other tables)

"Well I barely make any money, how else am I supposed to move out if I don't work more hours?"

Pause. When did you decide you were moving away? He doesn't remember having this conversation with you, giving you permission. What, were you just going to suddenly quit your job without warning too? Yeah you were actually, and tell him pretty nonchalantly, "well, I figured you wouldn't even care. I mean, you count my tips after my shifts. Literally the only one bothering to give me much of anything is... you. Just hire someone else? You're probably actually losing money by having me work here anyw--"

"Oh, so you make decisions for me now, is that it?"

And you don't expect him to be so angry, but he is. In your mind, you had been debating if it was worse to tell him ahead of time, like a two weeks notice or to just disappear, but now you're realizing you were doomed either way. In his eyes he was being nice by giving you a job and a place to live, even if it's a low paying job and your room has hellish rent for what it actually was. And now you're just going to, DISRESPECT HIM like this? Without any warning, without talking to him, without any apology?

He's just growling "You UNGRATEFUL little bitch--" before he's snapping his fingers to have some of his goons pop out of nowhere and grab you. "Take em to my office. I'll deal with this one after all the shows" and you're just locked in his office with nothing but your thoughts to panic and cry and wonder what he wants. And then. He just. Has you fetched and put in the limo like usually you do at the end of every night anyways, at least the nights when your boss was there and drove everyone back to the studio. And you're thinking, what makes this different than every other night? Where is the punishment or whatever? And the time comes where everyone is getting out of the limo at the studio and he just points, "not you. You stay"

All but ready to piss yourself as the driver starts the car again and it's just the two of you and besides him seemingly suspicious preoccupied with texting on his phone, he's glaring at you constantly, obviously upset, but not saying shit. And eventually it becomes increasingly obvious that he's just. Taking you home. You get pulled out of the limo and it's just his straight up fucking house. And this is the point where your, you know, human trafficking boss who regularly dehumanizes and commodifies other people is essentially just very up front, "if you're going to be a brat about living at the studio, fine, there's space for you here" but what, that obviously doesn't make any sense? This is his house? What? You haven't so much as sucked this man's dick and--

Oh. That's what he wants for rent this time around, actually: your body. And since he can't exactly force you to work your shitty waiter job and force you to provide good service with a smile, then really, isn't this a PRIVILEGE for you? To just have to put out and you get a free place to live? People would kill to be in your position. But. It's not just sleeping with just anyone. It's HIM. And you're terrified the second you give him an inch he'll take a mile. Sure, today it's "sleep with me at least once a month for rent" but what's going to keep that from becoming "sleep with me once every other week, sleep with me every week, actually you're not allowed to sleep PERIOD unless you fuck or suck me first, actually you know what since you're so loose now I have some friends--"

And it's just terrifyingly obvious to you that he's been planning this and sees basically nothing wrong with it since, I mean, he's been living like a king down here for decades, doing what he wants, getting what he wants. Sure, he may have some, unhinged obsessions with you, but it's also like you're his cute little toy right? He's allowed to make decisions for you, especially now that he's paying for your lodgings and, hey wait suddenly he's insisting on buying you all new clothes and different washing products and taking you to salons and dermatologists and spas and by the time you know it, you're his little, pet slash partner slash arm candy, being dragged around in your designer matching outfits and maybe just maybe the occasional collar or necklace or ring so that people know you're TAKEN and I swear I am healthy and normal 😩❤️

[grumpypixistix]

Can you do one where Y/N is a spider woman and her and Miguel are in a relationship. Even though he claims to like to work alone, most of his missions involved her. After a verve racking mission, Miguel and Y/N play a game of cat and mouse throughout the city, just let off steam. Miguel eventually catches Y/N (she lets him), and they have a little make out scene (no smut, just a good make out scene)

Of course I can, lovely! :) ❤️

(Also i sincerely apologize for the wait! I hope you enjoy)

Run and hide

Miguel O’Hara x Spider!reader

Warnings- No smut just a make out session, being hunted down(?)

A/N- Was this only supposed to take a few days to make? Yes. Did it take me over 2 weeks to finish? ….maybe- (but jokes aside, I’m so sorry for the delay. My mental health isn’t the best at the moment and I was very drained for a while. But I’m a little better now! Please feel free to request more stuff and I’ll get to it when I have the chance!)

Miguel always claimed that he liked to work alone, even though everyone seemed to notice otherwise. Most of the missions he went on, he always brought you with. Whenever anyone would ask about this, he was quick to shut it down, claiming it was purely coincidental.

But you knew that was a lie. And so did he.

The two of you had been in a secret relationship for quite some time, and the two of you agreed to keep it that way for the sake of keeping the Spider-verse together. The last thing Miguel needed was his workers nagging him about you 24/7, especially Peter. You were fine with this, knowing how stressed Miguel could get easily, especially with his job as the leader of the Spider Society.

But it wasn’t until you two went on another mission together when things started going downhill. Plan after plan got ruined, which ended up in nearly getting the both of you killed. It caused a lot of pent up emotions inside of Miguel, the idea of you getting hurt or even killed making his stomach churn and tighten.

So after barely escaping the mission, Miguel came up with an idea to let off some steam. He needed it, and you knew it. With that knowledge in mind, you agreed to the idea, even though he didn’t give a lot of details as to what the idea was. But since you had just escaped a hellish mission with him, you were open to anything.

Miguel opened up a portal in front of you, noticing your confused expression. He then set a timer on his watch, looking up at you.

“I’ll give you a 30 second head start. That should give you enough time to get ahead of me…” Miguel spoke lowly, tilting his head towards the direction of the portal.

You stood there for a few seconds, still a little confused.

“You want me to… run away from you?” You questioned.

Miguel just stared at you in silence, slightly nodding his head.

“I suggest you start now. You’re down to 24 seconds.”

Your eyes widened as you quickly bolted towards the portal, entering into the heart of the city. You began to swing with your webs through the gaps of the large buildings, quickly finding an abandoned building and hanging from the ceiling. You tried to blend in with the darkness of the shadows, making sure to not make a single noise. After some fidgeting around and making sure you were secured, the faint woosh of the portal was heard from afar.

You couldn’t trace where the exact location of the sound was.

Adrenaline rushed through your veins as you tried desperately to look around for Miguel, making sure you were still hidden in the process. Once he finally came into your view, your breath was caught in your throat. You quietly crawled across the ceiling and out of the window, just in time for him to turn his head up to catch a glimpse of your suit colors. Miguel muttered to himself and clicked his tongue, shooting his web and exiting from the same window you had crawled out of.

He didn’t know why, but the hunt made him feel… better. It made him feel like he was finally in control of a situation for once. And hunting you down made it even more thrilling for him, since he knew you wouldn’t get hurt.

And honestly, you could say the same. Trying to run and hide from Miguel made you forget all about the dangerous mission, since you weren’t in any real harm this time. It was just to blow off steam, and it worked.

During the time Miguel had noticed you exit, you had made it far enough away from the building you were in.

At least you thought it was far enough.

You had swung at least 6 buildings south of where you initially were, so there was no way he’d be able to find you… right?

Entering through the fire escape on the roof, you managed to stay hidden once more. The whole building was dark and cold, but you were able to see from the glow-up suit Miguel had made for you. You guided yourself through the building from the light source and found the stairwell, jumping through the gap and landing on the ground floor. And as you continued to look for the exit on the floor, you could hear a faint thud from a few floors up.

Again, not knowing where the source came from, adrenaline rushed through your body once more.

You ran through the dimly lit floor, trying desperately to look for the exit. As you did so, the sound became louder… and closer. The more you ran and searched for the exit, the closer the sound got and you couldn’t find the exit. The more doors you ran through, the more lost you became. You panted and tried to catch your breath, hiding from whatever the noise was caused by.

But then the noise stopped. It was completely silent.

You could hear your thumping heartbeat in your ears, your breath still heavy from running around. You waited for what felt like hours before growing the courage to move around again. After finally being able to calm down and think straight, you looked for the exit as quietly as possible.

But as you tried to move again, you felt a pair of large hands grab you and lift you from behind.

You gasped loudly and felt your back slam up against the wall, making eye contact with whoever it was that grabbed you.

It was Miguel.

He had a relieved expression on his face, forming into a small grin.

“Finally caught you” Miguel panted out softly, cupping your face as he pinned you against the wall.

You didn’t even fight back and keep the game up. You let him take you.

A quiet chuckle left your lips as you returned the grin.

“You’re lucky I let you” You teased, eyes flicking to Miguel’s lips and back up to his dark eyes.

A mutter left Miguel’s mouth as he chuckled and kissed you, taking his time as he held you close. His kisses were soft and passionate, his hands moving from cupping your face to gripping your waist. Your hands ran through his hair as you kissed him with just as much passion, trying to catch your breath with each pause.

But Miguel always pulled you right back into another kiss, not wanting to let go of you whatsoever. After the mission, that was the last thing he wanted to do. But being able to catch you was like a reward to him. His hands trailed everywhere on your body, his tongue slipping into your mouth with a soft moan.

After moments of the heated kiss, the two of you finally pulled away for some air. You looked up at Miguel’s eyes as you panted softly, hands resting on his chest. Miguel stared back at you for a few quiet seconds before letting out a sigh and shaking his head.

“I’m definitely not letting you split up with me on missions now… you’re gonna stick to my side no matter what, got that?” Miguel said lowly, his hands moving up to cup your face once more.

You look and him and slowly nod your head, one of your hands moving to cup over his.

“Okay… I’m sorry I did that, it was a stupid idea anyways-“

Miguel cut you off with a firm kiss to your lips, gently tugging on your bottom lip.

“Don’t say that, cariño. It wasn’t stupid, you were just doing your job. You gave suggestions when the situation needed it… that’s not stupid.”

A sigh left your lips as you looked up at him, a small smile on your face. You moved a little to kiss his cheek, a soft blush on both of your faces.

“Thank you… really.”

Miguel smiled at you and chuckled before kissing your forehead and lips.

“Of course” He whispered back before taking a step away to open a portal back home.

You looked over at the portal and back at Miguel, taking his hand into yours and giving it a small squeeze. Miguel looks back at you and holds your hand as well.

“Ready to go back?” Miguel asks you.

You nod and pull him in for one last kiss, “Never wanted to go back more than now.”

A small laugh left Miguel as you said that, kissing you back and pulling you into the portal.

After that day, Miguel made it into a routine to hunt you around the city after missions, always catching you and bringing you back home safely.

[boogleboot]

One year since Fateheart

A year ago I posted Fateheart: A Starless Seaquel to Ao3 (link here) - the mammoth fanfic sequel to Erin Morgenstern's The Starless Sea.

Fateheart has had an incredible year, and has completely changed my life, by all measures. Posting it has connected me to so many wonderful people and helped bring together a genuine community over on the Starless Sea discord (which you should join hey here's a link) who have supported me through the last hellish few weeks of uni assignments as well as months and months of creative projects and ambitious fic writing.

So on this blessed solstice day, here is a lil update for those who are following the slow progress of the unofficial Starless Sea canon as developed in Fateheart.

Oh that's right, baby. It ain't just one fan sequel. It's gonna be uhhh (checks notes) at least four.

I really really wanted to get the next book out at this year mark - on the solstice and year anniversary - but despite hitting that 50k mark for NaNoWriMo last month it just didn't happen (it's been a rough couple months - I am currently doing a master's course that is kicking my ass).

But I am determined to get Fever Pitch, the next full-novel-length follow-up story, out in full as soon as humanly possible. Toward that end I have gone ahead and made a posting for it. The first few chapters are done and have been done for a while, so I shall slowly be posting them as I work on the rest.

Watch this space!!!!

I never really intended Fever Pitch to be a fully-fledged sequel. Mind you, I didn't intend that with Fateheart either, but in a different way. In my mind the next book in the sequence is and always has been a story called The Lotus Flowers. Nearly 180k words of that one exist, but it is too important a story not to get right. So I'm gonna give it as much time as it needs - and it may need quite a lot.

But in working on Lotus Flowers, I came to realise that a lot of the world-building and character development which I was taking for granted was in fact not as obvious to the reader as it would be to me - LF is, after all, set ten or so years after Fateheart, and considering all of The Starless Sea (at least for Zachary and Dorian) takes place in about two weeks, ten years is space enough for a LOT of story.

So in order to strengthen my sense of where Zachary, Dorian, and Kat have found themselves by the ten year mark, I started noting down some of the more important moments from that decade of time. And then just kept writing. And writing and writing and writing until a handful of them were fully fledged novellas.

I have put up the polished ones - they are collected together on Ao3 as 'Fateheart: The Extended Canon'. Which is. A bit pretentious. But whatever. (Also I'm not kidding myself that all the fics in this collection are vital plot points, but there are a couple standout ones which are Canon Events in my mind, that will be referenced in later full-length fics. Namely A Heart That Won't Break, Death in the Valley, and The Man Named Sky.)

But one of these short (aspirationally) stories seemed as I wrote to have particular space in it for so much of that world-building and exposition, and that was Fever Pitch.

Fever Pitch takes place five years after the birth of the Harbour, and the events of Fateheart, and is an Alice-in-Wonderland themed story which explores the lives of all the main Fateheart characters (Zachary, Dorian, Kat, and Leander, namely), introduces some new players (shoutout Tabuzae and Kirsty Baudeville), as well as establishing the limits and life of the Harbour they live in.

I'd say a solid sixty percent of this story currently exists, and I'm gonna amp up the pressure on myself to complete it by posting it as I go - something I've never done before, so bear with me.

It means so much to me that there are people out here who care as much about these people and this little world on the Starless Sea as I do - even more so that so many people have loved my offerings of more story. The above photo is of my christmas present from a housemate who was one of Fateheart's earliest readers. It's so beautiful it makes my heart leap.

We rise, we fall - as stories do.

I am committed to seeing this story through, by the way - all the way to the end - and that is gonna take years. But we start here - with the next book in the series. First few chapters to appear over Christmas.

Until then, happy solstice. To seeking x

[theerrorofmylife]

Witch Queen Ch. 4

Thorin x Witch!Reader

It took me hours to find the sword types for this stupid chapter, and even longer when I spent a literal week reading about Ecthelion and the fall of Gondolin when I didn’t even need or use any of the information.

I GOT A DOG!! That’s kinda why I haven’t been as active, training and caring for her takes a lot of time, especially when she’s so young. I’ve also been sick for the past several weeks. I’m sick with the flu one week then I catch a shitty chest cold the next, it’s hellish.

I drank a ghost energy drink so I could stay awake and focus at work. Instead, I made this 2-3,000 words LONGER THAN WHEN I STARTED. Hehe whoops, I cut it off so that it wasn't longer than 5,000.... it would have been like... 7,000 if I hadn't.

Warnings: General LOTR/Hobbit danger, chase scene, non-important character death, reader can't run (just like me), Thorin and reader are so soft and in love its disgusting, kissing, smooches, these two get just a tad handsy, cursing, Thorin being rude to Elrond because he can be, elvish translated in italics directly after its said (unless translated by character). If there's any I missed, let me know.

“For you.” Turning to my right, I saw Thorin holding a sword out to me, the hilt glittering silver in the firelight of the ark troll cave. I recognized the thin scrolling designs and the soft, thin wrap of leather around the handle. It was of Elvish make, forged before my time, during the first age. I noticed another, very similar to it, in his other hand.

“It is beautiful, seronil, thank you.” I carefully took the blade from him, examining the sharp edge for nicks as he bound his own to his belt. Along the fine edge were several small places that looked worn, put to good use in battle I’d hope. It was not mine to examine for long before it was taken out of my hands. Looking up, Thorin had taken it and began strapping it to my side. My ears went hot as his hands ghosted my sides and my eyes scattered across the cave, only to find that the others had all left, most likely for shovels to make that ‘long-term deposit’.

“Âzyungâl,” He tightened the belt around my hips, and I lifted my face. I hadn’t even realized I was looking anywhere else besides him.

“These were forged in Gondolin… by the High Elves, of the First Age,” Gandalf spoke up from behind us, and Thorin’s face dropped into a scowl. Something about Thorin wishing we would have just a few minutes more to ourselves only to have Gandalf of all people interrupt him made me laugh silently. “You could not wish for a finer blade.” He was holding his own broad sword, straight and narrow opposed to our matching curved single edge falcatas. Leaning forwards, I pressed my lips to his cheek quickly before brushing past him and making my way out of the cave, paying extra attention to the ground as the reality of what I had done sets in. I hadn’t done that yet… neither had he, not really, I didn’t think kissing my hands counted quite the same.

 I snapped out of my thoughts as I nearly tripped, stopped short and looked up to take account of the others. They were scattered here and there, some talking about the gold in the troll cave, others talking about the journey ahead. It seemed like the calm after the storm had settled around us, as if we were finally going to get back to the monotonous journey once again. I could never be so lucky.

“Something’s coming!” Ori ran down from the rock top he was looking over. My hand reached over to pull my sword from my side as Thorin ran over and placed himself in front of me, his own sword already raised. A tethered pack of rabbits raced over the hill, pulling a sleigh behind it.

“Thieves! Fire! Murder!” A mad man raved as he came to a screeching halt in front of us. He was of man, not as tall as Gandalf, but younger, with a large nose and lichen growing down the side of his face, as if he were part tree. His hat had strange flaps at the sides, and his brown-greying hair and beard was matted and wild. A crazed look sat in his wide eyes, and he was rumbling nonsense. Gandalf was the first to move, placing his sword back at his side with a sigh of relief.

“Radagast! Radagast the Brown!” Radagast? He was one of the other Wizards Gandalf mentioned weeks ago. Relief quickly shifted to suspicion as Gandalf approached this new stranger, “What on earth are you doing here?”

“I was looking for you, Gandalf. Something’s wrong. Something’s terribly wrong.” Radagast was out of breath, whispering bad omens and glancing about like he was scared of being watched.

“Yes?”

“Just give me a minute. Um…Oh! I had a thought and now I’ve lost it. It was…it was- was right there, on the tip of my tongue! Oh! It’s not a thought at all! It’s a silly old… stick insect.” A long green bug crawls out of his open mouth and I have to look away not to be sick at the thought. The two walk off, Gandalf separating Radagast from the prying eyes of the company. An unease settled over us as we lowered our weapons but not our guard. The two talked for some time, and some of the company had sat down, others conversing in small groups, while sat with Bilbo, talking about home.

He missed his home so much and he spoke of it so fondly of his house and his books and his peaceful days. He had many neighbors whose company he enjoyed, family who he dedicated his time to, and even the luxury of six meals a day. I’d like to think that, over the course of these past several weeks, I had found a friend in Bilbo. Much like a confidant, he seemed to be one of the few I could openly talk to about things without the topic of Thorin always coming up. For 13 dwarves who spent much of their lives with him, they sure do ask me about him a lot.

Howling in the distance set the party on edge. No one moved, some didn’t even breathe, all hoping the howling would pass.

“Was that a wolf?” Bilbo asked quietly beside me. I shook my head, knowing wolves would be better than what it actually probably was.

“Wolves? No… that was no wolf.” I whispered. Thorin came running down from the cliff’s edge, rocks sliding as he made a fast descend to the rest of the group.

“Warg Scouts! Which means an orc pack is not far behind.” Everyone began moving so fast, packing things and readying themselves. I stuffed my things into my pack, my mother’s book getting shoved in carelessly. Gandalf was yelling, something about telling someone something, I wasn’t really listening. I was brought out of my frenzied rush by Dwalin brushing past me.

“We have to get out of here.”

“We can’t! We have no ponies. They bolted.” Panic was setting in. In the near distance, the howling and barking got louder. Glancing around the group, I met Thorin’s eyes. He met mine as he looked around the group. He didn’t know what to do, how could he, this was the first time any of us heard about Wargs and Orcs being on our tail.

“I’ll draw them off.” Radagast spoke up, and Gandalf quickly tried to shut him down.

“These are Gundabad Wargs. They will outrun you!”

“These are Rhosgobel rabbits. I’d like to see them try.” I didn’t know what Rhosgobel rabbits were, but if it gave us a chance then I’ll take it.

As soon as Radagast’s sleigh cleared the tree line we made a run for it. All of us running low to the ground I don’t remember the last time I ran like this. My chest burned, the air cold on my throat, cheeks flushing. We moved from rock cluster to bolder, dodging the Wargs’ line of sight and praying the Radagast kept them busy enough for us to make it to the next rock cluster. Running up and down hill was killing me. My mind raced with unhelpful thoughts; ‘what if we didn’t all make it?’ ‘What if I didn’t make it?’ ‘Can Wargs be quiet enough to surprise us and kill us off one by one?’ Like I said, very unhelpful. Gandalf was leading us northeast, and something about it seemed familiar. I didn’t have time to ponder it though, because the farther we got from our starting point, the closer Radagast and the Warg pack got.

We were all waiting behind a single large rock cluster when claws scraping against stone and hungry growling slowly crept over the hill to our backs. We pressed ourselves to the stone, clinging to the hope that maybe the Warg and its rider would not see us. Little chips of stone fell on my shoulders as loud snorts made the little hairs on the back of my neck stand on point. I think I was shaking, just a little, and my eyes focused on the expanse of yellowing grass, staggered pines, and tall, sharp stones. A hand unfocused my eyes as it came to hover above my collar bone. I followed the wrist, then the forearm, then the bicep, then the strong jawline, to the grey-blue eyes more focused on telling Kili to shoot the damn thing. The second his arrow flew we were made. He didn’t kill the scout, instead it took a second arrow to trip the Warg, and it tumbled off the hill in front of us. The scout got to its feet and ran at us, but Dwalin drove his axe into its side while Nori stabbed it repeatedly. It made so much noise, the sounds of the chase beyond had gone quiet. I shouldered Thorin out from in front of me, stretching my arm out to see the Warg hound clearly as I imagined holding the Warg’s skull in my hand, just above its spine. I pulled at the imaginary feeling until I just nearly felt it tangible and twisted my wrist harshly. The Warg’s neck snapped abruptly, and we all froze as the hills around us fell deathly silent. A horn, yelling in Orcish, and the howling started again, coming for us.

It wasn’t long before we were cornered, surrounded. We were all separated, in little groups of two or three, staggering and breathless. Looking over Nori’s shoulder, I caught sight of the boys and Thorin, a ways out to our left. Kili was shooting them one by one, but it did little to damage them. If he happened to land a successful shot, another Warg replaced it fast. My vision was blurring as I tried to keep track of everything. I couldn’t tell whether we were missing someone or if that was just the dizzying turn of my eyes.

“Where’s Gandalf?” Wait, what, where was Gandalf? He’s taller than everyone, he shouldn’t be hard to miss, so where-

“This way, you fools!” He appeared from behind a rock and the confusion mixed with the fear and the relief and made me sick. All this running was making me dizzy. I wasn’t built for running, I’m 5” with the physique of a relaxed walker… not a runner. One by one dwarves fell into the hidden tunnel, falling on top of one another, elbows, knees, and backpacks clashing down the steep fall. I pulled my arms up to shield my head as I rolled down the slope. My back hit the sharp ground, then my arms, then my back again.

Standing from the gravel littered ground, I began brushing myself off while narrowly avoiding elbows as the Dwarves did the same in the close proximity of the tunnel entrance.

“Kili! Run!” Thorin’s voice echoed down into the cave. The boys, Fili and Kili, were still out there. Fili came sliding first, and I grabbed his arms, pulling him out of the way as Kili followed shortly after. Watching the cave entrance, the longer it took for Thorin to join us, the longer panic took me over. Rocks and pebbles rained down on us as he came skidding to a halt. I breathed, filling my lungs fully for the first time since meeting Radagast. A horn sounded from somewhere nearby, and large hands pushed me back behind the party as a body fell after Thorin. An orc, unmoving, with an arrow sticking out of its back. Thorin pulled the arrow, examining it before throwing it in disgust. “Elves.”

The fear and sudden relief mixing in my chest were starting to make me sick. Looking over, I saw Thorin already looking at me, head tilted slightly as if to ask a question. I smiled and let my chest sink into a sigh as I nodded. I was ok. We were all ok.

“I cannot see where the pathway leads. Do we follow it or not?” Dwalin interrupted our silent conversation.

“We follow it, of course!” There was shoving, and the party was slowly forming a line to walk down the path.

“I think that would be wise.” I heard Gandalf mutter and realized that this was part of his plan. He led us here, knowing we would find this place, and he knows where it leads. Thorin realized the same thing.

“Where are you leading us...?” He didn’t get a response, only a strange look before Gandalf walked off to keep the others on track. The others passed me, each nodding towards me, like a gesture of acknowledgement or respect. It was weird but I moved past it. I went to follow, but a hand pressed against my back and on instinct I relaxed back into the warmth. Thorin wrapped his hand from my back around to my side and pulled my back against his chest, pressing a chaste kiss to my left shoulder. “Are you alright, My Lady?”

I smiled again, turning to meet his eyes. “Yes, My King, simply not built for running like that.” He chuckled low nodding.

“You and me both.” He kissed my shoulder again, slowly this time, moving from my shoulder up my neck until he was pressing slow kisses on my pulse point, under my jaw. We really should catch up with the others. His hands held me tighter, holding me fast against his chest. No matter how warm he was against me, he gave me chill bumps along my arms and down my back, my neck slowly leaning to the side as if to open up for him. He littered my neck with his kiss as his hand slowly lowered from my side to my hip bone, grabbing, as if desperate to go lower.

“Thorin?” Dwalin calls from far along the pathway. My whole-body tenses and Thorin lets out a silent laugh. I’m glad he finds getting caught so amusing.

“I’m following, Dwalin. Let me go at my own pace.” His hands moved to my waist to rub circles into my back with his thumbs.

“Aye. And is the Witch moving at your pace as well?” My face flushed red and Thorin kept laughing. This bastard-

“She is.” He called after Dwalin and sighed into my shoulder. “Let’s go, My Lady. I fear I’ve kept you for too long.” We walked along the stone pathway, the rocks towering above us to create a ravine that let the sunlight dance down on top of us. I walked behind Thorin, fingers locked with his, and we trailed behind the others at a distance so that we could talk.

“What are we going to when we get to the end of this? Gandalf knows where we’re going, and I feel like I do to- I just can’t place it.” Thorin nodded.

“Wherever we end up, we stay close together, and we do not let our guard down. I don’t care if it’s a friendly place we’re headed to. If anyone catches wind of our true intentions, to enter the mountain and reclaim it, they will try to stop us.” I hummed in agreement. Since leaving Bag End, I had found it hard to disagree with his rough, secretive outlook on this quest. Clearly things were not as they seemed when it came to the mountain.

“What if it’s the elves? Gandalf had been asking about seeing them before the trolls, is it unreasonable to think he would lure us to them?” Thorin visibly sulked at the thought but shook his head.

“No, that’s most likely exactly what he’s doing. Whatever they want, they will not have.”

“And if they want to help us?” He shook his head again.

“They won’t, and you know it. We must be careful Amrâlimê.” I nodded but suddenly had a thought that had never occurred to me before.

“What does that mean?” He stopped, turning confused.

“What does what mean?”

“Amrâlimê. What is that word? You’ve said other singular words like it too, but I don’t recognize them. And the other A- one and the I- one! I do not know these and yet-”

“What are you talking about?!” He interrupted me and my eyes widened in annoyance. He wasn’t answering me, and I felt like he was doing that on purpose.

"There was one that Kili called me, Irak-something! Thorin, please!” He smiled and shook his head, that rare smile like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Irak’Amad, My Lady, is Aunt.” It took me a second to process but when I realized I smiled so wide my eyes crinkled. Fili and Kili have been calling me Aunt and I didn’t even know.

“And the others?” He looked down at my lips before meeting my eyes, his hands coming to sit on my hips again.

“Sanâzyung means perfect love,” he leaned in, pulling my chest against his. The way he spoke his native tongue, deep and rumbling in his chest, it made my head hazy. “and Âzyungâl means lover,” His head tilted down, lips a breath away from mine, so close I could feel him speaking against mine. “and Amrâlimê… means my love.” He gently pressed his lips to mine and suddenly the very thought of not kissing Thorin felt detrimental to my health. We had never kissed like this before; it had always been on the hands or shoulders. We were always with people, or in danger, never alone with no one to interrupt. It was slow, and I gently wrapped my hands around the back of his neck, threading my fingers through the hair at the base of his neck. He sighed through his nose, and we would have stayed there like that for hours had we not heard the others. Gasps of surprise and Dwalin calling Thorin’s name, sounding mildly panicked, broke us apart once again and this time it was I who sighed in agitation.

“We will never be alone, will we.” He gave a wry smile, pressing his lips to mine again, quickly this time. I didn’t want this to end, who knows when we’d get another chance to be so close. But the mission pressed on, and the road was long before the end of our journey.

 We caught up with the others and I was stunned at what I saw. Tall, spiraling, elegant towers, graceful waterfalls under delicate bridges stretching across the great expanse of the mountain’s edge. Great halls with high arches and curving stone glittered in the afternoon light. The great Elven estate was built in the mouth of the valley, looking out over the river as it extends east.

“The Valley of Imladris. In the common tongue, it’s known by another name.” Gandalf spoke over our awe, rounding the ledge as we all looked on.

“Rivendell.” A whisper came from my left and I looked over to see Bilbo, eyes wide.

“Here lies the last homely house, east of the sea.” I remember coming here, once, a long time ago with Thranduil. I was incredibly young, and I don’t remember the details, but I remember the feeling. This is home, without it every having been home. Thorin moved past me, anger masked by narrowed eyes and squared shoulders.

“This was your plan all along, to seek refuge with our enemy.” ‘Enemy’ was such a harsh word and yet I couldn’t really find fault with his point of view. I disagree, I believe Lord Elrond will help us more than hinder us, but in Thorin’s mind it wasn’t just Thranduil that abandoned his people that day. To Thorin, it was every Elf, every person who aligns themselves with the Elves or calls the Elves friend was liable to Thorin’s distaste.

Gandalf sneered at him, scrunching his nose as he snapped at Thorin, “You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield. The only ill-will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself.”

“You think the Elves will give our quest their blessing? They will try to stop us.” The king tilts his head, wryly calling the ancient wizard’s choices into question. Gandalf had none of it, acutely aware of what Lord Elrond would have to say.

“Of course, they will. But we have questions that need to be answered,” He walked through the party, making his way to the stone step path that led down to the first bridge. “If we are to be successful this will need to be handled with tact, and respect, and no small degree of charm, which is why you will leave the talking to me.” I rolled my eyes. Thorin went first and I followed second, taking his hand to step down as the steps became steeper and more detailed. We walked shoulder to shoulder in pairs along the narrow bridges until we came to two tall Elven statues standing guard in front of a large circular courtyard. We filed into the courtyard, slowly regrouping and breaking off to talk separately in smaller groups. I stayed near Thorin, my hand resting against his shoulder as he and Dwalin discuss escape routes. From the steps above, a young Elf passes by two guards and almost don’t recognize him.

“Mithrandir.” Lindir was the right hand of Lord Elrond and had been for some time now. I had known him when he was younger, and to think that he had risen so far was surprising. He was always so… carefree as a young Elf. The two stepped closer, speaking Quenya in hushed tones. Thorin turned his head to Dwalin and I.

“Stay sharp, and you stay behind me.” I snapped my head towards him.

“I know the people here. Lord Elrond is a kind man, he will help us I know it, please trust me.” He met my eyes with skepticism, but I stared him down, knowing I was right. Suddenly a horn sounded behind us, and the clattering of dozens of horse hoofs spooked the company.

“Close ranks!” I was pulled back into a crowd of dwarven elbows as they close in around each other. The hunting party circles us until they have is hidden by rings of Elven warriors. A man I had met only a few times in my life dismounts from the head of the hunting party and approaches Gandalf happily.

“Gandalf!” He smiled wide and it felt like I was in the presence of peace and tranquility. Like he polluted the air with a calm demeanor and made everyone feel safe. Everyone except the dwarves. Gandalf bowed and began speaking with him in Quenya, too fast for me to easily translate. I slipped my hand into Thorin’s, pressed so close to each other that no one noticed. Until I was addressed.

“(Name), Niethir iin Eryn Galen, Thranduilwen!” (name), Niethir of the Greenwood, daughter of Thranduil! Looking up, I met his smile and reciprocated a relived one of my own.

“Hér Elrond!” I bowed my head and slowly eased my way out of the group. Thorin squeezed my hand, and I stopped short of leaving from directly in front of him. He held onto me, and I held onto him. Elrond saw this but made no note of it.

“Quenyalda aryaië?” Your Quenya is improving? My cheeks flushed as I remembered the promise I made to him when I was much younger. I told him I would learn every language I could, and that I’d be able to speak to him in perfect Quenya one day. At the time, I wanted to impress both him and Thranduil.

“Paranya, au lenca.” I am learning, if only slowly.

“Naylë arya malda nyanya,” You are better than most. I smiled widely and nodded in thanks. “Si casar, carltë lenda asillo?” These dwarves, do they travel with you? I looked to Thorin quickly before looking back to Elrond.

“Lá, málonya.” Yes, my friends. He nodded and grinned. Looking past me, he focused on someone else behind me and I felt Thorin’s hand tighten in mine.

“Welcome, Thorin, son of Thrain.” Thorin came to stand beside me as he was addressed.

“I do not believe we have met.” I almost sensed haughty arrogance from Thorin, like he was waiting to make some snide comment.

“You have your grandfather's bearing. I knew Thror when he ruled Under the Mountain.”

“Indeed? He made no mention of you.” Ah. There it is. I rolled my eyes and met Elrond’s once again. The right corner of his lip quirked upwards so fast and so little that I almost missed it. Almost.

“Si gonnhirrim arldë alatulyaië imi Rivendell. Silómë merenlmë, málonlda arldë fúmë hí.” I sighed and smiled brightly, nodding happily in thanks. He turned and began walking back up the stairs but was stopped when Gloin spoke up in rage.

“What is he saying? Does he offer us insult?” He pushed his way to the front. I jostled as the others moved to make room for him. Gandalf turned to us, obviously tired of the Dwarves’ antics.

“No, Master Gloin, he's offering you food.” The Dwarves froze and suddenly turned in to whisper tightly between each other. Thorin and I leaned in, and my lips just barely brushed his cheek.

“His exact words were that you are welcomed in Rivendell, and that we may feast and sleep here tonight, but Gandalf was never good at translating.” I spoke low and soft, so that he was the only one to hear me. He grinned and turned slightly, his eyes crinkling at the edges. His lips were so close to mine, but the others had already started moving towards the stairs and there wasn’t time. He pressed our foreheads together, the side of his nose against mine, eyes closed. It lasted only a second or two, but it became my favorite thing. We were led up the stairs farther into the estate, past large columns and gorgeous waterfalls, other Elves passing us. They nodded towards me when they recognized me, and the Dwarves started to take notice. Thorin leaned into my side, the little braid that hung by his ear knocking into my shoulder.

“They know you here?” I nodded, still scanning the area as we crossed another bridge with no railings.

“I came here once a really long time ago, but it’s more likely they know me because I’m a witch, one of the last, remember?” There was a pause before he nodded, lips closed tight as if something suddenly bothered him. I saw this, but I couldn’t figure out what it could have been. Thorin was always stoic these days, always looking ahead for the danger, always thinking of what-ifs. Moments like this I remembered just how different he is now compared to when we first met. The carefree, smiling young man who led me down backstreets and alleyways got smothered by time and grief and hurt. “Thorin,” I bumped his shoulder with mine lightly, “What are you thinking?”

He wouldn’t meet my eyes, looking off in the distance, before looking down at the stone walkway. “You are the last of your kind… that never truly struck me until now. To be the last of your kind, alone in the world, without anyone who truly understands… I’m sorry.” I was shocked. I guess that made sense, though I never really thought of it like that. Yes, I was most likely, almost definitely, the last Witch in Middle Earth, but it didn’t make me as sad as it probably should have.

“Don’t be. As much as it sounds horrible, I don’t feel bad being the last.” His head snapped towards me, eyes wide and worried.

“Why-”

“Come, you are to feast with Lord Elrond. Then, you will be escorted to the bath houses. Lady Niethir, you are welcomed to the separate house for privacy.” I nodded in thanks before lowering my head to speak to Thorin quietly again.

“I’ll tell you later, Ara Nín. Let’s at least have tonight before we step back into the world.” He nodded reluctantly and took my hand in his, kissing the back before pulling me with him into the dining room with the rest of the company. 

@mrsdurin ,@capricorn-anon, @emmapotato88 , @dontaskmehowdontaskmewhy , @eilin-brillewin​ @hpthalia126 , @undecided-about-everything-ever , @dark-chxos, @artemis-the-ace, @floatingintheshire

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[cadybear420]

Can you do 26 for the kiss prompts for Alan x Emma?

Thank you!

26. …as an apology.

Ask prompts here!

HSS 2, after the group had made their plans to meet up on Saturday to break into the school and investigate Isa.

After a hellish six weeks of nothing but infighting, reaching its peak when Isa threatened to expel Caleb for turning on her during the food fight... everyone (or at least his friend group) was starting to reconcile. Alan was relieved, but he was starting to feel a pit form in his stomach as he looked back on how he'd acted...

As everyone was leaving, Alan ran up beside Emma.

"Oh! Hey, Alan. What's up?"

"Just wanted to give you... this."

Cupping her face with one hand and pushing back her long golden hair with the other, Alan leaned in and planted a firm kiss to Emma's cheek. He made a small *smack!* sound as he pulled off, leaving a bright red lipstick mark right on her cheek.

"Oh!" Emma gasped, blushing brightly (though not bright enough to drown out the lipstick mark). She turned to him and tilted her head in confusion. "What was that for?"

"Making up for not being more attentive to your issues."

Emma furrowed her brows. "I... never thought you were neglecting me...? And even if you were... it's really my fault, for going on and on about how I didn't want to feel like I was burdening you with my problems, and lying to you about my job."

"You've already apologized for that! And still, I think I could have been more supportive, even when I didn't know about your job."

Emma smiled at him. "Aww... I appreciate the sentiment, Alan... but I think you're good. Don't worry about it. Besides, you still had all that stuff with cheer losing its funding. I shouldn't blame you for focusing more on that. I know how important cheer is to you."

"Yeah... so important, that I threw Aiden and band under the bus to make sure cheer got the remaining funding. Then I threw basketball under the bus at the game in order to protest against Isa. And then when Isa responded to that by cutting band and cheer altogether, I turned against my own squad because I thought they and their stunt was at fault for getting cheer cut, and for roping me into said stunt. Oh yeah... and even before all that, I betrayed Koh's trust and told this secret she had to Isa in the hopes that I could start off on a clean slate with her."

Emma stared blankly at him.

"I... think I'm already aware of most of that."

Alan sighed, frowning. "My point is, I haven't exactly been doing a good job of considering other people, and putting others first even when it doesn't inherently benefit me."

"As far as I'm concerned, you were in some very tough situations. Even with the Koh's secret thing." She took his manicured hand in hers, running her thumb over his fingers. "You did what you could to support your squad and protect yourself. I personally find that admirable."

"You can't be serious," Alan chuckled. "I openly blamed Aiden for the sled incident to make sure my squad got the remaining funds, blamed basketball for something they had no control over, blamed my own squad for something that I actively participated in as well, and told someone else's confidential information."

"Okay, well, those parts are pretty bad, but you're owning up to them now. And what I meant was that in a general sense, I don't blame you for defending yourself."

"Oh?"

Emma inhales deeply as she then meets his eye.

"That's something I've always admired about you, Alan... your extreme self-confidence, your unwillingness to let anyone tear you down for being who you are. I've always wished I could be more like that... and because of you, I'm starting to work my way towards that."

Alan beamed broadly at her. "Emma, that's... God, you're too darn sweet sometimes, you know that?"

"I guess what I can say is... keep standing up for yourself, but also know when too far is too far."

"You're right, Emma. And... that's why I wanna apologize to all my friends."

"By all means, go ahead. Though I probably wouldn't worry about it too much. From what I can tell, I don't think anyone was exactly thinking rationally this past month. Everything seemed like a... 'darned if you do, darned if you don't' situation. We'll more than make up for it when we investigate Isa this Saturday."

"I'll definitely consider that. Thank you Emma."

Alan wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her in to peck her on the chin, this time leaving only a tiny smidge of his lipstick. Emma wrapped her arms around his waist, grinning widely and squeezing him.

When they broke apart, Emma took his hand in hers once again.

"So, while you're still thinking about all that... wanna share a big milkshake at the Golden Griddle?"

"Fuck yes."

[strymes49]

Happy New Years Eve nestlings! 2024 is upon us so let's catch up a little... 💜

2023 was a very experimental year for my art and I enjoyed trying out tons of new things to broaden my skillset! Not a lot of them stuck, but I think what that means for the coming year is that hopefully I'll know how to continue my projects in a far more consistent way, while still enjoying doing them! I think that's important for budding artists like myself and others to take the time to try new things and broaden our horizons to see what sticks, and I really really do appreciate all of you for sticking with me through all of it. I met tons of awesome people I want to talk to and work with more often, and I'm so excited for what the next year has in store in terms of that! I have so many new years resolutions I'm hoping to take on! 💜

...and one of them is taking a break.

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LIke I said, 2023 was an awesome year for the growth of my skillset... it also gave me hellish amounts of burnout which contributed to me not posting as much art as I would've liked to. I am very proud of the art itself that I put out, but I definitely felt like I could've done more.

I'm going to take about a week long break or so from posting much new art or content (I'll probably just repost old art from this year and other years), but AFTER THAT, I want to... 💜Post about something Free Fall related EVERY SINGLE DAY in 2024 (sorta like keeping a dev log but for my comic!)

💜Finish Chapter 2 of Free Fall in January!! 💜Continue my food people animations (and keep posting to youtube in general) 💜Continue creating FAN SONGS for my favourite creators!

💜Slightly rebrand my online presence to reflect more of my personality and content

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I'm normally such a worm on the internet (i dig myself holes that i cant escape from and then get too shy to ask for help 😭) But I'm gonna try to work on that aspect of myself this year, so that I'm still a worm... but with WINGS :D A bird worm! A wird...?

Anyway yeah. Sometimes I'll have life issues to take care of, and I do indeed still have a job irl to pay my bills so that I can keep living in my little worm hole of an apartment. If there's any lack of posts or just... me being online, that's probably why. And/or I'm having an anxiety attack lmao TL;DR, thank you for an awesome 2023, I'm really grateful for everyone here, BIG plans are ahead, and I'm excited for the adventurous year of 2024 💜💜💜

[drill-teeth-art]

Anon because I’m kind of nervous to be reaching out for non-art related topics, but I’m glad to see you back in my feed! As a fellow chronic pain sufferer, I know those days where it spikes are absolutely hellish, and I’m really hoping you’re feeling a little better now. It never fully gets “better,” of course, but I’m hoping you get a few days of minimum pain and maximum relief this week.

Hoping you’re feeling better physically today and stay feeling better for the rest of this week, and that your weekend treated you okay!

🤝

Fellow chronic pain sufferer! Thanks for the kind words and well wishes! Not to get too into my medical shit or anything, but I've been trying to get this shit properly diagnosed for ages now. And it's been a goddamn nightmare to get anything other than painkillers that don't work and a metaphorical kick out the door so far. So honestly it's just nice when someone else is like "bro that sounds really serious and really painful I hope it dies down" when I'm like "my back fucking hurts !!!".

It's somewhat better, but I feel like I'm still crawling out of the really bad days of this flare up. It'll get there. Or I'll get to a hospital! Whatever happens!

It's honestly not easy to be optimistic about it tbh. It has been really bad and especially debilitating for the past while and I can hardly get most people to believe me about it. So thank you for believing me on it and wishing me well! I hope the days ahead show you mercy as well! Take care! Have a good day/night!

[princecosmosanon]

Got my laptop in yesterday before work. Spent an hour or so after work setting it up/updating it.

I still need to redownload scrivener (I’ll probably have to pay again but it’s whatever; I paid for it before because it’s great and I wanna use it again)

But I have a loooooong hellish week ahead of me of work still so idk when I’ll get to write again. Maybe on Thursday or something.

[eggman91]

hello and greeting a update on that au or fic whatever

so it going slow. I apologize. I’ve been busy with other things like work and well half life so so to make up for that here’s some random thoughts and here the main one this may be a perfect theme for voodoo Mordecai they should’ve thought of from day one

(yes I play more of undead nightmare then the actually first game and I’m still waiting for a new one rockstar..)

In a past post I say something about a swamp arc for mordecai well what that is mordecai after fail attempts and a very crazy week decide to fully commit to his power and fully accept the grand zombi offer ( he need to find who truly kill Atlas and get revenge)and then he meet papa legba and they led him to nearby swamp and do some training while the savoy cover for him of course it only for another few weeks so what mister sweet is curious what his top man his hatchet man up to too but hey he still doing his job

Calvin after the whole “oh crap I have magic “ is very conflicted more then ever I mean why can he even do that and what but hey Ivy and rocky thought it was fucking cool “freckle you totally wreck there car sweet revenge for miss pepper car” and etc but ok maybe this is like good magic maybe “boom” he find out about the whole fae stuff I don’t how yet but you guys can say anything that you think it’s cool) and so identity crisis like he was always going to hell No matter what he does he a bloody forest demon or something also Ivy is alittle worry over sleep talk in Gaelic and why does it weird blue and black butterfly always show up?

ok this is totally not canon to the au just a random ideal. Rocky has a sweet girlfriend, like imagine like the famous ocs pluto or ari but

she a demon like fallen like not like that Helluva boss like truly hellish stuff like faith (someone call father Garcia) do you know what I’m talking about that truly undescribable hill because that’s what I believe hell is undescribable so imagine Rocky having a GF real appearance or something like that is this

It genuinely love him(ps it’s in my belief demons or angels have no gender something like that I don’t know really and I’m a dumb southerner remember) like this is the only time it enjoying it time since the fall but this is not Cannon, but just imagine the reaction

anyways my thing is about to die because my charger is broken so I’m gonna go ahead and post this once I’m charged I will post more of the random ideals. I have please if you have any ideals that you think would help in this AU or that you like and think is cool please share you probably have a better idea then me

[quillyfied]

Hellaverse Theories: Helluva Boss S2E4

Welcome to Quilly’s Hellaverse Theories, where I overthink the entire Hellaverse! Now, folks, I’m a gentle soul. I prefer comedies and romances to drama and angst. But. Every so often. Every now and then. I get a dark hunger for some whump (followed by comfort but lol this episode does not provide that service). And this episode? DELIVERS. HURT THE BELOVED BIRD MAN. HUMBLE HIM. WHEEEEE!

Anyway. S2E4 WESTERN ENERGY HERE WE COME.

“Where the poor pour for you” good GRIEF okay. Also I didn’t know imps came that tiny. Someone help them. And build a Zootopia-esque tiny town for them, if they don’t already have that.

I see divorce settlement negotiations are going well :P It’s so funny to see Stolas being openly petty and bitchy to Stella when Via isn’t caught in the immediate crossfire, because we see through flashbacks (so far) that he really, really didn’t talk back or question her much during their marriage (not never, just not much). This is “don’t you want to just go apeshit” at its most refined. And lol at Andrealphus trying to wrangle Stella; she’s many things but tame has never been one of them and if she wasn’t such an egregious abusive violent bastard it would be more impressive (and I have some Thoughts about her and places this personality trait of hers could go/mean if given proper development, but later in the episode).

Alright, Stolas’ notification that he has a meeting with Ozzie in three days. That puts a timeline on this thing that may become amended by Oops, because after what Stolas is about to go through, I’m not sure he’s able to keep that meeting; and Striker does say “had a royal on the ropes just last week,” and Fizzarolli schedules Stolas for a nooner, so maybe it did need to get rescheduled while Stolas recovered. Not for long, though; a week at most. I don’t know how long people are in the hospital for normally when they get the kind of treatment Stolas gets, but he spends three days to a week in recovery, then still has bandages by the time Full Moon rolls around (whenever it may be)—demonic resilience, even in the face of holy weapons. Also. Where the HECK does blessed rope come from?? (And on the subject of timing, Blitzo spends a week tracking his sister while Moxxie and Millie are working the camper job—does it take Stolas a full week to recover? The chronology is so tiresome to track sometimes.)

But anyway, back to Andrealphus and his stupid face and his transparent attempts at manipulation. He’s kinda bad at this when he doesn’t have any ammunition, but he IS related to Stella, so I wonder if they both compensate the lack of skillful manipulation with pure arrogance. And I do very much question if Stella is as stupid as Andrealphus clearly thinks and says she is, or if she just has different goals and motivations and isn’t inclined to share them. Reducing Stella to an empty-headed spoiled brat just feels wrong in a show (and, frankly, a universe) where nearly every character has SOME sort of hidden depths, even if they’re just hints.

Also: I notice that at this fancy tea place, it’s not just Goetians demons. I see other Hellborn there as well (the lady at the table Striker lands on looks like she’s a succubus shark with very lovely tail fins, good work on the genetic lottery, madam). Interestingly wide social strata. Also, just gonna go ahead and speculate about it here: it’s weird that every ring has localized demon strains, but Wrath’s imps and (I am assuming heavily here, since Bee is hound-shaped and also appears to be the beast tamer in Lucifer’s merry Hellish circus) Gluttony’s hellhounds are at the bottom of that heap. Succubi/incubi, sharks, baphomets, whatever Envy has (possessors, I’ve heard it said? Not in-show yet so idk but I’ll go with it for now), even sinners from Pride—why are they higher on the social ladder than imps and hellhounds? How did that come about?

Very interesting to me too that Striker is clearly not full-blooded imp (very sharky), but he identifies as an imp and also has some strong opinions on his own superiority to the rest of imp-kind. There is a parallel there to be drawn to the real world that I am unqualified to speak on and am going to back away slowly from, but it has been noticed. And it’s also noticed that Striker isn’t immune from the affliction of having deeper waters within, too. Dude has a backstory and I’d love to know it.

Striker is a damn good gunslinger, though, and that’s fun to watch.

Holy balls I finally found the frame with the higher-class demon (maybe lower-ranking Goetia? Given that she has pupils?) who has a purse imp. That is. Deeply uncomfortable, actually.

HA also found Striker’s wanted posters. “Preferably dead please” NICE

Such a change for how Blitzo answers the phone when Stolas calls this time, though. He might just be trying to keep calm and easy because Loona is so distressed, but I also like to think, given his reaction in a minute when he realizes how deep Stolas might actually be in it, that Blitzo might have cooled off slightly since Ozzie’s. They haven’t talked about their issues one jot, but time does tend to take the edge off certain wounds. Time, and having an adventure in the human world together involving their daughters, and maybe skipping a few full moons, it’s really unclear.

“What does he look like, your Highness?” “Hmm…sexy?” “That’s Striker, sir!” Never fails to make me laugh. Of COURSE that’s how they identify who’s got Stolas trussed up on the back of a horse XD Also, this episode is an important one not just for breaking everyone’s illusion about Stolas’ untouchable nature and power, but for breaking the last scrap of fantasy that Stolas is clinging to about the nature of his and Blitzo’s relationship. He isn’t taking this seriously yet, despite the blessed rope, and the fact that Stolas isn’t more worried makes me think he doesn’t know about the previous assassination attempt, because I think he’d be way more concerned if he remembered that this same guy tried to kill him with an angelic rifle. He might know. Because it would be just as in-character for Stolas to know but just shrug and move on because it’s not like anything happened, he’s fine, Striker didn’t get him and he hasn’t ever been seriously physically threatened before. This is another step in Stolas’ painful, painful growing up process. It hurts, but it’s shaping him into a demon who can maybe not just become better for Blitzo and for Octavia, but better for Hell in general. And by better, I mean more willing to look the social structure of it in the face and go “no, this sucks, actually.” Again, I don’t know that Helluva Boss proper is ever going to actually address and try to change these bigger social systems, because that’s a heavy and complicated topic, but providing fanon fodder to create those kinds of stories and fantasies for itself is not a worthless service either, actually.

And for folks who want to blame Blitzo for not coming himself, two things: one, Loona is and should be his priority and he isn’t wrong for that, especially given the suspicious difficulty in getting this necessary appointment (listen it COULD be Slothful negligence, but I think we all know there’s something a little more systemically classist, if not racist, about how it takes FIVE YEARS to get an appointment for a YEARLY SHOT that Loona NEEDS or she is vulnerable to a HORRIFIC DISEASE. If there are hellhound shelters, why aren’t there hellhound clinics with better supplies and this very important shot more readily available?). Two, Blitzo DOES start trying to get to Stolas. Look at the way he breaks the gear shift. Until Millie and Moxxie reassure Blitzo that they can handle this rescue mission, Blitzo is either gonna break the appointment to go handle it himself, or he’s gonna try to ram through this appointment as fast as possible to get to Stolas ASAP. He is trying. There’s so much going on. But Blitzo picks his priority, and he's absolutely right to do so. If Stolas and Blitzo ever discuss that, I doubt Stolas would ever blame him for it, even if he is still disappointed by Blitzo never showing up (necessary as it is to continue breaking these rosy glasses of his so he can more clearly see his reality).

It took me looking it up to finally realize that Striker has a different voice actor for this season. Dude does a good job; it’s close enough to Norman Reedus’ performance that I didn’t notice, but the deeper register does make him sound more dangerous. And sexy. Mustn’t forget sexy. I am fully in the camp that Stolas’ initial “Oh, shit” is because Striker giving off a sinister one-liner and crushing the phone is, in fact, hot. Not entirely negated by the fact that Stolas is finally being clued into the severity of his situation, either.

I genuinely have to wonder if cell phones in Hell are so cheaply replaced that you could probably get them from a vending machine, or if they have healing/regenerating capabilities somehow. That would be more interesting to get information on, actually, but it’s just a recurring gag, there will never be anything deeper there.

Blitzo checks in with MnM, but the fact that he both trusts them and can give them some quick instructions on where to start looking—he’s good at his job and he’s intelligent, okay, he’s SMART and I hope he KNOWS IT. His self-esteem might be in the toilet but I hope he at least knows how intelligent he is. And can we talk again about how Blitzo can spell out loud just fine? I thought maybe he just didn’t care to correct his texts (turned autocorrect off like a legend), but it’s his handwriting, too, that suffers from his horrendous spelling. Why is it that his writing spelling is bad but his spoken spelling is good? Continuity error? Funny bit? Actual medical reason?

Also. Why is titty-haver a recurring insult in this show? I can glean that it’s a flavor of sexism, but. Like. Never heard that one before. Why is it a go-to choice?? Just gonna file it along with “daddyfucker” and try to move on with my day, I guess.

Also, this scene is part of the reason why I spell it “Blitzo” and not “Blitz;” if Blitzo is constantly telling people the O is silent and Nurse Muffy here can’t find his name without that O at the end, then he clearly spells it with the O still (or he had to give his legal name when he made the appointment, but either way: the O is present even if it’s silent, and I’m still not going to hunt down that special character and train my devices to recognize it when we all know the O is silent, and this is the laziness molehill I’m dying on I guess). (I mean, besides, that slashed-O character is an actual character with an actual pronunciation, this is trying to use Cyrillic to spell out your edgy blog title with no regard for what the characters actually are or mean or sound like all over again XD)

I love that the “prick” comment is what causes Karen Fishbitch here to finally vocalize her displeasure instead of just throwing looks. That is so…White Middle Class Mom of her. To point out the most innocuous thing to get offended over. Ugh.

JOEL PEREZ DOES EXCELLENT IN THIS EPISODE OKAY. I didn’t realize he was the poncho-wearing singing imp AND the sleepy doctor but HE’S AMAZING OKAY.

Striker having a theme song that he has to beat off with a stick makes me giggle so hard. I feel like all this comedy is setting us up for something! Almost like it’s about to get really bad!

Cutting back to Blitzo, I love the little shows of optimism he still has now and then. He clearly offended this lady earlier, but he still tries to make conversation while they’re waiting. Just a decent thing to do. I do wanna talk briefly about the kid calling Blitzo a “fire-toad,” though, because that’s a new one. And given the very detailed shading on Blitzo’s frown, we know right away even before Karen says “it’s not polite to call them that to their face, honey” that what the kid just said was pretty offensive.

…and it DOES make me side-eye Ozzie calling Fizzarolli “Froggie,” just a little bit. It’s an adorable nickname. But if a slur for imps is fire-toad…it does give me some Questions. Might be a continuity error or just a terrible coincidence that I don’t think we’re gonna get any answers for (has this been brought up in a panel or anything?), and they’re different enough that I don’t think for a second Ozzie calls him that maliciously or even in a reclamation way. Fizz and Ozzie seem to have been together for long enough that if Fizz really didn’t like it, he wouldn’t tolerate it, so that’s what I’m gonna choose to trust for now.

“I am not from Wrath, bitch” THEN WHERE ARE YOU FROM. Pride is my guess, since that’s mostly where we see the circus, but watching this fish woman throw out racist comment after racist comment (and classist, too, get it all in there), it does make me wonder how many imps from other rings have to deal with the same exact thing. My guess is a lot. (And again begs the question that if imps are Wrath-native demons, how did they end up on the bottom of the totem pole? Especially when we now know Satan is a lava-bleeding brick shithouse with a hot voice??)

And gosh, look, homophobia from a bunch of biker cowboys now. This episode truly has it all!

(And, again, how hardy are imps?? Moxxie is stabbing that guy SO MANY TIMES in the background, good GRIEF—)

Nice to know that it isn’t just Blitzo who causes destruction everywhere he goes; all of IMP has that affliction :P

Stolas giving Striker so much sass is fun to watch, despite the classist undertones. “Your wife must really hate you.” “You have no idea” YEAH STOLAS GIVEN THAT THIS IS HIS SECOND MURDER ATTEMPT ON YOU SPECIFICALLY I THINK HE DOES KNOW. I would also really like to know where the giant statue with the unrealistically huge boner came from, actually. That’s a specific choice. I mean, all of his décor is, but Striker, why THAT??

The voice actor for Striker makes what I assume is a conscious decision with his voice when Striker snaps about how every ring can’t be some fancy city, when he talks about how some folks have everything they love taken away by royal demons. He’s angry, but there’s a note of…something…in his voice that I can’t find a word for. “Pleading” certainly isn’t it, “sad” maybe, “desperate” isn’t it but it’s in the neighborhood…I don’t know. It seems like he’s trying to get Stolas to understand Striker’s position, imps’ position in general. Which is odd given that he’s about to torture and kill him, and clearly doesn’t have any illusions about changing Stolas’ worldview in that time (or that it would even matter), but the slightly softer tone of voice is striking. Pun only a little bit intended. I don’t think that softness is for Stolas, but for his own loss. Which I want to know in all details now please yes. And even more than that, I want to know about the specific royal that fucked Striker over, and if they’re still out there. (Taking bets now that if it’s a royal we already know, it’s either Paimon, Andrealphus, or Vassago, simply because Vassago having a dark past element like that would be DELICIOUS.)

LET THE HURTING OF THE BIRD MAN BEGIN. I love that angelic steel has a sizzle to it when touching Stolas; really adds to the torture.

“All you royals ever do is try to talk over us!” Also specific and I don’t think to this particular situation. Striker doesn’t care that Stolas isn’t the one who fucked him over (presumably); Stolas being part of the class of demons that caused him so much hurt is enough. And this show is violent, but there’s something visceral about watching torture as opposed to Millie tearing through an entire crowd of sharks, something that hits different when watching Stolas’ blood spatter as Striker stomps on his stab wound. Stolas keeping up his fighting spirit and not begging or weeping is…complex, actually. Begging and weeping is a normal reaction, but one that audiences generally tend to read as weak (which is lame given that that’s how most of us would react tbh but we are talking about fiction I suppose), and since Stolas is meant to be a sympathetic character to us, it makes sense to skip that reaction for him. However. HOWEVER. There’s also context for why Stolas doesn’t react to physical pain in the way that Striker clearly wants him to.

The fact that he BARELY FLINCHES when he gets his FUCKING LEG SNAPPED? Hot, but also, “Blitzo handles me rougher than that in bed” I genuinely cannot tell if that’s taunting, or if he’s serious. It would not surprise me if he was serious, especially if higher-ranking demons have a healing factor (and I genuinely don’t remember if that’s fanon or canon, but the fact that Stolas and Blitzo both are surprised that Stolas can get hurt like this indicates to me that even if we don’t see a Goetia or a Sin instantly healing from a cut or anything that isn’t delivered by angelic steel, it’s a pretty solid theory to stand on). Then the stabbing into the broken leg, and “Blitzy’s knife is bigger, and hits so much deeper.” Again…making Striker angry on so many fronts and I respect the hell out of it: sexual overtones that will shortly be more explicitly shown to freak Striker out, lack of reaction to pain that Striker wants but isn’t getting, dismissing Striker entirely (and especially in favor of Blitzo, whom Striker has a little bit of a muddled past with)—this is a strong fucking reaction to torture that I fully believe only comes from prior conditioning. Now. Whether that means Stolas and Blitzo are into some very hardcore kink, Stolas is used to pain from other sources (Stella being the prime candidate), or some mixture of both…the implications of seeing a pampered prince not break under this kind of physical pressure are damn impressive for his character makeup and future arc. Physical pain is nothing to Stolas. Emotional pain, though…phew. He is not built for it. Which Striker attempts to hammer at too, starting with demeaning him, but Stolas is able to irritate him enough to buy himself some time. There’s the tear, which I believe is concession to the physical pain as well as the high emotions he’s operating under, but first round complete. Stolas is somehow holding his own despite being in a very bad place.

I also gotta question “you won’t be worth more than the tombstone you’ll be buried under” being met with “Blitzy says far dirtier things to me with much sharper objects at my throat.” Which. We don’t know if anything Stolas is saying is true (it might be), but Blitzo engaging in degradation/humiliation of that caliber and higher in bed begs some questions about Stolas’ social awareness. Questions that I’m content to let rest for now and see what the rest of season 2 brings, actually. I’ve already talked at length about how Stolas has his own internalized classism and racism that he needs to address, both for himself and for his relationship with Blitzo, so I’ll let it lie for now.

Still amazed that the same guy who voices Valentino of all bitches also voices this adorable sleepy little goat man doctor. THE RANGE. IT IS IMPRESSIVE.

Finally pausing to get a good look at Andrealphus’ Elsa Palace and…it really looks like it’s in a remote location of Pride, looking at the harsh landscape. I suppose Andrealphus just had to…Let It Go when he had this place built? :P (Let’s be real it was probably gifted to him.) Andrealphus’ existence as Stella’s brother raises SO MANY MORE questions for me, too. For a start, they’re two different birds, which I guess is okay since Paimon isn’t a bird at all and still produced Stolas (and Via is an owl rather than a swan, despite having some similar features). For another, Andrealphus has no pupils, like Stolas, and I wonder if the presence of pupils in a Goetia means something. Paimon had them, but he also has a malleable form. Stella has them, as does Octavia, but in the s2.5 trailer when we get shots of other non-bird Goetia members as well as Vassago, none of them have pupils, just solid red eyes like Stolas. In the book the Ars Goetia, Andrealphus is a marquis, ranked lower than Stolas (who is a prince); we can also assume Andrealphus is lower-ranked than Stolas because of Andrealphus listing off all of Stolas’ assets that they (he) would lose access to if Stolas were to be killed (rather than, say, stripped of and given somewhere else, since Via clearly isn’t ready to take her father’s place yet). Andrealphus having a very obvious and physical ability, though—that feels important, especially since Stella shows no such capacity.

Out of lack of ability…or lack of training? The Goetia being patriarchal is a huge possibility, though it hasn’t been outright stated yet (and it could just be coincidence based on the fact that there are way more male characters in the Hellaverse for some reason).

I love that they were just at a fancy tea place, and here Stella and Andrealphus are, drinking MORE TEA at his palace.

I’m gonna say this about Andrealphus’ treatment of Stella: while he does have absolutely flaming (icing??) homosexual energy…the things he says and the way he says them to Stella does come off as very uncomfortably close to incestuous. The more I think on it, the more I wonder if it’s Andrealphus mimicking an older family member or friend who treated Stella in a similar way to assuage her ego and keep her in line, since her temper has clearly been a problem since she was a child. “Silly minx,” “fiery vixen,” tipping her chin with a finger MULTIPLE times—absolutely YIKES behavior, especially from a clearly slimy and manipulative older brother. I suppose they could be adopted, or half-siblings, or even just with a significant age gap; we don’t know how old Andrealphus is compared to Stella. But even if his mannerisms towards her aren’t meant to imply something THAT gross, they’re still horrifically infantilizing and belittling. I don’t want to live in a world where Andrealphus is bringing a sexual element into interactions with his sister, so I will henceforth try to ignore it, but I won’t lie to you folks and say I don’t feel the discomfort or feel the vibe. (Also seems problematic to me to have a big brother character with gay-coded flamboyance also have incestuous tendencies, but the incest might be completely unintentional and just how it unfortunately came out looking. Maybe they’ll fix that in the future. Or maybe they won’t.)

Now, about Stella: she doesn’t seem afraid of Andrealphus, in fact bringing him up to Stolas as someone whose words she takes seriously. She listens to him, is guided by him, but there are some tiny hints and clues that suggest to me that Andrealphus is pretty good at corralling her, if he can’t contain her entirely. He’s fawning over her, gentle and indirect with his wording as he tries to guide Stella into a less rash course of action, until she seems to miss his point completely and then he snaps at her. Now. Does Stella actually miss his point? Or does she just not care? It seems even Andrealphus is taken aback by his own realization that Stolas’ stuff will all pass to Via. And it does not escape my notice that he calls her Via, not Octavia. Stella is unaffected by this assertion, happily living in her dream land where she doesn’t have to deal with Stolas anymore (and therefore gets to be a sexy widow and not a sexy divorcee, which might have a better social reflecting on her anyway, especially if she’s possibly going to get put back on the marriage market or even just search for a more suitable partner herself). She doesn’t care that Via will get all of his stuff. Does this mean she’s stupid and just didn’t realize it? I don’t think so. I think she’s secure in her knowledge that Via inheriting won’t budge her equilibrium. I don’t think Stella WANTS Stolas’ responsibilities and legions and powers. Andrealphus might, but Stella doesn’t. She likes to swan (lol) around being rich and pretty and throwing parties and not having an unsightly blight on her reputation like a boring husband who cheated on her with an imp and then divorced her.

Now. Andrealphus neglects to do something in this conversation that I find fascinating and may be more deeply indicative of how Stella feels about her daughter. At no point does Andrealphus admit the possibility of either manipulating/controlling Via once she gets Stolas’ position, or killing Via and inheriting that way. I don’t think this is because ANDREALPHUS gives two shits about his niece. I think it’s because STELLA might have one or two shits to give about her daughter—and Stella giving shits about something usually means screeching violence from her when threatened or insulted. I may be proved wrong in the upcoming episodes, but I think that with every horrible wretched action and word out of Stella’s mouth, it is suitably complex of her to still care in some capacity about Octavia. We DO NOT KNOW what their relationship is like, if Stella is neglectful or pushy or kind or cruel. We DO know Octavia cares about her mother, cares that Stolas doesn’t love Stella and is taking more time to fight back against her (though Via probably doesn’t see it as fighting back, just plain fighting, because I don’t think she fully understands how terrible Stella has been to him). Andrealphus not suggesting anything untoward happening to Via hints to me that he knows that would not be a productive route to take when trying to talk to Stella.

And Stella is the product of her upbringing just like Stolas: she’s been told all her life that she’s attractive and that’s her most useful quality, that she’s rich and that makes her better than everyone else, that her prettiness and richness are valuable, and hey maybe she’s stupid but at least she’s hot! Her temper is violent, and the fact that she goes to murder as a solution rather than trying to take him for everything he has in the divorce says something about her, too. If Via gets all of Stolas’ things, Stella is still going to be taken care of; she clearly expects her daughter to continue to care for her and maintain her, and if Via can’t or won’t, Andrealphus will. Wanting Stolas dead is about her pride, because how DARE he also be stuck in this boring as fuck and unhappy marriage and then try to get out of it? There is so much about Stella’s behavior that could hint at the ways she was belittled and molded into a seriously unhealthy shape by outside forces. It was her arranged marriage, too, it was her life decided for her from childhood too, it was her utility to produce an heir too. This doesn’t excuse her abuse, but guess what, abusers are also people and have complex motivations and often dark and hurtful pasts and those are important to examine too. Not because Stella’s actions aren’t her fault, but because when you have a female character in a show with a high ratio of non-female characters and she is the only living mother who gets any kind of regular screen time, you want her to have a little goddamn depth, dammit.

Exploring an abusive marriage where the wife is the abusive one is something that isn’t done enough in fiction, IMO; I don’t want apologetics for her, I want explanations. I want reasons. I want her to either be shown to be incapable of feeling conflict because of how badly she’s been screwed over and in turn has embraced her own awful behavior as a deeply maladaptive coping mechanism, or to go through some damn emotional conflict that won’t erase her mistreatment and abuse but will show that she isn’t a one-note harpy wife. Maybe she’s like this because she was made this way (and is too terrible a person to fix it which is absolutely on her but I think there’s blame to share for how she turned out this way in the first place). MAYBE I WANT STELLA TO STAB ANDREALPHUS THROUGH THE HEART WITH AN ANGELIC SPEAR WHEN HE GOES TO ATTACK STOLAS AND BLITZO LATER IN S2.5. MAYBE I WANT THAT.

ANYWAY.

“This kind of situation is extremely unique. A Goetia has never behaved like this before.” Alright I’m calling bullshit, but as I have said before, I do think the Goetia family is more than capable of covering up their scandals. Stolas being an odd duck (owl?) within his own family and thus his drama blowing up without anyone knowing it was coming because nobody bothers to check in on boring stuffy old Stolas (…still want to point out that he’s very young, especially for an immortal demon) is more likely, though.

And here we go, back to the Torturing Stolas channel, where Striker is getting tired of playing with his food and finally finds the ultimate weak point to press: Via. The fact that it makes Stolas go vengeful instead of tearful is another pillar to the STOLAS LOVES HIS DAUGHTER fact of the show. And the knife going all the way through this time makes me wonder if it’s going to have some long-term problems for him. He does have the arm bandage longer than any other bandage that we see, after all, even the broken and stabbed-up leg. I also really want to know what Stolas’ last words were trying to be. “Blitzo…will…” Blitzo will what? Come for him? Avenge him? And I love that Stolas wants his last words to be about Blitzo, not because he doesn’t love and isn’t thinking of Via, but because at this point, he’s already sworn to defend her (even if he really, really can’t), and keeping her out of the conversation is safer for her. Blitzo can handle himself. Via can’t, not against Striker. And Stolas already showed his hand by reacting so vehemently to Striker just mentioning her, so I have no doubt that if and when Striker comes back for Stolas or Blitzo in the future, Via is going to be playing some sort of role in that endeavor.

And not to drive home the point that Striker is poor AF despite being a highly successful assassin, but. Look at his flip phone. Look at the cute little charm on the flip phone. This dangerous violent man has a PHONE CHARM. What a DORK.

I also love that Stolas is so indignant at the idea of “we still need him alive to get some affairs in order.” He might just be reacting to Stella’s voice in general, now that he’s very clear that this whole thing was her doing, but. The AUDACITY of this bitch.

Who wants to bet Striker never got paid for this?

Now. The attempted eye-gouging. I’ve seen it floating around that “if you’re gonna threaten to blind a character, don’t be a coward and do it,” but. Come on. Let’s be a little practical, y’all: if they took any of Stolas’ eyes, they’d have to update the merch :P

THE FACT THAT THE IMP VAN BLASTS LA CUCARACHA. HELL YES.

Splicing the very real life-or-death battle with Striker with the still dangerous but more comedic battle of getting Loona her shot is such a good storytelling choice, actually. Cutting some of the tension while also making it that much more potent, especially as Moxxie and Millie start losing—cutting away from them right as they’re getting their asses handed to them to watch Blitzo getting HIS ass handed to him but in a less high-stakes way is maddening in the best way. Also: Striker’s face when the radio changes to something pop. Beautiful XD Damn this is a good fight scene though. Really showcases how skilled Striker is, because taking on Moxxie and Millie at the same time when they have very focused intent to kill is impressive.

…aaaaand Striker’s immediate discomfort at Moxxie’s unexpected sexual overtones wins me over again. The only sexual harassment I will allow: flustering the villain so the heroes can wreck his shit :P (Please know I am joking.) Tbh Striker has no room to talk, he is LITERALLY FUCKING DROOLING as he strangles Moxxie. This is clearly already kinda kinky for him. He just doesn’t want Moxxie to be into it (very “evil dentist from Little Shop of Horrors” of him).

I genuinely want to know how Striker keeps getting out of these situations. By all rights he should have been impaled on his own stone boner. Sigh. (And I cannot WAIT to see him come back after being burned alive; gonna be messy as HELL.)

Now here’s my question: how in the unholy heck are there so many reporters and paparazzi at the hospital already? I’m assuming Moxxie and Millie called ahead to make sure the hospital could get him taken care of ASAP as soon as they arrived, but what gossip mongers were crouched in wait for that? (Also, the doctors being plague doctor aesthetic: good stuff, very good stuff.) (IF STOLAS KEEPS CALLING THEM LITTLER ONES OR LITTLE CREATURES AFTER THIS ISNTEAD OF BY THEIR NAMES I’M RIOTING.)

And. The tail shot. And the surprise and vulnerability in Blitzo’s face and voice when he says “He can get hurt?”

BUCKLE UP BUTTERCUP YOU’RE ABOUT TO FIND OUT ALL THE WAYS HE CAN GET HURT IN THE NEXT HALF OF THE SEASON.

I need a minute I am WEAK.

Nooooo twinkly pretty heartbreaking tune how DARE you make this moment where Stolas’ final hope of his fantasies playing out, even just this one time, dies even more tragic. It’s so SAD, IT’S SO SAD. IT’S SO NECESSARY BUT IT’S SO SAD. Let’s make it worse: there’s a game you can play with picking flower petals off a flower and you say “they love me, they love me not.” Whichever you say at the last petal is the universe’s answer to the question of whether or not your beloved loves you. (Please keep in mind this is horseshit as far as reflecting reality goes but it’s a pretty sort of ritual to play sometimes.) Stolas is in a hospital room surrounded by so many flowers they cover the floor. A petal falls…he loves me. Stolas gets a text from Blitzo, hoping he gets “bivver swoon.” Stolas smiles. Responds with thanks, and invites Blitzo to come see him at the hospital. Blitzo types…and never responds. A petal falls as Stolas’ smile fades. He loves me not. Stolas sets his phone down. He rolls over, and another petal falls on his phone. He loves me. Stolas nestles into his hospital bed in contemplation. A fourth petal falls…he loves me not. (Though we don’t know where that petal winds up, and it’s a “he loves me” petal that lands on his phone, so maybe????)

I’m FINE.

I’m so fine that I am going to now move on to the next episode and I don’t have to wait for my misty eyes to clear AT ALL.

[lantur]

Things that happened this week,

Training 2 new staff members at work, one of whom is my successor at the job I vacated in January. Staff onboarding was made even more pleasant by hellish menstrual migraines, cramps, and a night of poor sleep thanks to the migraines and cramps.

Eight meetings (???) on Tuesday, which translated to 5 or 6 hours on Zoom, which left me so overwhelmed I screamed after work.

Being in a position where I had to deliver negative feedback about an employee to 2 medical directors at a hospital. One of whom has a longstanding relationship with our organization and literally sits on our advisory board. Oh, and both medical directors LOVE the employee I had to deliver negative feedback about, and were not thrilled to hear my feedback about him. That was awkward.

(Oh, and today, the employee in question learned from the medical directors that I am not pleased with him, and now he wants to talk with me about it. I'm so eager to have that conversation with him (not)).

Doing a massive amount of prep for the last symposium I'll ever have to organize, which is taking place next Tuesday.

Learned today that my dad who has terminal cancer is having another significant decline in his health. He and my mom have been in India for the past 2 weeks visiting family. They were due to return on April 17. My mom is trying to get an earlier trip back for them on April 11. I'm honestly not even entirely sure that he'll make it to the end of this month. So that's on my horizon now too.

I am pretty overwhelmed and not thrilled about what is ahead. What's that meme? I am straight up not having a good time right now.