#I just had to lay down the law more strictly due to things | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

taechaos · 3 years ago

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i got a fluff drabble idea for you!!

Jungkook and the oc were sleeping together, and jk had a nightmare of oc leaving him. When he wakes up(at around 3 a.m.), he doesnt see the oc beside him, he starts thinking that she actually left him because of his toxic behavior. While the oc was actually in a different room/kitchen/balcony for a reason. And when she comes back, she sees jjk panicked/shocked/crying. The oc comforting and babying jk, and jk too being a baby and complaining how she shouldnt have left him alone.

-from 🍠anon

angst and fluff 😎 tw: panic attack

Jungkook weaves his fingers through your hair that falls over his chest where you head lays, your breath hot on his exposed skin while you try to sleep to the comfort of his scent. There's an issue, one that makes him uncomfortable to discuss with his girlfriend, but discussing it is mandatory.

"Have you been busy?" he whispers into the darkness of his dorm room where another mattress sits empty without the presence of his roommate. Seokjin's night-out gave him the opportunity to dress you in one of his shirts as a pajama top, and your leg is bare over his thighs. If he didn't have something on his mind, he wouldn't bother striking up this conversation.

"Hm? No, why?" you murmur and start drawing patterns on his ribs.

He swallows hard, almost reserved in his approach. "Then why are my grades so shitty lately?" That came out harsher than intended, and he grimaces when you freeze along with your fingers. He knows he can't treat you the way he used to due to change in circumstances, but his ass is on the line.

"They are? What are your grades?"

"B-," he grumbles.

"That's shitty?" you sit up with a deep frown. "Jungkook, I've been preparing for my finals while making the time to do all your formative assignments. They barely take up your final grade, B- isn't shitty in the least."

"I appreciate it," he forces out through a tiny snarl, "but if you're going to do something, do it well."

You scoff, offended by his lack of gratitude and hurt by his demeaning attitude.

"I'm only telling you this because if you can't do it, I'll ask someone else. It's not that hard." His tone indirectly implies you're overreacting to such a minor topic.

"Might I remind you that I don't even major in law," you purse your lips into a thin line to swallow the lump in your throat, "nor do I attend your lectures, and I still get you semi-good grades. You can't find someone else who'll do better than me, let alone without your money."

He licks his lips and applies pressure on the back of your head to lay you back down on him. You're hesitant, but stay put anyway with a prominent pout on your face. He gently pets you as he softly says, "Don't be so sensitive. I needed to tell you so you can improve. I need to be successful for the better of our future, baby. I'm telling you because I love you."

You mumble incoherently, and he assumes you said it back. A few minutes later, he hears your soft snores and eventually drifts off with the worry of his career in the back of his mind.

And it feels like he only slept for a minute when he wakes up. Waking up is an understatement, for he shot up in his bed with a silent gasp while the sun is still down. He's almost breathless with the way he pants before sighing, realizing this is reality, not what he saw through closed lids.

It wasn't a prank this time. You really broke up with him after graduation, telling him that he'd find someone else to kiss in his workplace for them to write his reports because you wouldn't be there. He promised loyalty, but he didn't show it because you thought he dated you for selfish reasons without the inclusion of love. That's stupid because he remembers telling you he loved you before falling asleep. He knows he meant it, so why didn't you believe it?

He wants to show and not tell, make you feel loved by the hug of his arms, but there is no you to love.

You aren't there.

He touches the spot you previously occupied, and the warmth of your body is slowly fading. Maybe it's an extra early morning lecture, he thinks before checking the time. There is no lecture he knows of that starts at 3 AM. His heart starts to race.

No need to panic. You'll be here any minute now. He waits and waits, and the seconds feel like minutes, the minutes feel like hours, and it's not long before his heart hurts from the rapid pace of his pulse. You're not here.

Trying to control his breathing proves to be difficult, almost like being aware of your blinking and you forget how natural it is for you to do it every three seconds. He shoves the blanket on his lap to the side and stands up to pace his room. He can't take his eyes off the ceiling, otherwise he can't hold the tears at bay. No reason to panic, no reason to cry, no reason to feel so suffocated.

But they well up to the point that they start streaming down his face regardless of what he does, and now there's nothing that isn't out of his control, similar to your midnight disappearance. His breaths are shallow, and his guts twist uncomfortably, just like the discomfort in his lungs. Everything hurts.

"I was too harsh on her," he says in a broken whimper and tugs on his hair. "Shitty grades? You can't even stay awake in class."

He sounds so pathetic in his ears, practically gasping his words out, but his thoughts are so scrambled that he can only voice them to get some sort of relief. It doesn't help, not when he's not in a position to do anything. He can't even smoke due to the fire alarm.

He falls on the floor to crawl to the bed so he can lay his back on the footboard, hands relentless with their pulling on his hair. He leans his forehead on his bent knees and convinces himself that he's been the one overreacting all along, like he is now; not the other way around.

"You could've said something before leaving, you bitch," he hiccups in utter misery. There's no other way he can comfort himself other than to blame you. "A-And I'm the harsh one? You're worse."

"Jungkook?"

He doesn't look up at you, shaking his head with his eyes shut tightly. You rush to his side and he flinches at the contact before aggressively snuggling into you. A patch forms on the center of your shirt from the result of his tear stains.

You're shaken and in shock. You left to the communal bathroom, and since it's strictly for males, you had to wait inside until a dialogue down the hall died down so you don't get reported. Not to add your attire isn't exactly public friendly.

You rub his back soothingly with another hand scratching his scalp. You're aware that Jungkook is more prone to panic attacks than you are, which was a strange discovery considering his tough exterior, and you feel bad for being the cause more than once. Leaving him alone at night after an argument is apparently enough for him to break down, and you feel guilty for taking his attachment lightly.

When his cries start to cease little by little, he hoarsely scolds you as expected. "You shouldn't have left," he rasps and sniffles, "was a punishment really necessary? W-We can talk things out like adults, you know."

"I was in the bathroom," you quietly reassure with a peck on his nose. He scrunches it in response. "You're so paranoid."

"E-Excuse me for misunderstanding why you left while you were still angry at me. I had a dream where you more or less did the same fucking thing."

You coo at him when he shyly looks to the side with knitted brows. You gaze at his tinted nose and flushed cheeks that are still wet from his crying before tucking a hair strand behind his ear. "I would never up and leave like that–"

"But you did!"

"–because of a minor disagreement. I went to pee and had to wait out some bystanders. And I wasn't angry at you," you giggle.

He puckers his lips, still tense and upset. "But you were hurt."

"Just a tad bit," you hold an invisible pencil between your fingertips just to show how much.

He blows out a deep breath and wipes his face. Taking the hand you held up, he kisses your knuckles. "I'm sorry. I can't even get those grades on my own and you still manage to do better than I ever could with so many other courses you take."

You ruffle his disheveled hair and he wears a distasteful expression. "I know. You're cunning and clever, but you're extremely lazy."

"Rude," he huffs. His red eyes droop lazily and his gaze turns downcast. "I was being paranoid about you and my academics. Stupid, rather," he sighs. Before you can deny it, he stands up and pulls you along to get back in bed.

He forces you to lie down on him completely, overtaking your whole body as he wraps his arms around you. You get comfortable on his firm torso and tangle your legs with his.

"What do you have to say to me?" he grunts.

"What do you mean?"

"Three magical words, but preferably more explicit."

You laugh breathlessly and peck his collarbone. "I love you so much, I would kill and die for you," you play along to his innocent request, "I want to be with you until the world caves in. What else..."

"Don't stop until I fall asleep. Keep going."

You confess your undying love for him until his snores fill the air, prompting you to drift off alongside.

#wtf js this #💀💀💀#textbook love #jk scenarios

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demig00ddess · 4 years ago

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Sleeping Beauty

Charlie Weasley x MC

A/N: The 5th day of the HPHM April Prompt Challenge 2021 by @stupendousbookworm !

I know I'm late, but from a small sketch it turned into a completely unplanned full chapter that perfectly fit into the storyline.

————————————————————

CHAPTER FIVE

AROMA OF AMORTENTIA

1989

End of the first semester.

The Potions classroom was in an unusual state of excitement. The girls whispered conspiratorially and occasionally giggled. This was due to the fact that for the third lesson in a row they studied love potions so that interest in the subject increased dramatically. Emma had even heard that the sixth-year girls who had not chosen the Potions for the NEWT were sighing and complaining in frustration. She wasn’t interested in this topic, there were many other ways to subjugate the will and mind of other people, and she didn’t want to discuss guys. Maybe another time Emma would have kept up funny conversations with her classmates, but she had been in a bad mood for a long time, so she sat alone at her desk, painting a piece of parchment.

“We’re finishing the topic of love drinks and potions.” With the appearance of Professor Snape, all conversations immediately died down. “Today we’ll turn to the most powerful and dangerous of love potions. Which one, Weasley?”

Emma had seen Charlie run into the dungeon a moment before Snape and sit on the Gryffindor side. Now he was hastily spreading his textbook and inkwell on his desk.

“Em… Amortentia, sir?” Snape nodded in displeasure.

“Amortentia is known for being the most powerful love potion in the world. It is forbidden in the magical community and its use is strictly punishable by law. Also, Amortentia is a very difficult potion to prepare and therefore is included in the list of required potions for passing the NEWT in my subject. Apparently, the Ministry thinks you’d rather learn how to brew it from a potion master than try to poison your victim yourself,” Snape curled his lips in a smirk. He waved his wand and instructions appeared on the blackboard, written in small, even handwriting. “Everything you need to know is indicated in the textbook, here are additional recommendations for brewing. I don’t expect anything worthwhile from you, but by the end of the lesson, your potion should at least show its basic properties. Who will list them?”

There was silence in the classroom, and the pages of books rustled. In Potions class, rarely did anyone dares to answer at will.

“Anderson,” Professor Snape was walking past her desk.

“The potion has a pearlescent colour, its steam rises in curls and it has a special smell,” Emma tried to remember, yesterday before going to bed she leafed through the textbook. “Amortentia smells for everyone of what they like best.”

“Five points to Slytherin, for the fact that at least someone bothered to open the book before class. The potion is complex and time is short, so today you work in pairs. You can get to work now.”

Emma cursed to herself, she could use some help. But she had sat down alone and now watched blankly as everyone split into pairs. A Gryffindor girl with a long braid, whose name Emma kept forgetting, came up to Charlie, who was also sitting alone. They started talking about something. Emma winced and turned away. Lately, she often watched Charlie from afar. If earlier the abundant attention of girls to him amused her and served as a reason for harmless teasing, now they began to annoy her.

Lost in thought, Emma set up the cauldron and began rereading the textbook, looking for instructions for the first step.

“Can I join?” Charlie sat down beside her, laying out the ingredients for the potion.

“But what about um…” she shook her head towards the girl with the braid, who was already sitting with another Gryffindor.

“Sarah?” Charlie was embarrassed. “I told her that we agreed to work together. You won’t chase me away, will you?”

He made a plaintive face, making Emma laugh.

“One more sound from your side, Anderson, and you can be free for today,” said Professor Snape.

“Let’s start,” Charlie whispered. “I’ll crush the claws, and you can cut the roots.”

They worked incredibly well together, understanding each other without words. Emma admired how he skillfully handled the knife, crumbling the ingredients.

“If you brew potions as well as you cook, then we already have an excellent mark in the bag.” Charlie chuckled at her words and poured pearl dust. Emma immediately stirred it three times, added the moonstone and put the lid on the potion.

Time passed very quickly. Snape was right, Amortentia was really hard to prepare, they couldn’t be distracted for a minute. By the end of the class, there was a cauldron of mother-of-pearl shining liquid in front of them, exuding a pleasant aroma.

“The colour is right, the steam rises in curls,” Charlie said, checking his textbook. “It remains to check the smell. Smell it. Do you feel anything? You have to distinguish between several smells that you like.”

Emma poked her nose into the cauldron, in which Amortentia was slowly bubbling. It smelled of freshly brewed coffee with hints of spice and tanned leather at the same time. She felt herself breathing very slowly, letting the heady scents fill her lungs. Emma tried to smell something else, but it was all drowned out by the familiar herby cinnamon-tinged scent of Charlie, who was bending down next to her.

“Coffee and leather,” she replied, forcing herself to move away from the cauldron.

“That’s all?”

“What do you mean 'that’s all' ?” Emma asked a little sharply. Charlie shrugged and glanced at the textbook.

“People usually can smell several things. About three or four. Maybe you didn’t scent it enough? Try once more.”

“I told you I smell. Maybe the potion is wrong?”

“No, it’s something with you,” Charlie said stubbornly. “The potion is correct, as described. We made it together. Take a good sniff.”

“I’m not even going to! If you want to, check it yourself.”

“I can’t,” Charlie was confused.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with you today? Do you even care what we’re doing?”

“So maybe you should have work with Sarah back then. Or better with Penny! Then everything would have worked out for sure,” snapped Emma, resentment seized inside her, making her want to cry or hit someone. It was not her fault that she could only smell a couple of smells. Or was it? Maybe she didn’t smell what she liked because she didn’t love anyone? Maybe it meant that she was generally incapable of loving someone since even the most powerful love potion did not work with her to the end?

“What does Penny have to do with it? You’re acting weird!” Charlie was indignant.

“Says the one who is interested in dragons more than people. I’ve always been weird. Or did you mean mad?” Emma blurted out the last sentence too loudly.

“I warned you, Anderson,” came Snape’s cold voice.

“I’m done now, Professor,” she said through clenched teeth. “This stupid potion doesn’t work anyway.

“Crazy girl,” Charlie muttered.

She filled a bottle of potion, signed it, and set it on Snape’s desk before storming out of the classroom.

~~~~~~~~~

Emma was sitting in her room and cleaning her bag and textbooks by magic. In the Potions class, she shoved the inkwell into the bag with such force that it shattered and poured emerald ink all over the contents of the bag. She was angry with herself and her outburst of gratuitous wrath. Over the past couple of months, she and Charlie have grown quite distant from each other. He didn't invite her for Christmas, although he and Bill had always invited her to the Burrow a month before the holidays. They stopped chatting and talking to each other about everything, and it depressed her. And then also this stupid fight.

Emma got to her feet, she didn’t want to go straight to Charlie, but there was another person she had been avoiding lately. She needed to talk to Penny.

Penny was sitting in the library, surrounded by books about the magical properties of West Wells herbs. She was so engrossed in her research, biting the tip of her quill, that she didn't notice Emma landing on the bench next to her.

“Emma?” Penny didn’t even try to hide her surprise; they practically didn’t communicate for a couple of months.

Emma hugged Penny and sighed heavily. She had to deal with everything she said and everything she thought.

“Hey, what happened, dear?” Penny stroked her back affectionately. Emma felt even nastier at heart. After avoiding Penny for a long time, her friend was still worried about her.

“Penny, I’m sorry,” Emma hid her face in an embrace.

“Emma, what’s wrong?”

“I… I’m just a terrible friend and a terrible person,” Penny looked at her in surprise but didn’t interrupt. “I really didn’t mean to avoid or hurt you. And I was being selfish with you. I’ll understand if you don’t want to talk to me anymore. But you’re my best friend, and Charlie’s my best friend. And all I want right now is for you to be happy together.” Emma was blinking frequently, not letting her tears come out.

“First of all, I’m not offended at all that you’ve been avoiding me. Sometimes we need to take a break from communication, I understand everything. And secondly, me and Charlie together?” Penny asked, startled by the tirade.

“You are a lovely couple,” Emma smiled, wiping her reddened eyes with her sleeve.

“But,” Penny giggled awkwardly. “We’re not a couple, Emma.”

“What?”

“I don’t like Charlie in this way, and indeed,” Penny threw a laughing glance at her friend. “He doesn’t like me either."

“But…” Emma felt a pleasant warmth spread over her chest, she felt a little easier and wanted to smile. “But you are constantly together. And Charlie said that you became very close. And… So you’re not a couple?”

Penny grinned and scratched her nose with the tip of her quill.

“Is that what Charlie said? Oh, he should be better at choosing his words. We really got close, but it was because of you.” Emma looked up at her in surprise. “After Rowan passed away, you were emm… in a terrible state. Avoided everyone, refused to talk, didn’t sleep or eat, and tormented yourself. I couldn’t bear it, and Charlie, generally went crazy, seeing you like this. Anyway, we tried to come up with something that would cheer you up, bring back our usual Emma. But you didn’t want to talk to Charlie, and was running away from me — ”

Emma interrupted Penny with an impetuous hug. She gasped with such pressure but responded to the hug. They sat for a long time, in silence, under the displeased glances of Madame Pince. Finally, Emma pulled away.

“And what about you two became close?”

“We didn’t really talk to him before, except when you were around. Not all your friends are friends with each other. And now we’re hanging out because he asked me to pull him up on potions.”

“Now I feel like an even more terrible person,” Emma sighed heavily and looked away. Penny smiled affectionately and tucked in a strand of hair that had strayed from Emma’s hair.

“Good people make as many mistakes as bad people. The difference is that they find a way to fix them. And since you came to talk to your best friend, then you are definitely not a bad person. You and Charlie had a fight, aren’t you?

Emma groaned (Madame Pince shushed her indignantly) and buried her nose in her friend’s shoulder, now their quarrel and her resentment looked even more stupid.

“We were brewing Amortentia on Potions.” Penny’s eyes widened excitedly. “And Charlie said I can’t smell only two smells.

“Usually people can smell at least three,” said Penny. She took thought and chuckled cheerfully. “Was Charlie around?”

“Yeah, he climbed into the cauldron with his instructions. You know, he smells like a little bit of grass and cinnamon, so he interrupted the whole smell of the potion!”

Penny giggled, unable to stop. Madame Pince shushed at them again and headed towards them.

“What?” Emma frowned uncomprehendingly, looking at her laughing friend.

“I just wonder what Amortenia smelled like for him.”

“I don’t know, we had a fight and I left,” she bit her lip. “I need to find him and apologize. What a fool I was!”

“Get out of the library if you don’t know how to behave properly!’ Madame Pince hissed at them. Emma apologized in a whisper, hugged Penny goodbye, and went in search of Charlie.

~~~~~~~~~

It took her a long time to find Charlie. He was flying alone over an empty Quidditch field. Emma waved her hand, attracting his attention, and, waiting for him to come down, ran to hug him. But something stopped her and she froze right in front of Charlie, gazing into the snow-covered field.

“Is everything all right?” there was concern in Charlie’s voice, but his tone remained cold.

“I wanted to apologize. I was out of sorts and lashed out at you, even though it wasn’t your fault. I couldn’t have done the potion without you. And anyway…” Emma wanted to say, ‘Anyway, I couldn’t have done it at all without you’, but the words stuck in her throat. She felt herself blushing, her face seemed to burn so that the snowflakes melted before they reached her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

“Apologies accepted,” Charlie replied dryly. Emma winced, it would be better if he yelled at her. But he lowered the broom and sat down directly on the snow. Emma without thinking twice sat down opposite. “I never thought you are mad.”

“I know,” Emma nodded, crushing the bitterly cold snow in her hand. “I like your fascination with dragons.”

“It seems only you,” Charlie grinned, Emma also smiled slightly.

“Maybe Hagrid, too,” Charlie laughed at her comment.

“Well, I’ll have to talk to someone about dragons when Hagrid’s busy. And you’re the only candidate.

“Best friends, then?” Emma asked timidly, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Of course best friends! Never stopped being them, snowflake!” Emma laughed, she always liked that nickname. Charlie frowned, noticing that she again walked in the cold without gloves. He took off his huge warm mittens and put them on her. “You’ll freeze your hands off someday!”

“Nah,” Emma smiled again. For the first time in a long time, she felt so light and good that she wanted to laugh and sing. Charlie was smiling too, noticing her good mood.

“Oh, I completely forgot to ask. Are you free for Christmas? I wanted to call you to us,” he offered embarrassedly. Emma shook herself off the snow.

“Mom will still be in America, so I’d love to! I can’t miss your mom’s Christmas pie!” They both laughed, dispelling the last drops of tension between them.

The two of them wandered through the snow for a long time, until they were chilled and hungry, and Emma felt that her feet were completely wet. Having rolled down the last time from a large ice slide, they went to bask.

“Have you smelled our Amortentia?” Emma asked as they reached the castle.

“Yeah, we did a good job. I checked, although I already knew what it would smell like.”

“What it was?” she asked, not hiding her curiosity.

“An extinct fire, a forest, a pumpkin pie, and,” Charlie paused a little, smiled at her and blew a snowflake from her eyelashes. “A frosty winter morning.”

“You certainly have taste,” Emma laughed.

“That’s for sure,” Charlie smiled again, not taking his eyes off her.

With these words, they entered the castle.

#aprilprompts2021 #hogwarts mystery #sleeping beauty #emma anderson #charlie weasley #penny haywood #hphm #hphm mc #harry potter hogwarts mystery #hogwarts #hphm charlie #harry potter universe #harry potter #hp #hphm characters

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sunflowerhazzavol6 · 5 years ago

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i haven’t seen many blurbs like this around but i want more where harry and y/n are in a fwb type relationship but for y/n it’s strictly that and nothing more but harry wants more bc he’s fallen in love and y/n has a lot of trouble with commitment and is closed off 🥺

Unrequited

A/N- Mature content! But please enjoy some angst, since every piece I ever write is fluff. Requests are still open, so don’t be shy, put some more! Inspired by the lyrics:

‘woke up alone in this hotel room

played with myself, where were you?’

Harry wakes up to the late-morning sun shining through his window and into his face, causing him to groan and lift his hand to block it from his eyes. His head pounds while a sheering pain breaks through his consciousness, causing any lingering sleep to escape out of reach. This is the exact wake-up call he had hoped to avoid last night when he had stumbled into his bedroom, his thoughts clear enough to yank the curtains closed until he stumbled to his bed and blacked out. He glances to his bedside table to see the time, only to find a bottle of amber liquid and his empty scotch glass tipped over with its contents drip-drip-dripping onto the floor. He couldn’t find it in him to even care, pouring another glass and downing it before closing his eyes and slinging his arm over them so that all he can see from beneath his lids is black.

The sound of his ringer cuts through the silence, and he realizes the culprit for his waking up in the first place. He blindly reaches over and pats around until he finds it, lifting the screen into his vision. Jeff. The third call of what two had seemingly already been missed. He silences it, declines the call, and then turns off the screen, throwing it across the room. It ricochets off the wall and onto the loveseat covered with a pile of discarded clothes that by now were probably sour in their need for a wash. In the back of his head he thinks about how the discarded clothes used to be hers, theirs. Her panties haphazardly tossed onto the back of the chair, his shirt landing on top of them. His cock aches at the memory, and he reaches down to cup it over his sweats. In his mind’s eye he can smell her perfume, feel himself breathing it in through his mouth and through his nose while her hand travels down, down, down, over his stomach and under his slacks, finding its place where he needed her most. Against his better judgement he does the same with his own hand, allowing himself a gentle squeeze before his mind nestles itself in the memory that he had repeatedly told himself to forget, the memory that had played in his head over and over again for the past two weeks.

He liked watching her like this. Whenever she called him telling him she was thinking about him she was all corporate, strictly business and transactional. Even when she came through his door she was this way, her heels clicking against the tile until they made their way to his socked feet, her acrylic nails finding their way into his hair and her tongue searching until it met his. This is when the walls would come down, as each article of clothing would hit the floor- first her blazer, when she would whisper his name finally. Then her blouse, when she would tip her head back while his lips memorized her neck. Her bra, when her shoulders would relax and he knew she was his, in that moment. Her body would become near liquid and he would get her onto the bed, shedding his own clothing until they were nothing but moving bodies and pleasured moans, unable to tell where one of them began and the other one ended.

Her intelligence was the sexiest thing about her. She had just graduated from law school and was making her way up through the ranks of the firm, her focus never leaving the corporate ladder for a second. She was determined to surpass her male peers, and she did so with pride, knocking out any competitor that stood in her way. She had graduated at the top of her class and had a job before the commencement ceremony had even begun. Harry felt lucky to even be a part of her life, considering how she herself said she only had time for work and no fun. He knew she wouldn’t have it any other way, though, and he reveled in the fact that he could make her unravel with the curl of his fingers or the flick of his tongue despite her self-proclaimed laser focus.

He felt that power now, her orgasm fresh on his tongue as his mouth made its way up her body, kissing between her breasts until they found her matte-red pout. She takes this as a que to pull him closer by his shoulders, reaching down to grasp his hard length in her hand. He feels her press his tip to her entrance, her mouth leaving his to say “I want to ride you. Make me ride you.”

He groans at her words, flopping down to the side and grabbing at her hips to pull her over him, desperate for the stretch of her walls around him. “Make me ride you,” She repeats, but her words come out more as a breath than as an actual voice. “Make me make you cum.” He moans softly at her request, sinking himself into her effortlessly and without hesitation due to his preparation beforehand. She moves his hands to her hips and he begins to guide her, rocking her until he builds up pace and starts thrusting up into her heat. She closes her eyes and tips her head back, and that’s when he feels what was once a glorious pressure in his stomach turn into a painful one in his chest. She had been doing this lately, disassociating from the task at hand into her own state of pleasure, tricking him into thinking she was allowing him to do what he wanted when really she wanted the lack of control for herself. First her eyes would leave him, and then her hands, and he had a feeling that his moans echoing in her ears could be anyones and she wouldn’t bat an eye. She was wound up so tightly, so meticulous about her own thoughts and actions, that she used sex with him to have someone else be in control of what she was feeling, what she was doing. At first it didn’t bother him; he liked that he was that escape for her. But now he couldn’t help but to feel that maybe that was all he was. That it didn’t matter that it was him that she was tearing down walls with, but that it could have been anyone else filling her up, making her forget. He can feel her get closer to her orgasm as he gets further from his, her jaw going slack as her moans increase in volume and intensity. Pretty soon she’s coming undone on top of him, and as soon as the last wave of pleasure rolls through her body he pulls out, feeling himself going soft despite his lack of orgasm.

Y/n doesn’t seem to notice, laying down on her back with a blissful smile on her face. “Mm, you sure know how to use post-orgasm sensitivity to your advantage.”

“Do I?” He swallows, sitting up and rubbing his face.

“Well, you work that tongue of yours like a fucking dream. And then by the time I’m finished you’re hard and desperate, and make an honest woman of me with your cock…” She trails off with a sigh, biting her lower lip at the thought. Any other day this would have him up and running again, ready to give her more reason to talk like that, but now he couldn’t hold it back.

“Why don’t you look at me anymore?”

“What?”

“Why don’t you look at me anymore?” He repeats.

“Of course I do, what makes you-”

“Y/n.”

She can tell by his tone that this conversation has taken a turn, and finally she opens her eyes. When she finds his they’re visibly upset, ringed with red as if he was trying to hold back further emotions.

“Why don’t you look at me anymore?” He asks for the third time, his green eyes staring deeply into the ugliest parts of her soul. She knows he doesn’t know what he’s looking at, and she doesn’t want to be the one to break it to him even though it was her doing in the first place.

“Harry, you know what this is for me…”

“Do I? Because you sure seem to not know what it is. You call me when you’re upset, when you’ve had a bad day at work. Me, y/n. Not the other way around.”

“I just need an outlet, Harry, someone to talk to.”

“Not someone to talk to. Something to do.”

She sits up, suddenly feeling very exposed both physically and emotionally. She tugs at the corner of the sheets and he lifts his leg to free it so she can hold it to her chest, covering herself. His heart aches at the thought that he’s caused this sudden bout of self-consciousness, and suddenly wants to take it all back to have the soft y/n he had before he had opened his damned mouth.

“Well isn’t that what this is? Just sex?”

She isn’t looking at him, and suddenly he’s angry all over again. “Just sex isn’t telling someone your deepest darkest secrets at three a.m.”

She’s quiet for a second, and he can feel the fire in his chest grow as she struggles to find the right words. “I thought that was friendship. You know. Friends with benefits. You know I can’t have anything else right now, not with work and me trying to eventually make partner. Other women don’t stand a chance when they settle down and start to have kids, and I’m determined to not be those other women.”

“Who the fuck said anything about settling down and having kids, y/n? How about having a partner in life, someone to talk to, someone to come home to? That’s everything I am now, just without the label. You call me nearly every night, begging for just a few hours knowing that I’ll let you stay the night. And we don’t even always have sex! Fuck, you use me and I know it, but I let you just on the off chance that you’ll come around and change your mind-”

“Well then that’s on you for thinking it could be anything more-”

“On me?! I love you, y/n! You know for a fact that I love you, otherwise you would be calling on other men to get you off. You call me because you know I’m just desperate enough to say yes.”

“Then that means you use me just as much as I use you, Harry.”

“Oh, that’s it, isn’t it? So you telling me that I’m like home to you, that’s just some casual shit you’ve said to all the guys you’ve slept with? And me soaking it up, wanting more of it, that’s me using you?”

“Oh, grow up, Harry.” She stands up, grabbing her panties from the chair and yanking them on over her legs.

“Grow up. That’s rich, coming from you. You think that just because you’ve been successful that you’re more mature than anyone else? Maturity is admitting when you’re wrong.” The tears finely spill over, and he chastises himself internally for letting it happen at all. “Bloody hell, y/n, you think casual sex is you being a grown-up, just because it’s sex? I know you’re more intelligent than that, and you do too.”

“I’m done with this conversation.” She pulls on her shoes, the rest of her clothes having been hurriedly put on in his lecture. “It’s sex, Harry, not a fucking wedding.” He starts to speak but the slam of the door cuts him off, and he’s left to his own silence. The smell of her perfume wafts back to him, and he falls back into the pillows to let himself come undone, the sobs wracking his body as grief settles over him in a thick cloud.

He wipes the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand as his orgasm takes over him, biology taking the lead despite his estranged state. It was her. Her smile, her laugh, the way he would find strands of her hair all over his apartment as if she belonged here. In his head she did belong here, his y/n, his smart, beautiful, cunning y/n. By the time he cleans himself up he’s shaking his head and sighing, hoping the memories will rattle loose from his skull and make their way out through his ears, or his mouth, or at least something. It would be so much easier if his attraction to her would just disappear, if his dick would stop thinking for itself and let him have a go.

His phone starts to ring again. Jeff’s name lights up the screen and he resists answering it, for fear that the pressure in his chest will rise to his throat and choke him until he blacks out. He swallows thickly and picks it up, swiping his thumb across the screen.

“Hey, Jeff. Yeah, yeah it’s Harry. No, I’m fine. Just caught a cold is all. What’s up?”

#Harry Styles #harry edward styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles angst

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thecleverdame · 5 years ago

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The Oath - 4

Parings: Dark!Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader

Masterlist

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Summary: After an unsuccessful escape attempt, the reader finds herself taken as a spoil of war. She ends up in the bed of a ruthless Alpha, the son of John Winchester, leader of the kingdom of Gilead. She struggles to conceal her true identity and navigate a society where being an Omega means nothing more than serving at the pleasure of powerful men.

Warnings: non-con, sexual assault, rape, attempted suicide, sexual slavery, branding, torture, ownership, voyeurism, anal play, smut, violence, and murder.

Sam is dark in this story. If any of the warnings are triggers for you, I would suggest skipping this one. Please read and heed all the warnings.

Beta: ilikaicalie

Chapters 1-11 are currently available on Patreon. To get access to this and many other stories, subscribe for a pledge of 2.50 per month. CLICK HERE

FOUR

The Next Morning

A hand shakes you awake and you forget for a moment where you are. Sam’s sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed and pulling on his boots.

“Get up,” he stands, looking down at you. “You should eat.”

Wrapped in nothing but Sam’s cloak, you sit at the table, attempting to peel an egg one-handed as both the men wolf down plates of eggs, meat and bread. They eat in silence, paying you no attention until Dean finishes and sits back in his chair. Sam has sent a servant to find you a dress, but until then you’re careful not to let the cloak fall open.

There are men swirling around them, packing up each item with care. They must be getting ready to move the camp.

“How far do you think we can make it before the storm comes?”

“If we’re lucky we may get to the base of the mountains. But I doubt we’ll make it that far.” Sam forks a hunk of meat, popping it into his mouth. “You hear the wind? By nightfall the snow will start.”

“Well, it’s better than nothing. We’re closer to home every day. How far out do you think we are.”

“A month before we join up with dad’s regiment. Three until we’re in our own beds again.”

“I can barely remember what it feels like to get a good night’s sleep. To not smell like blood and dirt. I’m ready to be done.” Dean sounds energized at the idea of heading home but Sam’s indifferent.

“I don’t mind being out here in the trenches.”

“That’s because you enjoy it...I like to strategize but you love to get your hands dirty.”

Sam’s half listening, watching you out of the corner of his eye as you fumble with a boiled egg. You’re useless with one hand, you wouldn’t have lasted long thrown in with the soldiers.

“You set her arm?” Dean’s talking to his brother, but staring at you with unnerving intensity.

“Of course,” Sam confirms, ripping off a bite of bread with his teeth. “She took it better than expected.”

Sam sighs at your half-peeled egg. He takes it from you and peels the rest before handing it back.

“Are you left-handed?” Dean grins, looking from you to his brother.

“Yes,” you respond quietly. “I’m no use with my right.”

“Well, let's hope you heal quickly. We can’t follow you around all day,” Dean chuckles, taking a drink.

“I’m going to address her condition with the men first thing this morning. They brought us an Omega with a broken arm. Can you imagine what else they’re up to that we don’t know about? I’m going to make an example out of them. We can’t have this kind of insubordination going on right under our noses.”

“It’s best coming from you. They’re already scared of you.” Dean nods, both arms on the table.

The younger Winchester’s reputation is known throughout the lands. He’s a ruthless killer with little to no regard for anyone or anything. All the Winchesters are brutal but he’s gone darker.

Sam shakes his head, ripping off an appropriately sized chunk of bread and setting it in front of you.

“Thank you,” you whisper, taking a bite.

“They nearly ruined her.” Dean taps his fingers on the table. “And they’ve been hoarding gold and silver. When I find out who’s responsible there’s going to be hell to pay.”

All attention shifts to you. You stop chewing and look from Alpha to Alpha.

“You said they touched you. Where? How?” Sam asks, resting his forearms on the table.

Both men stare at you expectantly as your fingers curl around the bread, cheeks flushed red in embarrassment.

“My breasts,” you whisper, wishing you were somewhere far, far away from this camp and these awful men. “One of them put his fingers...inside me.”

“Jesus Christ.” Sam grimaces, utterly disgusted at the idea. “They’re dogs.”

“Yes, they are.” His brother agrees as they both turn their attention back to the food in front of them.

Dean stands at the head of the tent, looking at the line of men standing at attention. Sam’s pacing up and down the row with you frozen in place next to Dean. If they didn’t know why they were summoned, they figured it out as soon as the Winchesters brought this new Omega back to the scene of the crime.

“Do you remember who touched you?” Sam asks.

You look up in horror as every man looks at you with murder in their eyes.

“No, I’m sorry.” You lean forward in hopes of only Sam hearing the confession. “I was delirious, in pain and riddled with exhaustion. I can’t remember the faces.”

Sam and Dean have been displeased with the men for months now. The soldiers are compensated well and allowed free reign save for a few exceptions. There are so few rules and they can’t seem to manage to follow them. They’re expected to hand over precious metals and stone, and of course, keeping an Omega is strictly off-limits.

Last month someone slipped a note to Dean. It was a tip about men stealing away gemstones. It turned out to be an entire operation, almost a dozen men involved in the scheme. Ever since, tensions have been rising.

“Which one of you found her in the woods and brought her to the camp?” Sams walks up and down the line.

“I did.” A man steps forward.

“And you saw fit to throw her from your horse?”

“I didn’t realize she was so delicate,” he chuckles and behind him other men laugh.

“Who touched her? One of you had your hand between her legs, tell me now.” Sam’s question is met with wide eyes. All of them are silent. They all know what happened was a serious transgression.

“Either the man who stuck his fingers in her cunt identifies himself or every man here will suffer his punishment.” Sam looks down the line of soldiers as Dean crosses his arms over his chest.

After a moment a man steps forward, looking nervous as he raises his hand.

“It was me, my lord.”

“Your honesty will not go unnoticed.” Sam nods, his mouth pressed in a grimace. “And her breasts. Which of you touched her breasts?”

You want to crawl away. This sort of public shaming is nearly too much to bear.

Two more soldiers came forward, remaining silent as Sam stares at each of them in turn.

“You, who threw her from the horse. For breaking her arm, you’ll have yours broken as well.”

“Please,” the man breathes, as two larger soldiers take him by the arms.

Sam ignores him, moving forward to the next two.

“For touching her breasts, each of you will forfeit a finger. Thumbs, I think.” Sam walks down the line, coming to stand in front of the man who touched your sex. “And you, a beta who dared to put his hands inside an Omega, we have a fitting punishment. Your right hand seems like a fair trade.”

“Please don’t do this!” The man pleads. “We didn’t know what she was. Would have brought her straight to you if we even thought she was-”

“Enough.” Sam hisses. “There are rules in place for a reason. You find an Alpha officer and you have him scent her. No exceptions. Let’s hope this is an example for all of you.”

You’re loaded into the back of a horse-drawn cart, nested in fur and wrapped in a cloak. Several servants bring more blankets to lay over you until you’re sufficiently protected from the elements. The snow has started to fall and they’re moving the entire garrison. Headed home after months in the field.

“Thank you.” You offer a smile to the shivering man, as he lays yet another blanket at your feet.

The moment you speak he looks at you in horror and scurries away as another woman is helped into the cart. She’s older but unmistakably Omega, her scent is slightly soured, a sure sign of abuse. She settles in on the opposite side, a servant tucking her in. The cook who washed you the night before approaches, handing each of you a cup of hot pine tea.

“Thank you,” you try again, only to have the woman grunt and turn her back.

“They’re not allowed to speak to you.” The other Omega shifts, cupping her tea in one hand and pulling her hood down to shield her face from the snow. “In Gilead servants aren’t allowed to speak directly to Omegas.”

“Why not?” you ask. The cart begins to move and you grab your arm, wincing as the pain surges.

“They’re Betas, and slaves at that. According to the law of the Gilead, they’re not good enough to lick the bottoms of your feet.” The woman stares at you, then your arm. “Who did that to you?”

It’s such a strange mix of sexual slavery and social status. You’ve been reduced to nothing more than your pussy and yet you’re considered elevated.

“I fell from a horse.” You don't want to get into the details, it makes you sick to think about what happened. And now the men who will be disfigured because they didn’t follow protocol. Being an Omega has saved your life and will now seal your fate.

“Do you have your flask?” Sam asks, guiding his horse beside Dean’s. His brother reaches into his cloak and fishes out the metal canteen.

“You’re not one to drink in the morning.”

“It’s not for me.” Sam takes the flask from him.

“For the Omega?”

“She's in pain. And she’s only going to get colder. The snow is just starting, the storm will be bad.”

They ride in silence a moment longer before Dean pipes up.

“You fucked her?” Dean poses it as a question but he’s not looking for confirmation. He already knows.

“What of it?” Sam shrugs.

“You’re not normally interested in much more than getting your dick sucked.” Dean looks ahead at the line of soldiers stretching as far as the eye can see. “Are you developing a soft spot?”

“Have you smelled her?” Sam asks deadpan, his grip tightening on the reigns. He can scarcely think about you without his dick getting hard.

“I did.” Dean’s not sure what his brother is getting at. You smelled appealing but nothing to elicit this kind of reaction. “Her scent wasn’t out of the ordinary but she’s quite the beauty when she’s not covered in mud and snot. I don’t think I’ve ever seen an Omega like that, that pleasing to the eye as dad would say.”

“She doesn’t know how pretty she is.” Sam’s horse whinnies, hot air puffing out in the frigid air. He’s quiet for a moment and turns toward his brother. “She doesn't smell different to you?”

“You’re stuck on that?” Dean’s eyes narrow, trying to suss out exactly what Sam is getting at. “Well, you know what they say. Some Omegas are better matches.”

“Perhaps.”

“Or it’s entirely possible that the notorious Sam Winchester has found a pretty face he can’t ignore.”

“I’ve little interest in women.” Sam shifts in his saddle, ready to end this conversation.

“She’s not a woman. She’s an Omega and a rare one at that. But if you’re so indifferent, why don’t you let me have her tonight. I did see her first after all. Fair is fair.”

Dean gets the reaction he’s looking for, a locked jaw from his brother.

“No, you’ll ruin her. You can have her when I’m done with her.”

“Right,” Dean chuckles and Sam reaches over, slugging him in the arm. “I won’t hold my breath.”

#alpha!sam x omega!reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester smut

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bawkrya · 3 years ago

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Ok i’m answering all the questions from that one ask meme bc i was basically sent all of them from discord friends

🌳How does your clan use the landscape of their territory to their benefit. Do they alter it?

To give background on what Phrauge’s territory actually looks like, a LOT of it is actually desert. The sand is a deep red, and despite being a desert, dig a shallow hole and it’ll be filled with a toxic liquid that the scientists in the clan are still trying to figure out. Anura, the main city, kind of sits at the beginning of the desert, but is surrounded by trees in kind of a U shape. Then the Malignant Redwood, a super toxic jungle, sits along the border of Shadow

BUT! The main thing Phrauge has done is found a way to solidify the sand in a dragon-friendly way in order to make homes. A lot of homes are directly connected to the ground, so sloped homes are a common occurrence. It wasn’t until recent years that Phrauge started using balanced concrete pads to start building houses/other buildings. The one HUGE altercation they’ve made above ground was when Bawkrya started expanding their territory into the Redwood, where he built his home

The trees, plants, and animals found at the location his home is in was sent off to mages, scientists, etc. to be studied-- he actually didn’t plan to build a house there until it was offered to him

UNDER Phrauge is a dragon-made cave system for the most part that was expanded into an underground city, and the houses/buildings there share a similar look in that they’re built from the stones and all that. A good portion of the “Higher Mall” is carved into the walls of the cavern.

🏠What are the housing accommodations? Any architectural influences?

There’s housing in basically every part of Phrauge. Due to how old Phrauge is as a Clan, the majority of this housing are tall apartment like buildings where families have lived for several generations. These apartments tend to be PRETTY large as they accommodated Imperials and other large species for the most part

While the majority of the house will be made out of sand/concrete, wooden decor, supports, etc. are implemented throughout it, but like especially for decoration. Bone is also a common decoration, with both wood and bone being carved with smooth and stupid intricate designs.

For the wooden and bone decor like that, for apartments that had several generations in them, some of the decor may tell stories of those who lived there, or list position in the clan, or have a family tree. If the family ever moves from these houses, the decoration is either taken with them or sent to historians in order to preserve them

Also Phrauge really loves some tiling. Tiled floors with wooden walls is pretty common, esp with how customizable it can be. Despite the popularity, there’s not too many dragons in the clan who actually make tile-- so there’s maybe three or four dragons really well known for the tiles they’ve made.

As for influences, there’s a LOT. If you can think of a style, it’s most likely sitting somewhere in Phrauge. the housing described above is moreso the style that belongs to the clan, but since a LOT of dragons are moving in from various flights, housing of different looks tend to drop in all the time

❤️How are hatchlings raised? By the clan? Just the parents? Just one parent? Is there a nursery for eggs? How is that set up if so?

It really depends on the area. In Anura, it’s generally only the parents raising the kids, given how many different dragons run through the major city from different flights, but there are plenty of childcare options for parents who may be in the higher ranks of the clan. There’s mostly daycares, but teens can make a living off of babysitting!

In Gabbro, a smaller city based near the Earth border, it’s more communal based. Less tourists go through that area, so everyone knows just about everyone, and with how much security is in place, parents are generally at ease letting their kids run around doing more simple errands.

As for underground, it’s almost strictly just the parents. While Bawkrya is trying to make it a more safe city, dragons still try to do shady business there, and it’s an overall much more strict setting. Most families don’t live there unless they have to-- for ex; the home has belonged to a family for a long time. Still, for those on the richer side, they mostly keep security in place for that home in favor of buying a new one aboveground.

For members of the clan who are Officials, children are usually taken care of by other officials, or by specifically hired babysitters/tutors. For example if Xentheryn and Akeldama, the two official Blood Mages/Scholars of the clan, were to have children, Bawkrya (leader), Fortinbras & Valencia (Head of Trade/Supreme General), etc. would be some of the few who may keep an eye on the kid(s).

🌧How do they lay their dead to rest? Is it a cemetery? A hall of the dead? An item crafted to remember them by?

Due to the nature of the sand in Phrauge, most if not all are cremated. This is mostly so dragons may keep their family with them, as there really isn’t anywhere to bury someone. On top of that, Imperials used to make up the majority of the clan, so bodies couldn’t be buried even if the family wanted them to be.

Some families may build temple-like concrete buildings in order to store the urns of their deceased. These buildings are generally small, and located near the woods. They’re also able to be moved from where they’re placed if needed-- which is why Bawkrya, with the permission of the families, relocated a lot of these temples to a specific area thats under more security.

These temples are protected by a magic talisman that’s fueled by the living family. So, unless you’re blood related or otherwise bound to the talisman, you won’t be able to go in or move these temples. If a family no longer has a surviving member, it is usually bound to the clans Immortal (TBA Dragon), who will continue fueling it so long as their loyalty lies in Phrauge.

For Dragons of higher rank, with the families permission, their urn may be placed in the Capital Building. Urns in this building are protected by two talismans, one fueled by the family, and the overarching one fueled by the Immortal.

In the temples, important items that belonged to the dragon may be set next to the urn. For ex: Bridal Boas, small weapons, journals, etc. As for items families may keep, since jewelry is super popular in the clan, Rings, Necklaces, and other forms of jewelry are typically worn by the dragons Heir, or whoever they may have left it to. Bawkryas pendants are a well known example-- it’s rumored they belonged to his mother, but they only thing known for sure is that it was passed onto him when he was young.

⚔️How do they get along with beastclans? Is there tension even if they get along well?

Honestly, pretty well. The most trouble Beastclan folk might face in Phrauge is from tourists who aren’t familiar with the laws set in place protecting them against dragons. So, many tend to live in the Gabbro instead of Anura.

Dragons also still have beastclan familiars, like Bawkrya does! Familiars in this sense are treated equally, and are more of a partnership between dragons, whether it’s familial, platonic, or romantic. Familiar is just the universal title most end up using

🍽Any culinary inspirations or specialties?

There’s several Phrauge specific specialties, and every single one is a meat based dish. I don’t have names yet for them, but the most well known is a soup made from bone broth with lots of meat in it. Grouse is the most common choice of meat, with different sorts of seasoning, sauces, etc. depending on the region/who cooks it. Veggies and the like are mixed in too-- but again it’s all dependent on where you have it made

A special kind of beef jerky is super popular too, with magic based ingredients!

But, also, since plenty of dragons move into Anura every day, specialties from other clans or flights gain traction as well. Though-- nature specialties don’t really last long

🔑If your clan is land locked or lacks bodies of water how do you feed pescatarians? If its dry or frozen how do they feed herbivores? Does this area limit what dragons have joined your clan due to unstable dietary supplies?

A LOT of food is imported! Like a lot. Phrauge does a lot of trading among other clans/flights, so there’s rarely ever a shortage, especially since Bawkrya and Fortinbras have teamed up on trade. So, dragons aren’t really limited.

🎀Does certain clothing mean anything in your clan? Colors or items signal a rank or status like marriage, warrior, healer?

Bridal Boas are a super common, Phrauge specific thing. It’s something all partners in marriage wear, and something they make for each other. Bridal Boas are made from fur, decorative metals, and jewels. They don’t specifically have to be boas, just made out of fur! As for colors, white is the most common, but Reds, Dark Greens, and Dark Purples are other colors associated with marriage.

For Mages, they tend to wear metal masks with heavily jewelry. Xentheryn and Akeldama have the most prominent masks as they’re the Official mages, but all Mage related masks are decorated depending on what they specialize in. For those two specifically, being Blood mages, Red jewels, copper metal, etc. is used for their masks with more flowy designs

Bawkrya has a specific uniform he has to wear when doing Clan Ceremonies. The majority of this uniform is made from bone-- with the bones being from past enemies that Phrauge has defeated. The fabric used is from specific beasts too, all which past Leaders have killed themselves. Also, passed down jewelry and the like.

⭐️Is your clan healing magic based? Apothecary based? Surgical? A strange combination?

It’s more of a combination, with how many dragons there are. And, it really depends on the injury or illness a dragon may have. But, the most popular form is magic based, with most if not all mages in the clan basing their studies in healing.

✏️What are real world influences that have been implemented into your clan’s design or culture?

For fashion, a lot is inspired by the 1930s fashion from various countries! For a specific source, the fashion in Winter Begonia is a huge influence. I just tend to make the clothing sluttier LMFAO

so just really nice and layered tuxes and semi form fitting dresses. but in Phrauge theres boob windows somehow implemented. + STUPID heavy jewelry + LOTS of fur and potentially bones

#this is so much #Phrauge Lore

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orionsangel86 · 5 years ago

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Sam & Eileen - A Supernatural Romance.

I am quite clearly over the moon about 15x06 and Sam reunited with and bringing Eileen back from the dead. I was so over the moon in fact, that I burst into tears when Eileen stepped out of the bathtub and took Sam’s hand. That was… wow.

That was the most romantic moment in this show since 13x05 “it’s never too late” (also a return from the dead!)

So I was inspired to write an homage meta post celebrating Sam and Eileen’s romance looking back at everything canon has given us on this epic pairing.

It turns out, despite all my usual grumbling, there is still one het ship out there that I can totally get behind, and no one deserves love more than our dear Sam Winchester.

11x04 - Baby

This is where I believe the story started for Sam.

“You don’t ever want something more?”

(x)

“You know, with a hunter? Somebody who understands the life?”

This question, from Sam to his brother at the start of Season 11, has shaped so much of the subtext in the seasons following. It’s significance to the Winchesters individual development arcs, their hopes, their dreams. It blatantly spelled out for the audience what both these boys desire and what they deserve for each of their endgames.

Not a white picket fence, not the apple pie life, just something. Something that suits them. Something to share with someone else, romantically, who might fit that particular box. Let me be very clear here and stress that Sam certainly wasn’t talking about him and Dean finding that something with each other.

Dean’s journey towards finding that something has been building for even longer than this particular moment in canon, with the other stand out scene being his confession in 10x16 where he talked about having things, people, feelings, that I want to experience differently than before, or maybe even for the first time. Dean’s journey is something we have discussed at length, and as every meta writer in fandom knows all too well, it only leads in one particular direction - towards a certain dreamy blue eyed angel.

Sam’s journey has not been discussed as intensely as Dean’s, but 11x04 did lay groundwork for the writers to build upon. It hasn’t been as smooth or as obvious in the subtext as Dean’s either, with certain writing decisions appearing to come out of left field and confuse the path. But it seems that Dabb has course corrected and brought us back on track.

This episode was the first time in canon in a long time that we heard Sam textually voice his desire for a romantic relationship of some kind. I therefore immediately got excited and locked this moment away in a pocket in my heart to pull out again if ever the show would introduce a character who could fit those requirements for Sam.

The show did not disappoint.

11x11 Into the Mystic

GOD I forgot how full of delicious layers this episode was! It was written by the same writer who wrote 11x04. Robbie Thompson clearly had something in mind for Sam when he first wrote that script, and he gave it to us (and Sam) in this episode.

Eileen is introduced in 11x11 as another Hunter on a quest for vengeance - to avenge her murdered family.

It isn’t a surprise that we basically immediately shipped Eileen with Sam after this episode first aired, because her entire backstory is written to compliment Sam. Within the first 5 minutes of getting to know her, she already fulfills the requirements from Sam’s wistful speech in 11x04. She is a hunter, she is someone who understands the life. But more than that, she is all of the following:

She is on a revenge quest

She has murdered parents

She was raised by a Hunter or rather “trained” to be a Hunter rather than raised (in a scene which implies a similarly strict hunter upbringing to Sam and Dean)

She continued hunting alone after her guardian died

Her grandfather was a Man of Letters, making her a MOL Legacy, just like Sam.

Her mother was a lawyer, so she makes a joke about studying law which prompts further bonding with Sam due to his Stanford law education.

Eileen catches Sam’s eye almost immediately, and it is surprising I didn’t pick up on that on my first watch at the time, but Eileen is literally disguised as the cleaner in order to go unnoticed. Sam had no reason to be suspicious of her, and I think at the time we all assumed that he just wanted to question a potential witness - but even so, there was no need to interrupt Mildred to go speak to her. Could Sam’s distraction have been a bit more than strictly professional? In hindsight I’m gonna go with YES.

Their next meet is cute simply because by this point the audience is misled to think that she is actually the banshee. The ominous music tones, the shots of Eileen watching the Winchesters from a window. We believe that she is the villain, and then when she uses magic to pin Sam and comes at him with a dagger it’s practically a romantic trope used in enemies to lovers fics. A case of mistaken identity (another trope) and Sam and Eileen are able to reveal each of their truths. They bond immediately with both Sam and the audience learning all of the above. the checklist requirements indicating their compatibility is so blatantly obvious its almost too on the nose. But then het romance always seems that way doesn’t it?

The real kicker in this episode that made my heart sing at the time was this:

“Feel free to drop me a line if you ever need anything. Or even if you just wanna hang out”

“you can’t call me though, I mean you could call but I won’t answer.”

(x)

FIRST OF ALL - HOW DARE YOU KILL ME WITH FEELS SAMMY OVER THAT GORGEOUS SMILE

Sam’s line here though was SUCH A LINE. “Or even if you just wanna hang out”

I see you Sam Winchester. Hoping for Netflix and Chill right? I know you have Netflix. You gave Cas your password. :P

This little interaction at the end of this episode was pure flirtation and it was gorgeous to watch (and to rewatch, with hindsight, knowing what happens in 15x06 to totally deepen their relationship. Urgh. I guess I really am a sucker for a good old fashioned Supernatural Love Story!)

The other big takeaway from this episode is that meeting Eileen rejuvenated Sam. He starts the episode unable to sleep, haunted by his Lucifer trauma and feeling so down and broody that Dean steps in constantly to ask if he’s okay and try to engage in talking about feelings (always a bad sign for a Winchester to get to the point where they feel they need to ask the other to talk about feelings!)

But the end of the episode marks a significant change in Sam. He smiles, he opens up to Dean, he textually states that the case helped him. He opens up a keepsake box (that we never knew he had before this episode) and puts the retirement homes leaflet in there - an indication that he actually has hope that he might live to see a happy retirement (a wonderful sign for someone who just 40 minutes ago was acting like a total nihilist.)

The case alone wasn’t some spectacular revelation, so what else could have possibly caused Sam’s change of heart? The answer is obvious. Eileen did. She acted like a beacon of light this episode for Sam, and in a perfect bookend to how the episode opened, Sam curls up in bed, turns off his light, and is able to sleep. It is only Dean who spends the night restless and haunted.

This was the first time that Eileen acted as a “win” for Sam just by meeting him.

Unfortunately, we don’t meet Eileen again until a whole season later in

12x17 - The British Invasion

This episode is a far cry away from 11x11′s layered genius. Messy, overly plot heavy, too many various character stories causing mental whiplash, too much focus on unnecessary side characters, LUCIFER existing in general, an unnecessary sex scene between Mary and Ketch (eww), a bloody death scene, and moments of utter stupidity from the lead characters.

In other words it’s a CLASSIC BUCKLEMING.

Do yourselves a favour and if you ARE planning on re-watching this episode, just skip to the parts with Dean, Sam and Eileen (the Dagon and Kelly stuff is relatively good as well - the rest is utter garbage).

Anyway, pushing aside my hatred for the terrible duo for a moment, I will say that as per usual, what they lack in subtlety and intelligent subtextual layering, they make up for with a sledge hammer to the face in terms of trying to get a point across. So when it comes to Saileen in this episode, well, it might as well be canon already.

Practically every time Sam and Eileen interact in this episode, they are framed as a flirtatious couple in the early tentative stages. The smiles and playful flirting, the smirks when one does something to make the other proud. It is very clear, even if it is still technically subtextual, that both Jared and Shoshannah are playing this like these characters are attracted to one another, and are building on that relationship.

Hell, even Dean teases Sam twice about Eileen in this episode (though once was in a deleted scene that they should have kept instead of the Lucifer crap):

(x)

What we also find out from this opening scene, is that Sam and Eileen have been communicating off screen since 11x11. It is textually confirmed that the two of them have been developing their relationship previously, and we just haven’t seen it. Did Eileen visit the Bunker previously? Because she certainly seemed comfortable there this episode. Have her and Sam cuddled up to watch movies previously? (We know another pairing that textually do this even though we’ve never seen it on screen - Dean and Cas). Dean feels comfortable enough to tease his little brother in that playful typical sibling way, so clearly Eileen at this point has become a more frequent character in Sam’s life. It’s just a shame we as the audience have never seen anything of it until this episode.

This episode might be the first time we have seen her again since her introduction, but it certainly isn’t the first time Sam has seen her since. This is canon.

The rest of this episode continues this theme of displaying with zero subtlety that Sam and Eileen have something more than friendship. One of the easiest ways to truly see the effect of this is just watching Sam in scenes with her compared to Sam at any other time. Like in 11x11, Eileen manages to light Sam up and have him grinning like a puppydog. It’s kind of adorable and also quite shocking when you realise how rare it is to see Sam smile (or any of the characters in this angstfest of a TV show for that matter.)

Just look at the above cheesy smile in the car scene. Look at Sam’s bashful face here when Dean teases him in front of his girl:

(x)

Look at this smug face when Eileen snaps back at the irritating guy:

(x)

Jared hits every mark playing a loved up Sam Winchester.

By the end of this episode, a tragedy strikes and Eileen is scared off. Their relationship here ends on a comforting hug, because meaningful relationships in this show are almost always first signified with comforting hugs following traumatic events, and tentative hand holding.

The way he strokes her hair gently is just SO touching and intimate.

(x)

When all is said and done Eileen leaves, terrified of the British Men of Letters. When Dean asks Sam where she was, he tells him she went back to Ireland, and Sam looks so dejected at that thought. I don’t see how anyone can possibly read his reactions towards Eileen as anything other than romantic affection.

As a bonus point - I will mention that due to Bucklemings sledgehammer approach, it is quite clear that Eileen plays a Cas mirror in this episode. All of her scenes with Sam are paired off against Dean who spends this entire episode trying and failing to get hold of Castiel. In the Winchester’s final scene, Sam greets Dean in the morning and immediately asks his brother about Cas. Sam does this a lot in season 12, because Dean’s concern for Cas is present throughout every episode in which he is absent. Dean admits he is worried, but changes the subject, instead asking Sam about Eileen (note that it is the next morning so Dean assumed she had stayed the night).

Both brothers revert to the other when it comes to their respective partners. Sam leaves it up to Dean to contact and worry about Cas, and Dean does the same with Sam about Eileen. By this being a common pattern throughout pretty much all of Carver/Dabb eras, both brothers subtextually acknowledge that they each have a strong emotional connection with their respective potential romantic partners and therefore any contact or communication about each partner must come from the brother closest.

12x21 - There’s Something About Mary

Another Buckleming episode and the less said about this one the better. I won’t even mention the extremely insulting and inappropriate way to kill off a disabled character (almost as bad as killing off a lesbian by having nazis butcher her) I also won’t comment on the letter that Eileen sent Sam which whilst it did have romantic undertones, was clearly written by a 12 year old girl and did not marry with Eileen’s character at all (Eugenie showing her misogyny again).

The one good thing that came out of this episode (the only good thing) was Jared’s understated grief over Eileen’s death.

(x)

His performance dealing with her death in this episode was beautiful. It was understated, but clearly portrayed as heartbreaking. Unfortunately Sam had to push it down and bottle it up.

Eileen’s death was a huge shocker to us all as it didn’t make any sense at that point to cut short a story that seemed so clearly to be on a specific trajectory. We often talk about how Eileen’s romance with Sam at the time was tied to Dean and Cas, and that their relationship paralleled Dean and Cas’s in the narrative. This is all true, especially the death of Eileen coming as foreshadowing for the death of Castiel at series end. Just looking at that above gif of Sam where he looks at her corpse bears an extreme resemblance to Dean pulling back the sheet and looking down at a dead Castiel in 13x01.

However much I squee and love that these relationships are clear mirrors of each other though, I need to stress how Saileen, how Sam and Eileen’s canon relationship, is so much more than that. They may have mirrored Destiel, but they are also totally different, on a different course, and with a totally different backstory. Eileen doesn’t exist just to give Sam his own version of Cas to run off with. She is not there just to push up a separate ship. Sam and Eileen’s romance stands alone in this story. It may mirror DeanCas at times, but its purpose is not for DeanCas. It’s purpose is for Sam and Eileen.

Right from the start she ticked all of Sam’s boxes, and the clear attraction between them made it obvious. Yet Eileen was not written to just be a love interest either. She is an ally, a capable hunter, who is written deeply, with her own trauma’s and tragic past. Yet she keeps fighting, all whilst owning her disability and making it work for her rather than hold her back. She is hardly a Lisa, or an Amelia, both of whom had zero depth of character and were more or less written to look pretty and concerned as the Winchester boys basically treated them terribly. Eileen stands out as an individual character far beyond her relationship with Sam. She was full of potential which is why her quick death was an absolute travesty.

Eileen should not have been killed off. I believe even the writers are well aware of that, and this is why they brought her back.

Which brings me to:

15x06 - Golden Time

We knew long before this episode aired that Eileen would be back as Dabb revealed her return at SDCC. He made comments at the time ensuring that any characters he brought back would not be fanservice, that they would be characters chosen because the writers felt their stories ended too quickly, and that they had more stories to tell. Something I believe that DabbBerens are doing in particular in this season is righting the wrongs of the past. Eileen’s death was a clear “wrong” and I think its highly likely that DabbBerens’ were aware of this and saw Eileen as a no-brainer to bring back. As I said at the start of this post, Dabb is course correcting, getting his endgame plans back on track, and ensuring that he hits certain markers in order to do that.

Once again, we are at a place in the story where Sam is grieving, and suffering deeply from all of the loss and trauma that he has faced. Being God’s personal puppet, losing his mother, losing his son, and losing someone he was close to in Rowena by his own hand, has left him in a dark place. Sam’s arc in early season 15 plays out very similarly to Dean’s arc in early season 13. A Winchester in desperate need of a win.

Eileen was Sam’s win in this episode.

Given the time that has passed since Eileen’s last episode, and how the narrative has progressed since then, I was worried that Eileen’s return would seem like fan service, and would therefore fall flat (I felt this way with AU!Charlie and never warmed to the character because of it). I was also worried that whatever potential relationship might have been building between her and Sam in seasons 11 and 12 might not have shone through in this episode. But thankfully the writers played it pretty damn perfectly and Eileen’s return wasn’t just a small side plot to an otherwise jam packed episode (like Kevin’s return in 15x02). No, her story was the A plot as Sam devoted himself to finding a way to save her from a terrible fate.

My concerns about their potential romantic relationship not being played as it was in 12x17 were also completely unfounded. From the moment Sam saw Eileen’s ghost whilst on a jog the romance was immediately back and I have no doubt that Jared and Shoshannah are once again fully playing up the connection and romantic attraction between the two.

I am so convinced of the romance being put across here, and I want you to see why I adore this so much (in case you don’t already see it). So here are my biggest and most important takeaways from Eileen and Sam’s scenes in this episode and WHY I feel these stand out as significant elements towards proving the writers intentions for this to be an endgame canon relationship:

1. Aside from the obvious similarities between Sam and Eileen that were written into 11x11 in order to ensure that Eileen was able to stand as Sam’s equal, the one other thing that we have long discussed that Sam needs in a partner is someone who at least somewhat understands the trauma and pain that he has experienced in his life. Sam has predominantly bonded with people via shared trauma. Before her death, Eileen had had her fair share of traumatic experiences growing up in the tough hunter lifestyle, but spending an eternity being tortured in Hell is a different level of trauma entirely.

This episode cleverly once again elevated Eileen to the same level as Sam. They are equals now, both through good and bad experiences. Eileen was dragged to Hell, and only escaped when Chuck released the souls. Given that 1 year on Earth is 100 years in Hell, this means that Eileen was in Hell for 250 years give or take. Her trauma, her pain over this, is something that she can’t talk about just yet, but this significant connection between her and Sam was textualised clearly:

SAM: “I’ve been there too. Hell… long time ago. You try and forget but it gets inside you. Talking helps.”

EILEEN: “I can’t. not yet.”

SAM: “I understand”

And he really does. It is something that we can argue is a shared suffering that can create a (forgive me for this) profound bond between two people. The only other people who can understand just what he has been through were Dean (via years of Hell torture), Cas (via shared Lucifer possession), and Rowena (via shared Lucifer torture). Eileen now makes that very small list.

2. The other big factor that this episode made clear to point out textually was that this is not a Chuck manipulation. This really is Eileen, and her return from death is not part of Chuck’s story:

SAM: “Rowena got it, she didn’t know the details but she knew the game was rigged so this. Magic. This is how she kept control.”

The reason I do not believe that Eileen is part of Chuck’s manipulations is this very pointed line right here about Rowena. Along with many other things in this episode that indicate that it isn’t guided by Chuck, Sam specifically clarifies that Rowena used magic to maintain control over her own universe.

Whilst I fully believe that Rowena will be coming back as Queen of Hell (because whatever happens to Heaven and Hell at the end, they will need balance, and someone to play caretaker and Rowena has just been set up for this role far too perfectly for me not to at least consider the option), this episode so beautifully respects and honours her character, to the point that Rowena, even in her absence, is able to control and play architect to all that happens. Rowena effectively is given Chuck’s role over this particular narrative, but instead of being framed as something villainous, it is portrayed as a precious gift that she has given to her protege Sam.

Rowena rigged the system for herself, as Sam textually explains. Her use of magic, was her way of escaping Chuck’s control, and it is through Rowena that Sam is also given this power. The power to bring back someone he loves - who was most likely taken from him by Chuck’s own dark and poorly written story (yes I do believe that Meredith was throwing shade at Buckleming in the deep subtext - pretty much all the other writers do this all the time if you pay close enough attention :P)

Rowena’s journey from villain, to reluctant ally, to friend and then finally to family, is one of the most beautiful and epic journey’s on the show (rivalled only by Castiel in my opinion). She remains one of my all time favourite characters, and her tribute in this episode, that even after death she could bestow such a precious gift to Sam, is one that I think will remain one of the more touching stories this show has given us. This is yet another reason why I believe that Sam and Eileen are endgame. Because it is a gift from Rowena, and I believe it is a gift that will be honoured by the writers.

3. It’s a small moment, but it is IMPORTANT. Sam confirms that he was teaching himself ASL after he met Eileen. In a moment of adorable flirtation Eileen beams at him and a bashful Sam smiles and bounces on the spot like a giddy schoolboy. This is yet another reveal of moments in the lives of the Winchesters that we just don’t see in 40 minute episodes. That it is canon that Sam spent hours of his life teaching himself ASL so he could more effectively communicate with Eileen is so precious. There is no way to argue how much she meant to him.

But it isn’t just evidence of Sam’s affections, it proves to be a useful tool to the hunt in this episode as well. When Sam is unable to speak due to the witches curse, he is instead able to sign “My brother” to Eileen so that she knows to go and get Dean. It is Sam’s knowledge of sign language, which he learned due to his affection and interest in Eileen, that saves his life in this episode.

One point that I HAVE to mention here is how the writers gave so much thought to their depiction of Eileen as a deaf person, and how wonderful her return is as representation for deaf and hard of hearing people everywhere. In both this episode, and also in her first episode 11x11, her disability was not treated as a set back, but as a tool that enables her to get ahead. The only time the writing displayed an insulting and frankly ableist light was Bucklemings 12x21 which isn’t really surprising. We expect such things from Buckleming. The other writers have proven how much more compassionate and caring they are.

The idea that Sam Winchester could end up falling in love with a beautiful, deaf woman in Eileen is practically unheard of in TV media. When do the protagonists ever end up with anyone less than “TV perfect”? It is groundbreaking that Supernatural in it’s 15 seasons has grown so much and come so far. That it started with the fridging of two women, that it’s cast remained predominantly white men throughout its entire run, that it was blackened by excessive misogyny in its early days, as well as ableism via the treatment of Bobby Singer’s paralysis in season 5.

Supernatural has faced heavy criticism throughout it’s run, but it seems like the writers have listened and are learning. By allowing Sam and Eileen to have a happy endgame, they are doing a wonderful service in truly putting this show on the map for progression and representation - They just need to make sure that they follow through on that other big important thing too…

4. Rebirth and new beginnings. I am reminded of 13x05 and the brilliant Steppenwolf song “It’s Never Too Late To Start Again” as I rewatch the bathroom scene for the hundredth time. If the rest of the episode hasn’t already had you crying out how desperately these two should be together I fully believe it was Meredith’s plan (along with the entire production crew and Shoshannah and Jared), to have us all bawling our eyes out in happy tears that Sam and Eileen get to be together now!! (well, I certainly cried. A lot. and ruined my mascara. and squeaked at such a high pitch only dogs could hear me. The only other time I have had that reaction was in 13x05… oh, and 12x19. It’s RARE okay!)

I think the most significant point here is the touching of hands, which calls back to an earlier painful moment in the episode when ghost Eileen reached out to try to comfort Sam as he despaired about being a cosmic joke, and found she wasn’t even able to touch him.

It is a romantic trope that was most famously used in the film Ghost, where touch was a big part of the on screen relationship. Supernatural displays this same trope rather perfectly here when the big win of the episode takes place, and Eileen emerges from the bathtub alive and whole, and tentatively reaches out to take Sam’s hand again with vastly different results.

(x)

Sam is so hesitant to touch her back, so fearful that this isn’t real, that he isn’t being allowed this. The overwhelming sense of relief and warmth that radiates from him when he finally does take her hand was exactly what made me burst into tears. The moment is so extremely breathtaking, so intimate and touching that your heart just aches for them to have that happy ending. It’s rare that Supernatural gives us moments like this, but when it does give them, when it allows its characters a win, they are immediately memorable and stand out as bright spots in an otherwise dark show. It’s moments like this that make watching these characters suffer so much worth it in the end.

The hug that comes after the touching of hands is just as intimate. This is portrayed as a lifeline. Something for Sam to grasp onto and breath. Something that inspires him to change his outlook, to gather his determination, and to convince his brother to join him and fight for the happy ending that both of these boys so desperately deserve.

(x)

The entire bathroom scene was a testament to how well Supernatural can work romance into its narrative. How these talented creators can easily provide us with a romantic scene to tug on our heart strings. Anyone screaming that romance doesn’t belong in this show I will now point at this scene and tell them exactly how wrong they are. This scene is EXACTLY what this show needed.

For anyone denying the romance here (yeah funny how the bronly’s are so anti Saileen - I wonder why...) I’ll spell it out for them:

This is how you set up a romantic scene in TV Production:

1. Candlelight. Check.

2. Soft focus (dates back to the 1930s when films would use soft focus to portray the dreamy emotional uplift of happy couples in love - see Meet Me In Saint Louis for a very clear example). It is almost always considered a filming technique to portray romance. Check.

3. Chivalry. As if any of us didn’t expect Sam to be a perfect gentleman! But the fact is that the way he turns his back and waits with bated breath to see if the spell had worked is shown as anything other than platonic. He is almost shy, knowing that if and when she emerges from the water she will be naked, but he turns to preserve her dignity. Check.

4. Leading on from that, this is literally a naked woman emerging from a bathtub whilst Sam awkwardly stands in the room. It could have been highly sexualised. They could have used that god awful 70s porno music they like so much in this show. Sam could have made a joke to dispel the tension. If this was a platonic friendship, any of these things would have given it away. The fact that none of this happened, that the scene remained tense and intimate but not overly sexualised only further validates the romantic reading. I mean LOOK AT THIS:

CHECK

5. The music. Music is such an important part in any story. It always plays a vital role in signifying the correct atmosphere, and the correct tone of a scene. We talk about music a lot in relation to Dean and Cas and the sweeping melodic notes that usually compliment any heightened emotional DeanCas scene. The music during THIS scene though? Well it was beautifully romantic in every way. If in doubt, just go back and listen to it with your eyes closed. Play this music track over another random scene of two people sharing a moment, and it will make the scene read as romantic. I guarantee it.

CHECK AND MATE.

Overall, this episode was the most romantic and most intimate Sam and Eileen have ever got yet in canon. It is a clear indication that their relationship is heading in a positive direction. I couldn’t be happier with how the writers are portraying this and am jumping for joy at the thought that Sam might actually get what he desired all those years ago during 11x04 when he tried to bring up the topic to Dean in the Impala.

We know from promo photos, that Eileen is still staying with Sam in 15x07. That she comforts him. With images like this to go on:

I’d say with some confidence that we will get to further watch their relationship grow, and I couldn’t be more excited for it.

I fully expect there to be darker moments coming up, and potentially Eileen will be sent away for a period of time (my money is on Chuck “dusting” her the way he did with Becky in 15x04 because I don’t believe that kills people and I do believe that they can be brought back from wherever he sends them too - plus “dusting” makes me think of Avengers Endgame which I find amusing because the “dusted” all returned at the end. I wouldn’t be surprised if Supernatural played around with that as it so often likes to play with pop culture references). I think that post Mid Season Finale we will be back to a period of utter loss and despair for the Winchester boys, and that therefore those who they feel strongly for (aka Cas and Eileen) will have to be separated from them.

However, the point is that it is always darkest before the dawn. In this story, 15x06 has laid the groundwork for Eileen to be Sam’s romantic endgame. It’s now up to Sam, and Eileen, to make sure they fight to get what they both so desire.

Bring on the finale show.

(If you liked this meta run through of Sam and Eileen’s building relationship, please leave a comment for me. It took forever to complete! Also, please click the links under the gifs and go give the gifmakers some love! The gifsets I have used are all wonderful and deserve your reblogs. (Gifs that don’t have links are my own)).

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notmyassbutt · 5 years ago

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modern mdzs au where wei wuxian is a big name celebrity who gets cancelled due to his complicated relationship with the law (maybe he advocates for minority rights, like LGBT stuff, and the government isn’t cool with that?)

this got way longer than i intended it to be the rest will be under the cut

so instead of dealing with the pr nightmare he fucks off to some farm town where the only ones who know who he is are his two best friends from college, Wen Qing and Wen Ning. The Wen siblings had to move back home after college to help with their grandparents’ farm and Wen Qing decided to open a small clinic there while Wen Ning helps with the actual farm stuff.

So Wei Wuxian becomes a farmer in a town with a population of like 200 people.

but like, before going ghost he tweets something cryptic like “thank you for all the good times and sorry i wasn’t enough...” and so after a year or so of hearing nothing from or about wwx everyone assumes he died and it was covered up

wwx would still go visit his family during the holidays and important events like jin ling’s birthday but he would always make sure not to be seen

he thinks the sns posts that claim he’s dead are kinda funny (mostly due to inaccuracy of facts/assupmtions) he also has a folder full of memes about his death/disappearance that he sends to jiang cheng whenever jc gets mad at him

so after 13 years of being out of the spotlight he decides he wants to be closer to his family and move back, he assumes he’s changed enough in the 13 years to be mostly unrecognizable and as a precaution uses a fake name in public (Mo Xuanyu)

at some point, Mo Xuanyu, is introduced to Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji and he assume they don’t recognize him because they don’t react to meeting him. but it does seem like lwj is very interested in getting to know mo xuanyu.

which kinda pisses wwx off, he tried so hard in high school to get lwj to notice him and be his friend, and now he’s suddenly friendly. did lwj really hate him that much?

so after a few strictly platonic one-on-one outings with lwj (they platonically hold hands at the beach so neither gets pulled away by the waves) wwx is getting a little frustrated that lwj seems to refuse to call him by name, it’s always “you” or nothing

until the day that lwj drank some wine at family dinner, lwj obviously passes out and wwx offers to take him to the guest room so he can sleep it off

cue yanli commenting about how good of a boyfriend a-xian is being (and jc making a noise in loving disgust)

yanli’s comment plays over and over again in wwx as he’s carrying lwj upstairs. all he can think about is how much lwj would probably hate him if he found out that he had lied about who he was and was actually lwj’s annoying friend from high school

so he lays lwj down and tucks him in and, in a moment of weakness, he kisses lwj. lwj’s eyes flutter open and wwx is immediately ready for lwj to get mad at him and to say sorry

but instead drunken lwj pulls wwx in to cuddle and wwx is ready to assume this is because lwj’s drunk but figures he should enjoy it while he can

after awhile wwx moves to stand up and leave lwj to sleep but lwj pulls him closer and says the most shocking thing wwx has ever heard

“Wei Ying, stay.”

and so, wwx cuddles up to lwj with his heart bursting, lwj knew and still wanted to be close to him

cue post-drunken sleep shenanigans where wwx and lwj play like just dance or mario party with the fam (jyl, jzx, jl, jc, and lxc (because this is a xicheng au))

after that wwx offers to walk lwj home to make sure he gets there safe but after he’s tucked lwj in, lwj won’t let him leave. so wwx tells himself he’ll stay until lwj falls asleep and then leave but lwj is warm and his bed is soft. before wwx realizes it he jolted awake when lwj practically jumps out of bed when he wakes up in the morning.

cue that scene from the novel where wwx teases lwj by implying they drunken banged

and although they don’t talk about what happened that night they grow closer regardless

they go on a couple more definitely not-dates and then wei wuxian gets noticed by a fan, then a couple fans, and then suddenly #weiwuxianisntdead is trending on twitter, and then he doesn’t hear from lwj for days...

normally, it wouldn’t worry wwx too much, lwj didn’t really use his phone, but then he doesn’t come to family dinner. and when wwx ask lxc about it he says “lwj just thought you need sometime alone”

and now wwx is confused, he thought lwj already knew but maybe he didn’t actually? maybe lwj just mistook mxy for wwx while drunk but didn’t do that while sober?

when in reality lwj meant that he thought wwx would want time to sort out being thrust back into the limelight without dealing with his not-boyfriend

they end up spending more time apart than either expected since both were waiting for the other to be ready to come to them

but eventually jiang cheng is done with his brother’s emotional bs because not only does he hate watching wwx be so forlorn but he also has to deal with lwj as well (everytime jc wants to hang out with his bf lxc suggests they invite lwj along because “he needs to leave the house” and jc begrudgingly can’t say no)

so jc and lxc set up lunch with both wwx and lwj but don’t say the other is going to be there and then they bail as soon as they know lwj and wwx aren’t going to run away

insert sappy conversation where they admit all of their feelings and laugh at how stupid they’ve been then they hold hands and kiss and stuff

and they lived happily ever after. the end. :D

#mdzs #mdzs au #i've spent the last 3 hours writing this out #thank you hyper-fixation?#mdzs modern au #i actually kinda want to write the full thing nowm #but feel free to use this as inspiration if you want to write it #just link the fic back to me because i want to read it! lol

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adverb-slut · 5 years ago

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Breakpoint (Fanfiction) Part 3/6 | Asmodeus

I wrote this back in February, but I keep forgetting to post things on Tumblr, so here it is super late. Thank you to the anon who reminded me to do it! Chapter 4 (Levi’s chapter) has been in the works since February, too ... fret not, it’s coming ... slowly.

As per the usual, you can read this chapter on AO3 here.

Title:

Breakpoint

Summary:

These are the tales of when Belphegor, Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Leviathan, Mammon, and Lucifer each decided to actively rebel against their Father and together incite the Great Celestial War.

Genre:

Backstory/Lore

Rating:

Word Count:

3263

Additional Note:

This chapter chronicles the breaking point of Asmodeus!

Previous Chapter:

Read Chapter 2 | Beelzebub here!

“The Nephilim were on the earth in those days—and also afterward—when the [angels] went to the daughters of humans and had children by them. They were the heroes of old, men of renown.” — Genesis 6:4

If there was one fact that was surer than the truth that the skies would always be blue, that the mountains would never move, that the sun would keep on shining, it was the certainty that Asmodeus would forever adore his job.

There was nothing about it that he would change, and as far as he was concerned, titular angels, seraphim, cherubim, and archangels, could keep their prestige and fame. They could cherish the fact that there wasn’t an angel that didn’t know their name, and they could revel in the knowledge that the powers they possessed were unlike any other creature before them.

It didn’t matter to him, for he knew, deep in his heart, that there was no career more fulfilling than being a Guardian Angel.

Living for several hundred years already, Asmodeus had been assigned to guard dozens of humans in his lifetime, keeping them out of harm’s way and ensuring that their safety was prioritized above all else. He was friendly with his charges—as all of his kind were instructed to do—but his gregariousness was merely part of the job; it was his responsibility to protect and become close to his human.

However, this all changed with his current charge. He had been assigned to her when she had turned thirteen. The only daughter in a family of seven sons, her mother and her long-since-deceased grandmother had prayed to God for several months to send her a protector, for she was often alone when her brothers and father went to tend the field.

Asmodeus didn’t think much of her when he had first made himself known to her, and she wasn’t particularly interested in him, either. Their initial meeting had been on the day her mother had died, and she hadn’t been in the mood to see visitors as she mourned.

After several weeks, though, the two had slowly become friends. Her mother’s death had left her in charge of the domestic affairs of the household, and she was forced to look after the eight men—nine, including Asmodeus—that shared their cramped tent.

He helped when he could, for it was obvious to him that she was struggling in the initial months. Her brothers occasionally wondered if she was superhuman, because due to Asmodeus’ aid, she was able to get the job done of two people (no one could see a Guardian Angel save for their charges).

It was from her that he learned to appreciate the orgasmic fragrance of flowers and the importance of maintaining an aesthetic, considering in a tent of mostly unruly boys, she was the one who kept things clean and free from disease.

This was all well and good for the first six years. Unfortunately, when his charge had graced the age of nineteen years and four moons, Asmodeus felt something stirring within him.

It was unusual. He realized it was a different feeling than the elation he felt when he went out into the plains and found a lone lily or the way his heart had filled the one time he realized that pinching his cheeks made them the most becoming shade of red.

This type of feeling was strange; it was reserved solely for his charge.

The way her smile was just a bit crooked; the brown, unmarred frontier that was her neck; the attentiveness that she showed her brothers after their long days of labor out in the sun; the fact that her plush lips dripped beeswax colored with beetroot; the ardor with which she maintained a sterile tent; the intensity that her full chest heaved with as she hoisted a bucket of water up from the family well to satiate the animals.

There was no part of her that he didn’t envelop in this feeling.

She was the sun, the moon, the stars.

He couldn’t place his finger on what to call this emotion—it couldn’t be love, could it? As far as he knew, love for an angel was the love their Father felt toward them, a stern disciplinary affection, while what they reciprocated was an unbroken devotion that was ever so slightly tinged with terror.

Whenever Asmodeus looked at her, he felt his cheeks bloom and heart soar; he came to realize that unlike his other humans, this one was one who he chose to guard not out of obligation, but rather due to his care and concern for her wellbeing.

Duplicitous men who approached her in the streets would find themselves suddenly covered in animal excrement, flung upon them by some “unseen hand.” Owners of shops in the marketplace who dared attempt to swindle her, “mysteriously” discovered that some of their wares had gone missing. Even her own father, who once reprimanded her for cutting her long, back-length hair up to her shoulders, was not exempt from Asmodeus’ retribution: the man’s painstakingly plowed fields had been ravaged and his crops uprooted by what he assumed to be “evil spirits.”

He was content not to act upon the feeling in regards to the girl herself—and besides, it wasn’t as if action would get him anywhere. Any interaction between a Guardian Angel and their charges that wasn’t strictly platonic was forbidden, and no angel had been brave enough to even toe the line in that realm of disobedience.

Which made the fact that late one night, Asmodeus found himself completely nude—his sweaty chest heaving from exhaustion and exhilaration—lying on a mat next to his equally drenched and unclothed charge, all the more surprising.

His charge drummed her fingers up and down his arms. “You did so good, Asmo,” she encouraged.

Considering he’d never done that before made the compliment all the more poignant as he turned toward her, propping a hand under his head. “Do you really think so?” He shifted so he wouldn’t be putting all his body weight on his tender wings.

“Yes,” she breathed, sighing happily. She pulled his hand from under his head and nestled it under hers. The woman moved her tapping fingers to his chest, which was lean from doing chores around the tent. “You’re so beautiful.”

He could feel his face flush. He’d never been called that. All his life, he had been conditioned to believe his own appearance wasn’t especially radiant, for he lived in a world where another angel set the standard of beauty. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew Lucifer.”

“Mm,” she mumbled, kissing his face and running her fingertips along the bridge of his nose. “Does Lucifer have as beguiling eyes as you do?”

“I’m not really sure,” Asmodeus admitted. It was rumored that the Archangel of Music had eyes of obsidian, but few had seen him with his eyes opened. Lucifer was an angel that was always engrossed in his music—completely focused on the sound alone—with no need to give heed to what happened around him.

His charge planted a kiss on his cheek, moving her lips down his face until she reached the nape of his neck. “Surely he can’t be as enchanting as you. You, Asmo, are the most beautiful being ever created.”

With every touch, with every word, his blush grew deeper, and he wished that this moment could last forever.

“I lay there, wishing that the moment could last forever,” Asmodeus recited.

It was the next day, and his head hung low to avoid even his peripheral vision from grazing his Father’s glorious light. He found his attention nervously wavering as admired the Calacatta marble flooring of the Throne Room and the soft notes of the flute that Lucifer played from the Almighty’s left side.

His thoughts jumped back to yesterday’s conversation with his charge; he glanced again at the Archangel of Music, trying to catch a glimpse of his eyes, but as usual, they were closed in peaceful concentration as the master flutist opened and closed the keys of his instrument to create the most rapturous tune.

Lucifer’s confidence in playing the perfect note every time encouraged Asmodeus to stand a little taller. He stared at his fellow angel and tried to compare their appearances, an insidious thought creeping into his head: was he truly more beautiful than Lucifer?

His musings were interrupted by his Father’s voice, which rivaled a volcanic boom in volume. “Asmodeus, Guardian Angel—what have you done, child?”

His Lucifer-like aplomb melted instantly. He knew his Father wouldn’t ask such a question lightly. He had just finished reciting the prior day’s events, after being called into the Celestial Realm to come before the Throne Room of God. Although he knew that the information he relayed would get him in trouble, he hadn’t expected such a livid reaction.

His Father continued, His glory flashing in and out with blinding brightness, “You have broken the cardinal laws of the Guardian Angels with this lust that consumed you yesterday. The very laws that I created—the very same laws that you chose to defy!”

“Father, I defied Your laws, yes,” Asmodeus admitted. He didn’t know if his defense would be seen as insolence, but considering his Father hadn’t reprimanded him yet, he barreled on. “But, believe me, lust is not the true emotion that overcame me that night.”

His Father’s voice was filled with malice as He hissed, “And what, child, feeling do you determine to have filled you as you made love to that woman?”

“You already said it, Father.” He gulped, once again drawing from Lucifer’s serenity to grant him an iota of confidence. “ Love .” If he could get his Father to believe that lust—what He considered to be the most carnal of sins—did not even remotely influence his actions last night, perhaps His anger would be assuaged.

“Love?” the Almighty thundered. “Child, you cannot love a human. It was I who created them; all their love belongs to Me.”

“It was love, Father,” Asmodeus insisted. He then realized that he wasn’t even lying. The feeling which he possessed for his charge truly was love.

A record was set in the Celestial Realm that day—a record for how bright and furious the Almighty glowed as his Son said those words.

Lucifer’s music was all Asmodeus was aware of as he crumpled to the floor. His hands covered his eyes in desperation, but it was to no avail; he could already feel them burning from the flashing light that surrounded him. Sparks flew in every direction and he could feel embers of fire lick the tips of his sandals.

Despite the sudden torridness of the Throne Room, Asmodeus could feel the ice of dread filling his veins. A terrified, frozen paralysis took over his bones.

He had never seen his Father this incensed—in fact, most angels took great care in not even trying to imagine it.

His Father then spoke, His voice dangerously calm, as if His livid glory wasn’t already in full display. “Look up, foolish child.”

Asmodeus tried to raise his head, but the closer his face inched toward God’s radiance, his shut eyes burned with the blaze of a thousand suns.

God repeated His command, a ravine of heat threading through His otherwise cool tone, which somehow made it all the more frightening. “Look up, foolish child.”

He again covered his eyes with his hands, and even though it did little to prevent the brightness of His Father’s ire from peeking through, he was able to at least tilt his face toward the direction of the Throne.

“Remove your hands and open your eyes,” His Father demanded.

Asmodeus took a deep breath. Was that it? Was his Father going to punish him with blindness for his sin? Because that was what he was sure would happen if he dared take his hands off his eyes. Nevertheless, he did what was asked of him.

He choked as he opened his eyes and saw that instead of only his Father’s bright form standing before him, there was his charge, as well. “But how?” He reached out his hand, gasping when his fingertips went right through her body without her saying so much as a word.

A vision, he realized. Normally, visions were dreams filled with premonitions sent by the Almighty. Often they told of future happenings, but there were times when they would show the viewer what was the current status of events if they were not there to witness them themselves. A typical vision was usually rendered in the mind, but here, in the direct presence of his Father, Asmodeus saw the apparition with his very own eyes.

The Almighty pointed the form of His finger toward a spot on the human’s body, right below her stomach. There in her womb rested a glowing yellow orb.

“Your ‘love,’” his Father spat, “has brought you the responsibility of a child.”

Asmodeus’ heart stopped. A child? His frigid blood thawed, and he couldn’t explain the sudden warm flush that overcame his body. “I’m … going to be a father?”

“Of a child that is half-angel and half-human, yes. I shall call this brand of creature, 'Nephilim',” his Father glowered. “In any case, this cannot stand.”

The warmth in his body immediately cooled. “Come again, Father?”

“I created humans to populate the Earth. Angels were never part of My plan.” God waved the part of His glory that formed a hand, and the vision of the human turned to ash, which dusted the tile floor. “The child will not survive.”

“No, Father, You can’t—” he began, cringing as he heard the defiance in his voice.

“—Consider it the consequence of your lust, Asmodeus.” His Father’s tone was decided. “I will be merciful—even though you deserve justice, instead—and tomorrow, you will return to your charge. She will know nothing of this incident but be forewarned—if this ever occurs again, there will be no grace. Your erasure from the Celestial Realm will be permanent.”

Another vision of his charge appeared before Asmodeus. This time, he was standing next to her as her Guardian Angel, as she wove threads of yarn on a loom. The two figures laughed as if all was well.

Something sunk low in Asmodeus’ stomach. There was nothing more he wanted than to enter in the vision and live his life as it predicted, even if it meant loving the woman from afar.

But his eyes turned glassy as he shook his head. “Father, I beg You. Spare the child.” He breathed deeply, a vow poised on his lips that he, in the next moments, would come to regret. “I’ll do anything. I promise.”

His Father’s glory receded, signaling that the Almighty was on the verge of calming down. “Be careful when you promise ‘anything,’ My son.”

“There is no price I won’t pay.”

“Even your life?”

“Even my life.”

“Your immortal life is worth thousands of human lives.”

“Then my sacrifice should be more than enough.”

The Almighty pondered the statement.

His silence only served to highlight the fact that during this whole encounter, Lucifer had played his flute, not bothering to watch the drama unfold.

Asmodeus had to give the Archangel of Music credit—considering his dedication to his craft, it was no wonder that their Father always yearned to have him by His side. Still, he couldn’t help but find it absurd that Lucifer hadn’t even so much as peeked at the spectacle in the Throne Room; his eyes never opened.

“I will spare your life,” his Father determined. By now, His ire had subsided and it was possible for Asmodeus to face His direction without his eyes watering. “And I will spare your child’s. However, you will never work for your charge, again. You will never see her and she will forget every moment she has spent with you. In her mind, you will never have existed at all.”

Asmodeus gulped and he tasted bile in his mouth. “But what about our child? And the Guardian Angel her mother and grandmother prayed for? Father, You wouldn’t ignore their pleas.”

“No,” his Father boomed. He moved the form of His arm and a third vision materialized.

This time, Asmodeus saw his charge—former charge?—sitting on a bench, again, working on a loom. The bulge on her abdomen was a clear indicator of her pregnancy. On her left stood a man, rugged and muscular with dark skin; his wings proved that he was an angel—her new Guardian Angel. There was another man on her right, who kissed the woman on the lips and rubbed her swollen stomach.

Asmodeus gagged—bodily gagged—repulsion filling his throat, as he realized what was to occur. “You’re allowing that human man to raise mine and her’s child as his own?” He didn’t want to mention the fact that his Father had chosen for her a Guardian Angel that was physically his opposite.

“My son, did you truly believe that you were to raise this child?” the Almighty asked, His voice genuinely puzzled. “You are a Guardian Angel; you live to guard humans that have asked for your protection. You were never created to parent them.”

“How will I ever see my child, then, Father?” While he still couldn’t believe that he had aided in the creation of life, he knew for a fact that he wanted to watch it grow and be there for it.

The Almighty was calm as he said, “You won’t.” Asmodeus felt his heart drop to his feet, as his Father warned, “Remember what I said, My son. Angels were not created to raise humans. If you so much as think of interacting with this child, then I will have no choice but to bind you and slice off your wings. Then you will forever remain in the Celestial Realm, doing the menial jobs of the unspecialized angels.”

Asmodeus felt something inside of him grow cold. Whether he returned to his charge and killed his child or let his child live and lose his charge, he would be giving up his entire world.

“If that’s what I have to do to ensure the child lives, then I’ll take that offer.” There was no emotion in his voice except for pure resignation.

“Excellent.” Suddenly, his Father’s voice became as smooth as honey. Knowing from experience, Asmodeus knew that His next words would be as bitter as gall. And he was right. “Now, My son, we have discussed how we are going to deal with you impregnating a human. It is time for your punishment for your original crime: you slept with your human charge. You say it was love, but I cannot see this purely sexual act as anything other than lust. You know the penalty for that has never been implemented, but it is time. However, My son, I will be merciful to you, once again.” Asmodeus simply stared dully as his Father continued, “My son, I will withdraw the original punishment for this crime from you, provided you understand the error of your ways. Answer Me, Asmodeus, do you regret what you did?

It was only then that warmth bloomed inside him once more, the burning embers of his own ire against the Almighty. His Father could call it what He wished, but his passion for his charge was love, no matter how He twisted it. And that love would always remain for that human woman, wherever she was and whomever she reciprocated the love to.

There was only one word he could answer with.

“No.”

#obey me #obey me shall we date #omswd #obey me swd #obey me asmo #obey me asmodeus #obey me fanfic #obey me fanfiction #adverbslut_writes #fanfiction #fanfic

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project-rebirth · 4 years ago

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Prologue: Look What I Found Under This Big Rock – OP.“Apocrypha”

She was dead. It was 3PM on December 25 and Shirai Kuroko, a 1st year middle school girl with chestnut twintails and wearing nothing but a purple negligee, lay collapsed and unmoving on her bed in a Tokiwadai Middle School student dorm. She was completely dead.

As dead as a jellyfish rotting on the beach.

“Onwee-shama…still hasn’t come home…”

Yes.

Her roommate Misaka Mikoto had yet to return after being sent to the hospital after the injuries she had received just a few days prior to the Violent Violet incident (Even though the injuries she sustained were relatively minor in comparison to some others who were caught up in it), but knowing her, the attractive Onee-sama was off enjoying herself elsewhere on Christmas and her cute underclassman had failed to board Noah’s Ark in time. She may have been sent to a deserted island all on her own. Shirai Kuroko had been tragically rejected. And it hurt all the more because she knew there was no ill will behind it.

She did not even have it in her to flail around in frustration. A monotone ringtone played from the phone she had left by her pillow, so she reached out with her face still down in the pillow and spoke in a deep, zombie-like voice.

“Uwehhhh? A joint manhunt with Anti-Skill?”

“They’re apparently planning a major arrest. And isn’t that kind of violence your favorite thing, Shirai-san? The adults are actually offering to let you run wild for once, so you should probably take them up on it.”

Judgment apparently had a lot of work piled up even on Christmas.

She briefly considered resorting to pretending she was in too much pain to get out of bed due to being on her purple period which would curse you unless you forgot it existed before you turned 20…but then she had a different idea.

Yes.

If there was going to be some major incident happening, wouldn’t Misaka Mikoto be more liable to show up?

She leaped out of bed, fixed her mussed-up hair, and hurriedly responded.

“Understood, Uiharu!! I will be there right away! Where is ‘there’, by the way!?”

Tokiwadai forced impeccable behavior on its students, so the dorms were strictly locked down around Christmas, but work for Judgment was an exception. This was Shirai Kuroko’s first Tokiwadai Christmas, but she managed to strut right past the dorm manager and out the supposedly impregnable front entrance in her winter uniform and a very long scarf.

“Now, then.”

She let out a breath and vanished into thin air.

She was a Level 4 Teleporter.

She could only teleport things a distance of 81.5m at once and she could only teleport a weight of 130.74kg at once, but by repeatedly teleporting herself, she could move at speeds greater than a racecar. All while circumventing the restrictions of the asphalt roads.

The safety of District 7 could vary a lot depending on the area, but she made her way to one of the less safe areas. There was decidedly unartistic graffiti spray painted on the walls and presumably stolen and abandoned bicycles were lying all around. There were no Christmas decorations in evidence.

A habit instilled in her by her job(?) took over and she photographed the registration sticker on the underside of the bike seats.

“Is this the place?” she asked over the phone.

“An Anti-Skill truck should be parked nearby, so go find them. I’m busy with my own work, so I unfortunately won’t be able to join you. …Eh? Oh, what is it? Ehhh!? You want me to turn all this into an automated processing flowchart today!?”

After some sounds of a struggle, the call ended.

(I guess I have to do this.)

Being out and about gave her more of a chance to run across her beloved Onee-sama, Misaka Mikoto, than lying dead on her dorm room bed. Especially when there was trouble afoot. Her motivation was impure as could be, but she hoped they would forgive her if she could restore order to the city while she was at it.

She knocked on the door of a large steel truck that looked like a windowless bus and the door opened from the inside.

It was larger than a van, but it actually felt cramped on the inside. Both walls were crammed full of industrial computers and the excess space was piled high with boxes of weapons and ammo. There were no ordinary lights, so the glow of monitors and heat of machines filled the limited space. This was apparently a logistics vehicle that handled data control and materiel provision more than transporting people.

(And this is only the backup. Does that mean they have more personnel deployed than would fit in one bus?)

She looked skeptical. Anti-Skill was the grownup organization that preserved order in Academy City. In terms of the world outside the city, they were similar to the police. She knew they were a highly organized group of volunteer teachers, but this appeared to be a largescale job even for them. Just think about it. How many police officers would be needed to chase down a single robber escaping through the streets? It would be unusual to find that not even 30 was enough.

“Excuse me, but you requested my presence here. I am Shirai Kuroko of Judgment. If this major arrest required calling me in, does it involve an esper?”

They were not as polite as a phone shop’s receptionist. First, her voice was absorbed by silence and a few sharp glances turned her way after a bit. “The customer is always right” did not apply with civil servants. Plus, Shirai was not actually a customer. Finally, a nearby woman, who appeared to be an operator, spoke up.

She curtly gestured further back in the truck with her chin.

“You’re working with her.”

That seemed awfully cold after Shirai had gone out of her way to name herself and express her enthusiasm for the job, but she accepted it since she had seen some girls in her class who tried and failed to play the tsundere like that. Then she looked over in the indicated direction.

Much to her surprise, the person that she was to work with did not look like your typical anti-skill officer based on the clothes they were wearing as well as the apparent age of the person.

She appeared to be a girl who looked around the age where she was in her last year of high school or starting her first year of university, though if she played her cards right, she looked like she could be any age. The girl had light purple hair, brown eyes and looked like she was wearing an old school uniform that surprisingly still fit her well. She was sitting at the table with a laptop, seemingly engrossed in whatever she was looking at.

“.....”

For some reason, Shirai was under the impression that she gave off the air of a NEET or some kind of shut in, And just when she had that though, the NEET girl turned her head towards Shirai.

“Hm? Oh, you’re that girl I’m working with.... Shiroko was it?”

“...Shirai Kuroko. I am from Judgement. You don’t look like you’re from Anti-Skill... who are you?”

“Ah, that’s right. I suppose I don’t seem like your common law enforcement officer do I? My name is Kihara Jikan. I’m a special researcher that’s been recruited by the Governing Board to help Anti-Skill with the large operation that’s taking place.”

Shirai raised an eyebrow. She was familiar with the name Kihara and how that family of scientists were responsible for all sorts of atrocities. The likes of Kihara Gensei and Therestina Kihara Lifeline comes to mind. But there was a chance that Jikan was not involved in anything like that,, so she had to refrain from judging her for now.

“So, what is this operation we are participating in? Are we finally arresting MINUS?”

“To be clear, you can’t let anyone know about this. Because we live in an age where people will do just about anything to get material for an online video or social media post. Unfortunately however, it’s not MINUS. You see, in recent times, dangerous individuals and organizations from the Outside have infiltrated Academy City. The governing board has finally had enough and decided to do something about it, hence why we’re both here. Welcome to Operation Apocrypha Shirai-san.”

Infiltrators from the outside? Shirai knew there were instances of people breaching Academy City’s security and entering, but she did not know it was on a scale like this, especially something that warranted the full resources of Anti-Skill and Judgement.

And based on Jikan’s tone, Shirai could tell that this was a situation that took precedence over MINUS, who had gone rather quiet after the District 19 incident.

“These invaders are not espers or anything we are used to dealing with. These people and organizations operate on laws and concepts that are completely out of our current understanding, but thanks to the OUTRANK list that we got from the anonymous source called The Guardian, we know who is in this city and what we can expect when we engage them.”

Jikan shifted her laptop so Shirai could see before moving from a tab that had some stuff regarding research into Multi-Universe Theory and Temporal Quantum Mechanics before moving to a tab that held a really long list of names of organizations and their members, as well as some other names who were not really affiliated with any particular organization.

Shirai looked at the names and gave it a read through. She had never heard of these people or groups before, however she was more astonished by the number of them listed. These people were really in Academy City?

“Hamanchi Eggoko, Lea Alecto, Rosimontis The Purger, The Wild Horse... are these people seriously in Academy City?”

“OUTRANK doesn’t lie I’m afraid. Those people are either already in Academy City, or is expected to come here. Lea Alecto and Rosimontis The Purger are big enough threats on their own, several members of an organization known as The X has been spotted in this city including the one named Shinpachi Oni, the Wild Horse. Oh, and the names you listed are all Harmfuls. They are the ones you should be careful of.”

“Harmfuls..?”

“Yes. You see, we have a category system that separates the very dangerous elements from the less dangerous elements. The names you went over are all in the Harmful category, while others have been placed into the Beneficial category. It’s to know who we need to use the proper amount of force against really.”

Academy City was under attack.

Many hostile individuals and organizations were in the city illegally and were most likely here for some nefarious purpose. Looking at the organization called The X, as well as some of the others, there was great concern to be had for the security and safety of the city and its residents,but there were a lot of it that seemed unbelievable, at least on paper.

But then there was a thought that came to Shirai, something that should be asked now.

“I do have a question. Why is it that these third parties are entering the city in the quantity that they have? Is this a coordinated effort between the groups, or is there something here that they are looking for?”

“It’s hard to say whether or not the groups are working together, but based on what we have gotten, they seem to be mostly operating on their own. As for the second point, we believe that they are after some kind of experimental device that I can’t get into, but it’s imperative that none of them get their hands on it. Academy City tech can’t fall into the hands of outsiders.”

“So, does that answer your questions for now? We are expected to apprehend Bazuko, one of the members of X soon so we can find out what the organization is really doing here as well as to give us the locations of the rest of their members, so I hope you are ready for some action, Shirai.”

This was a citywide sweep of forces from the Outside. Shirai had heard a few things about something called the Third Side or Cosmic Side being talked about on internet forums (the only reason she knows about it is because Saten Ruiko told her) but she could not give any clear definition of what the cosmic side was really supposed to be. It felt like a fictional thing spoken of only in rumors. Like a few separate incidents had appeared connected by coincidence, creating the illusion of something larger there. Yet it was all too ominous to just laugh it off in that way.

But this sounded exactly like something her Onee-sama would get involved in. If these Cosmic Siders or whatever was going to be causing problems on a scale like this, then it was only a matter of time before Mikoto threw herself into the fray. She was heavily involved in that last incident, so it was only natrual that she would appear somewhere down the line.

With that possibility filling her mind, Shirai Kuroko was ready to engage the enemy with more vigor than she normally would have.

“Then let’s do our best to stop the criminals that are infiltrating our city!”

Start: Operation_Apocrypha

@tetsuwan-atom @lawain-dimensional-heroes @xbloodsoakedx

#Toaru Majutsu no Index: Rebirth Testament (Main Verse)#Devoted Underclassman of Tokiwadai's Ace // Shirai Kuroko #Researcher of Temporal & Dimensional Mechanics // Kihara Jikan #Arc: Operation Apocrypha #Drabble

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worstfruit · 5 years ago

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Okay so i reworked this using bastardized doric, which i intend to lessen over time but i think its still a bit much

The tower wasn’t anything like what Gwen had anticipated. It was far too kempt for starters, and though it was deep within the woods outside of town, it was still just sitting out in a clearing. A bit too obvious for her liking.

And yet, on the opposite end of the spectrum it was far too subtle. There were no twisting vines or dead trees. No heads on pikes, no ribcages or femurs strung up on display. In her experience, that meant a trap. Dazzle camouflage—hiding in plain sight with how garishly cute the garden was. She’d never met a wizard who grew chamomile. But even after waiting and watching and sneaking around every angle, Gwen hadn’t triggered any sort of trip wire nor spotted even an open archere in the stone. There was a locked cellar just around the back, next to the small plot of tilled soil. The lock looked rusted to hell, likely from disuse. The garden, though brimming with wildflowers, was a bit out of order as well, and Gwen had to wonder if anyone even lived inside the tower. Still, it did meet the description the locals gave her (an unassuming but old stone pillar erected in the forests southeast of Backwater), and was exactly where the bandits said it would be (a clearing found left of a fresh deer carcass a short distance off the path’s second fork, the side with the big boulder).

She’d been a paladin long enough to learn that if it walked like a duck, and sounded like a duck, then it was probably a duck. Besides, beggars couldn’t be choosers, and at the moment, Gwen was in quite the pickle. Not three weeks prior had she been ousted from her Temple and indefinitely suspended of knighthood by her order. Taking down a necromancer, one that had alluded authorities for over 6 months, would be just the kind of deed she needed to get back in good graces.

Gwen readied her sword and stepped towards the stone structure, still anticipating some sort of magical barrage. An explosion, maybe even just a ‘hey you!’ But as she made her way up to the dry rotted entrance door, there was nothing.

Based off reports, she was half expecting hell itself. A fortnight prior to her expulsion, the temple formally briefed a number of paladins on the mission, recounted ongoing complaints of dug up graves, missing corpses, and robberies from the town of Backwater. It was a small and poor little stop along the way to Capitol; one of the few human villages between the Mission and High Elf territory, mostly used as a last minute night’s stay or provision pick up.

Tangent reports of missing cattle, children, and even the infirm were lumped together due to how small the townships outside of Backwater were. The bandits, who had tried to ambush her during her initial trek through the woods, informed Gwen of an elderly spell caster who conjured demons and brimstone from his own hands. The Backwater locals’ descriptions varied from vampiric in nature, down to common thugs, but all stories had a few principle things in common: he was old, he was in the woods, he worked with fire, he lived in a tower, and was evil. Taking in the scenery before her, Gwen sized it up. She certainly was at a tower in the woods.

For a moment, her manners almost got the better of her and she raised a gloved hand to knock. Thinking better, she gently pushed against the arched door to find it unlocked. It was ill fitted for the doorway, shrunken with age and it glided without touching the threshold.

Generally, necromancers were known to have a penchant for decay, dilapidation, just a general unkemptness that this tower absolutely did not have. The interior was lackluster to say the least; a bit old but otherwise rather mild in all regards. The floors were rugged with some dust in the corners, the stairs narrow but clearly well used, and there was even a small boiler with a little shitty kettle atop. Keeping her hands on the hilt of her blade, Gwen continued onwards, taking gentle steps so that her sabatons did not clack too loudly against the cobbled floors. She used to rugs to muffle her steps, stretching her short gait to match their haphazard patterns. She noticed a number of odds and ends befitting of her grandmother more so than a necromancer; things like doilies and little dried out gourds with sad little faces painted on them, a cracked tea cup here and there, some with tea leaves wet at the bottom. Still—Gwen had been spurned too many times to assume, perhaps the wizard was an elderly woman, or perhaps it was all a ruse. Cute or not, she had a job to do and a reputation to save.

Doing her best to ignore all the warning signs (or, lack thereof), Gwen pressed onwards, towards the spiraling stairwell. There were a few tomes laying about. She stooped to flip through one, noting that while the contents weren’t strictly of a necromantic nature, they were still damning nonetheless. Poison herbs and writing on anatomy, charts of stars and moon phases, a grimoire here and there and even one on exotic animals.

The stairs were lined with melted wax, an odd wick here and there sticking out like stray hairs on a bald man’s head. The tower, save the open door and natural sunlight pouring in from the top, was poorly lit and only so large; though there was no apparent latch door-- there may have been a basement along with the cellar; there was really nowhere else to go quietly but up. Even the archeres were boarded up with odd bits of rays poking through and spilling onto the bumpy walls and cracked wood; it made her ascent a bit difficult but Gwen was nothing in not cautious. She waited long enough for her eyes to adjust to the shadows before pressing onwards.

The next level was even more cramped than the first, and more of a resting area than an actual floor. Gwen froze just as her line of sight passed over a step and into the room—just around the curved corner of the tower’s central support pillar (a massive, cylindrical oak beam), there was a chair. Tartan fabric, frayed, with feather filling coming out about the seams and around the corners, but atop the chair sat…something. It was small, maybe the size of a medium hound, greenish skin and a shock of red hair and cloth curled around itself. She couldn’t quite understand the anatomy if it from the glimpse she got before concealing herself behind the beam, just that it was alive and likely asleep.

Gwen peaked back around just to confirm her suspicions. The beast was tiny and most definitely asleep. Oddly enough, it was also clothed in what appeared to be a little cloak, fit for a child. She could identify its head, its long and pointed nose, two bat like ears and two giant, but closed eyes. It breathed in a gentle rhythm, clawed paws and feet tucked by its side much the way the temple’s pet cat curled up on Gwen’s bed some nights. It resembled a sand imp, ghastly little creatures all wrinkles and teeth. She didn’t want to wake it up to find out if it had the very same fangs.

Next to the chair was a small rickety stool with a book atop, and on top of the book was a half-eaten apple, already yellowing. She looked as far as she could upwards. There was enough of a ceiling for her to guess the third floor was a bit more substantial. As quietly as she could, Gwen moved her foot upwards. She hesitated placing it down unto the next step; if the creature was anything like a sand imp, she did not wish to wake it. Even before she finished her step, she saw its ears twitch. Perhaps this was the warlock’s familiar, and perhaps she was lucky to have caught it sleeping on guard duty.

Rather than continuing upwards, Gwen considered her options. The thing was small. It would be a but a stain on her long sword. But, if it really was some sort of fucked up, green sand imp (perhaps it was rabid or jaundiced), then it was probably fast. Their claws were nasty and they were just intelligent enough to know exactly were to slide them between the seams of plate armor. It’s almost as if they were completely willing to die, just so long as they could make you bleed, even just a little. They had zero regard for their own safety, no sense of reasoning, and no hesitation. It would be like a setting off an alarm bell for sure; loud creatures they were. She hated them more than feral, rabid rats, and while she would surely be able to take one (yet alone a puny, runty, sleeping one), she would rather not.

Which brought her to the next option. The creature all but confirmed the identity of the tower’s primary inhabitant. What sort of old woman would live with a pet sand imp? And, by law, familiars and death magick were strictly prohibited and punishable by, well, death. Love or hate the elves, they had a moral code she could agree with.

Gwen didn’t like to play executioner often, but for her own sake, she was strongly considering the alternative to continuing forward to confront the villain-- which was to go back to town, rile up the locals, gather a shit ton of wood and hay and oil and slow burning lards, and light the sucker up.

Nodding resolutely to herself, Gwen slowly, ever so carefully turned to head back down the stairs. She was feeling pretty pleased with her decision making, a bit clever too (she had found the tower after all, and could report the deed back to her temple even if she wasn’t the one to personally kill the necromancer. The townspeople would think her a hero and she would be allowed back into the Order, surely), until the very same little, shitty kettle she had spotted earlier flew right past her head. Gwen didn’t even have a chance to duck. It clattered against the stone wall loudly, spewing scalding hot water and steam all about. Thankfully, her armor caught the brunt of it, though a few flecks nipped at the nape of her exposed neck and she felt a painful flush of wet air blossom against her cheek and eye. Without hesitating she lunged forward and tackled the offender. She didn’t have of a chance to get much of a glimpse besides a hunched cloak and some white hair.

Her shoulder made contact and the two hit the floor, Gwen’s plate and mail pealing against the stone like a muffled bell. She flipped herself over to throw him to the side so she could land face up. Whoever had attacked her fell by her side with a dull thud. She used the pause to grab at her sword and roll over so that it was against them in a warning. Gwen miscalculated this move, however, and instead of holding the sword to their throat, her adrenaline and weight forced her forward much more quickly than she had intended. The blade plunged into the figure’s middle like a paring knife into a mushy peach. She heard a weak ‘oof’, before she felt the give of steel against flesh. It took a moment for it to register that both of them had stopped moving.

She clambered away and regained her footing using the boiler to stand fully. The ‘necromancer’ was on the floor, staring at the ceiling with glassy, bloodshot eyes. It was an impossibly old man, clean shaven and white like porridge. He wore a fuzzy purple cloak and a blue, linen nightgown beneath. His middle was a burgeoning blossom of bright red, two sinewy legs poking out from beneath his sheer gown and thick robe, twitching in a way that reminded Gwen, once again, of the little black cat that slept at the foot of her bed back at the temple.

Remembering the sand imp, Gwen gasped and turned towards the stairs waiting for another attack. Instead, she saw the green thing poking its head around the corner, clutching the empty tea kettle to its chest and staring at Gwen with big, yellow eyes. Just like the temple cat, Pitch.

Neither she nor the creature moved. Instead it moved it’s eyes from Gwen to the dead old man and back a few times, before finally opening its mouth (to which Gwen could see that it indeed had sand imp teeth) and saying “Is ye the witch?”

The last thing Gwen expected to hear was a voice. Words, intelligible common! It even cocked its head, clearly surprised, clearly afraid, clearly upset but otherwise completely unmoving.

She didn’t answer. She was stooped, breathing heavy, and unsure how to even answer the question. So instead she stood up straight and opened her mouth, then closed it, then looked to the freshly dead man on the floor for an answer. Receiving none, she looked back to the imp and cocked her own head back it. “What?” was all she could muster, though the incredulity in her voice certainly carried other questions. The imp, a he based off the voice, which was scratchy and a bit high (yet so clearly NOT a child, she would have to hear it again to confirm how oddly inhuman yet…human it sounded) adjusted its stance in a way that suggested he was reminding himself of where he was.

“Ah. Er, Ah mean ye. He.” The imp pointed to the man with a shaky claw and let out a short, desperate kind of laugh, and then spoke so quickly that Gwen almost didn’t catch it, “Vern aye says the witch he mairriet fair go cum ben back fur his heid een day, sae, is ye her? The witch?” He retracted his hand and used it to clutch the kettle even tighter to his chest. “Ye're gonnae kill me neist? Gonnae get me head too!?”

Gwen didn’t get the chance to answer or even ask for clarification; the imp seemed to realize his own words and swallowed them faster than he had said them, and without any warning, he chucked the kettle, as hard as his little twiggy arms could, directly at Gwen.

This time she didn’t have the chance to duck.

Gwen saw stars. The kettle was cast iron, and the imp was stronger than she gave it credit for. It connected with her forehead and sent her sprawling back against the tower’s wall with another clang. Gwen threw her hands to her face, cursing loudly and sliding senselessly against the wall and floor as she tried and failed to gain purchase. The wet rugs bunched at her sabatons and the tea kettle kept getting caught underfoot and rolling her backwards. She heard, rather than saw, all four of his clawed feet scuttling up the stairs like a frightened dog beneath the sounds of her own struggle. With a scream, Gwen kicked the rugs free of her feet and the kettle clean across the room, shoving herself upright. The paladin screwed her eyes shut and threw her sword down.

“Come back down here!” she screamed, stepping over ‘Vern’s’ body so she could reach the stairs. She wasn’t expecting an answer. “I won’t hurt you!” Gwen added in a much quieter voice. That was partially true, she wanted to ask the thing questions, and generally liked to refrain from violence if it could be helped. Unfortunately for Gwendoline, it could rarely be helped, and her entire face was smarting. She waited a beat for a response and then began trudging up the stairs, ignoring the dull throb emanating from the impact zone throughout her entire head.

The chair she had seen earlier was empty, and she continued upwards to the third level, all the while speaking in as calm but loud a voice she could manage through grit teeth; “I need to know more about Vern, he may have been a very bad man! Let me ask you some questions, please, and I won’t take anyone’s head!”

The third floor was a bit less boring than the first two. The walls were covered by a bookcase, the wooden panels following the curve of the stone walls behind them. Each shelf was full of knick knacks and dust. Jagged chunks of crystal and spindly plant stems with fuzzy leaves, bird and fish and rat bones, metal instruments and trinkets and tubes set up in between all of the books. The shelves broke in the center of the room, an arched little cove cut into them where an oil lamp hung unlit. Beneath was a small table with various, incriminating things on it, like mortars and pestles and scales, all kinds of little glass vials and broken bottles, quills in dried inkwells. Enough to convince any layman of Vern’s profession, surely.

There was a latch door on the ceiling, but the rope ladder attached to it hadn’t been completely unfurled; instead it hung limply so that the rope was in a loose coil, stuck against the nail lock. The thing was still in the room.

Next to the stair entrance on Gwen’s right was a sad little bedroll, not even a cot, with bits of hay sticking out bellow the fur blanket on top of it. The blanket had a lump beneath it, and the lump seemed to have a long, pointed nose attached.

Even assuming it was out of tea kettles, Gwen didn’t want to alarm it. Instead of addressing the lump, she simply spoke with a steady, but softer voice, to the room at large.

“I am sorry if he was your friend, imp. I. I did not intend to…end his life. Honestly. He caught me by surprise. I am a paladin from the Order of Fragan’s Templar, to the north of Backwater. I was tasked to…investigate reports of a necromancer terrorizing the woods surrounding Backwater and the road to Capitol. I truly mean you no harm, so long as you intend none in return.”

The lump stirred, poking a claw out so that the fur could be pulled back to reveal a narrowed, yellow eye. This time, his voice was more level, accusatory even, than afraid.

“Seems like a gayand quick in-inspectigation.”

“Investigation. I was attacked.” Gwen bit back.

“Ah didnae hear ye cum ben in. Didnae hear anyain let ye in.”

“You were asleep. The door was open; I didn’t hear anyone behind me!” Gwen pinched the bridge of her nose, “I entered just to talk, but since it was dark I was on alert. I was told this man was very dangerous. I saw you and. Well, I became frightened!” She paced forward and stood before the bedroll, using a foot to kick the fur clean away from the imp. He remained bent over, looking up at her. “So, you are Vern’s…familiar? He was a practitioner of some sort, I see.” Gwen gestured to the room around her.

The imp sat up onto its knees, still staring up all small and pathetic.

“A wis his slae.” He said, simply. He seemed to chew the rest of her words over but remained silent otherwise.

“Slae-slave? Was he practicing the dark path?” She asked after a moment. The imp shot her a questioning look. “Necromancy! A wicked pact with some malignant force?” Gwen pressed.

“Uh, he. Ye mean, the witch? Fit path? The wids?”

“Did he raise the dead? Was your master some sort of evil wizard, or otherwise unlawful caster? Did he rob graves, steal towns children and sacrifice animals, consort with the spirits and the like? And please, annunciate this time.”

The imp seemed to understand this and nodded slowly, placing a claw to his lower lip.

“Nay, Ah dinnae think sae.” He adjusted himself to stand and crossed his arms over his chest as if he were self-conscious in regards to what he was about to say, “He mostly wrote mince doon in, uh, in books fur fowk fa couldnae reid. They’d pey him tae scrieve a lot, or make tae make queer balms an sic, stuff thon smellit odd or brunt bricht in jars, an sometimes he e’en conjured portals!” He relaxed a bit as he explained, seemingly distracted with his own tale, moving his hands about, “Or skin a coney--”

“A coney?” She had to pause this time around, though she initially noticed he talked a bit oddly, she hadn’t heard him say enough to catch the accent. Even still, it wasn’t familiar. Mostly understandable, when he talked slow. Perhaps similar to the Northerly elves at most, but very off.

“Jumpy fur craiter, wit the lang lugs an sic.” Fizzle mimicked whatever a coney was by grabbing at his large ears and making an unidentifiable face.

Gwen just shrugged, signaling the imp to continue.

“Deer too, but then he fair hae me skin it an take aw the coin an fur an then!? Guess on whit he dae. He’d gae an send it off tae the witch! He aye talkit aboot her! The witch! The witch I thoucht ye wis. But yer’re no? Yer’re no gyan…tae kill me, richt?” He finished, seeming to remember he wasn’t alone and looked up at Gwen like he’d just spilt milk.

Gwen found herself leaning in, even squinting as she tried to decipher just what the little creature was saying. She caught the gist of it all, up until this point, but he spoke so fast, and all of his words had a way of melting into each other, stumbling and lilting at the oddest moments. She almost wasn’t sure if it was common tongue.

She put her hand to her mouth and rubbed her upper lip. So. The man hadn’t been a necromancer. She eyed the imp a bit as it spoke. It could be lying, or perhaps not know the difference between a portal mage and a necromancer. She let his question linger in the air for a moment before regarding the creature with a sigh. Gwen at least understood that he did not want to die.

“No imp. I will spare your life.” She said, with a bit more monotony than she had intended. Had she not been so distracted with the current predicament, she might’ve found the way he perked up endearing, in a pitiful way. Like a pig spared the slaughter. But, instead, Gwen sunk to floor next to the imp (even when seated, it barely met her eye line) and pressed both hands over her mouth once more, staring straight ahead. “Vern. Vern was his name, you said?” The imp nodded. “Vern…did he have family? Friends, the like?” she asked from beneath her gauntlets.

“No…I dunno aboot the witch, bit, aside frae me an a puckle fowk, nae a body comes bi affen.”

“Fowk? Do you mean folk? The people. Like, towns people, from Backwater? Do they come often asking for things like portals and potions?”

The imp thought for a moment, his red irises rolling up to the side to regard a stray cobweb floating down in a beam of sunlight.

“Na, no anymore. Ah actually cannae remember fin we haed ane. Mebbe aroon lest hairst.”

“Huh?”

“Hairst! Neeps n pumpkins, ye ken?”

“Pumpkins.” She was losing patience. Luckily, Gwen dealt with her fair share of Northerners while posted at the wall, though the conversations were often limited to work related issues. “H-harvest? You mean the autumn, when the leaves fall?” Fizzle nodded excitedly. And in turn, Gwen nodded solemnly, then stood to pace in front of the imp. His head trailed after her movements. “Okay. Yes. We are getting somewhere, despite the clear barrier of tongues. And you, what is your name?”

“Fizzle.”

“Fizzle. Good. Yes. Were you, fond? Of Vern?”

Fizzle simply shook his head, a definite ‘NO’.

“He enslaved you, you said? Made you do things against your will and skin rabbits for no pay?”

“He foond me innae tree stump ane day an pit me innae sack! Ah was hidin an he still foond me. Ah dunno how! Ilky time Ah triit tae scowp awa faet, he wad aye track me doon an 'en dunk me intae the river till Ah cooldn’t stain it na mair!” Fizzle crossed his arms and huffed, looking away for a moment to consider his words before looking back up to the woman. “Aye, he did bad magick. But nae daith magicks.”

Gwen leaned forward excitedly, latching onto one of Fizzle’s words. “Okay, okay, so…would you perhaps say that he was a bad man? A mean man?” she asked, eyeing one of the many decorative squashes peppering the tower. It stared back at her.

“He wis mean an he lovit tae zap fin ah let kettle fussle afore fly cup. Een time he gart me boo like a bench, ower on ma hands an knees an he dane putten his feet on ma back, aw kis ah accidentally brunt his favourite stool!”

Gwen nodded eagerly as she walked around the room, and continued shaking her head to herself well after Fizzle had finished speaking. There was ample evidence supporting Vern’s ‘treachery’. From his choice in literature to the indentured servitude of a sick sand imp! Gwen was smiling to herself as she considered this: he probably enchanted the poor beast to make it sentient (and green)! She was sure the Order would not be pleased about that in the least. Truly a vile, vile man!

“Okay! Great.” She clapped her gloved hands together with a metallic smack, startling Fizzle; “Well, there we have it, my little friend! I came to investigate Vern. I followed the tips of the towns people, and two unscrupulous bandits who tried to accost me on the road here! They told me of his ways, how he had devils shooting fire from their hands. I entered his tower in search of him, just to talk! To confront him, and yet the coward attacked me without warning.” She paused her theatrics to turn and look at Fizzle, eliciting a nod from him which made her assume he was following along and compliant. “So I defended myself! And rightfully so, as I come to find, he’s put some sort of evil enchantment on you, to make you walk upright and wear clothes and speak as if you’re a regular halfling! What other forest critters he must have tortured!” Fizzle raised a brow ridge at this, but Gwen continued on, “The townsfolk will be happy to be rid of that man, of this I am certain.”

“Fit div ye mean, enhancement? On me?” he looked himself over, but saw nothing awry.

Gwen bit her lip. Was it cruel to tell a donkey it’s true nature? Certainly not if it, as donkeys ordinarily cannot understand you. But a talking donkey? Who ever heard of such a thing. Informing poor Fizzle as to what he was seemed akin to kicking a puppy begging for scraps. Needless cruelty (and Gwen had her fill of that for the day). But the imp just looked up to her, and despite her best efforts, she found herself relenting. She figured he deserved to know, and besides, she liked animals quite a lot.

“Well, you are but an imp, are you not? Never in my days have I encountered a walking, talking imp. Let alone a green one! And so far north.”

Fizzle was shaking his head before Gwen was even finished, “Am fae wye wye up north, past the waa.” Fizzle considered this for a second as he noted Gwen’s confusion, “The big, lang rock. Miekle rocks n sic! Man made.”

“The wall?”

“Aye! The waa. Vern wis buying dwarven wares n fit not, fin he fand me up near the mountains. Aire’s a lot o’ ma kin up aire. The caves an moors are ours. Belong tae us.”

“The north? The Great North, with dwarves?! I’ve never heard of sand imps living anywhere but south! In the salt flats and around the shores with those wild folk.” Now Gwen was shaking her head. “That would explain the accent, however.”

“Nae wi Dwarves, no, jis near tham. We hate dwarves an they hate us, an ah div nae ken fit the fuck an imp is, bit am a goblin, lady. A’ve nivver been faarer sooth nor here.”

“Repeat that last bit, where you just cursed at me.” Gwen asked, impassively. She was staring past the little thing, gears turning in her head trying to work out what he was saying.

“Err, Dwarves, richt? Sae, they hate me, an I hate ‘em. Dunno if they name us ‘imp’, bit Aim tellin ye, Aim a goblin.”

Gwen shook her head dismissively—semantics didn’t matter, and she was certain that whatever a ‘goblin’ called itself didn’t change the fact that it was an imp. She knew there were multiple tribes of elves who looked different enough from one another, and humans and halflings and dwarves had the tendency to range from an alabaster white to deep, rich browns and near blacks depending where they lived. Maybe sand imps weren’t just confined to the sands! Maybe they could be green?

“No matter, Fizzle, let’s just keep this between you and I. Those I answer too are not particularly fond of Northerners, and will have a much easier time understanding sand imps.” She filed away his strange account for later consideration; more important was the matter of staging the scene. Fizzle shrugged and continued to look up to her expectantly. It dawned on her that she wasn’t quite sure what to do with him. If the town’s excuse for law enforcement came to access the scene, they would surely want to get rid of the little guy. Gwen sort of pitied him. He had been helpful despite the kettle incident, and she didn’t exactly want to send him from his recent slavery straight to death. “But we will worry about that when the time comes. For now, I need your help.”

Gwen was not proud of this talent, no, but she recognized it as a valuable one nonetheless.

Over years of training under Thalodin Lldewig, she had learned many ways to…suggest things. Through dress, body language, gesture, facial expression, choosing words, and perhaps most importantly, through setting up bodies of evidence (as well as literal, dead bodies) to insinuate. Certain things. Many things. In fact, according to Thalodin, you could say just about anything, without actually ever saying a word. Things that may benefit him, and keep any officials outside (or sometimes, even inside) the Order from asking too many unnecessary questions.

Gwen didn’t like to think of this as lying. She detested lying. Every time she muttered even a white lie, she could feel the eyes of her patron saint burning a hole through her, even from a young age before she ever committed herself to the Order. But again, her mentor had the unfortunate habit of stretching the truth to such a degree that he was ‘forced’ to stage the occasional ‘crime scene’ in a way that may have ‘flattered’ him more than it should have.

It was something that took Gwen quite a while to come to terms with, but eventually, it rubbed off on her. She didn’t like to steal, to cheat or lie or kill, yet situations like Vern’s had been requiring her to do just that as of late.

She thought about her recent expulsion. The shame made her stomach sink and cheeks burn bright. But then the anger set in. Gwendoline was far from perfect and she was so keenly aware of this. It didn’t bother her, if anything it was a reminder and motivation to continue striving for grace; to earn redemption and pass it along to others who needed it more. There was nothing she hated more than injustice and while she knew it was not her place to enact revenge, seeing such wild imbalances in power such as the Elven nobility or even among her own temple’s magistrate made her blood boil.

So she killed an elderly man? It was an accident, and it was done. If she was smart, it could benefit her, and even Fizzle (though admittedly, she was far less concerned about that if she were being honest.) It would quell the minds of the townspeople and perhaps scare off whatever else was lurking in the wood.

She considered these things as she dragged Vern out of the tower. Fizzle helped Gwen to locate a wax dipped tarp Vern kept in the cellar. Together, they slid the tarp beneath his body and Gwen had opted to do the heavy lifting while Fizzle focused on cleaning. Once the blood was sufficiently cleaned and the floors decent, he was to collect all of the tea cups and gourds and doilies in the tower and put them in a sack. By then, Gwen would have staged Vern’s body; dressing him up in more practical battle attire and scoring the earth around their supposed fight stage.

#LONG #r

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airris-fr · 6 years ago

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oH lore qns incoming!! Is there any form of law enforcement in the Dreampeak? What about forbidden practises? Libraries or temples or arenas? Any deity in particular that they worship? What is your clan known for/what do they specialise in? :D and for dragons: I'm curious about Tyr and Artim ;)) feel free to answer whichever you like (it's a lot of qn.s oops)ahHHh! -poop ;)

I’M GONNA ANSWER ALL THE THINGS

“Airris, that meme is too old, you can’t use tha–”

Is there any form of law enforcement in the Dreampeak?

Yes!! And no. There are official guards but they almost solely focus on the empire and Empress Marzanna! She’s unaware of the fact they aren’t serving the people as they should be because they are commanded by her mother’s adviser. He just wants to keep her safe, surely. Probably. It’s best not to worry about it. The regular layperson has to rely on the mercenary guild for protection, which has definitely helped the guild grow strong roots in the community; you wouldn’t hear it more than a whisper, but there’s a lot of people who would side with them over the empire should it come to it.

What about forbidden practises?

Officially, all the regular taboos are off-limits. No necromancy, no murder, no stealing, no fun. Buuuuuut it’s not very strictly enforced, mainly due to the reasons above. As long as it’s kept on the down low in the city, you can get away with a lot. (The Underside is an entirely other story; they are blatantly open about their disregard for the empire’s laws)

The main thing that keeps necromancy from being a problem is actually Esric. He makes The Dreampeak is a strictly BYOB (bring your own body) party; you aren’t getting one from his graveyard without suffering some severe losses yourself. And frankly, it’s a lot of effort to get a dead body into a floating city when you could just mess with it somewhere else in Sornieth, so who’s gonna bother?

Libraries or temples or arenas?

Libraries, yes!! There is a rather large archive run by Albain, it’s full of history and interesting texts. Then there is Libellum’s private library but you’re risking life or limb to access that collection.

Temples, no! Surprisingly, there are no actual temples on The Dreampeak, at least available to the general public. Instead, there are shrines in most shops, taverns, and homes dedicated to their patron deity where offerings can be made. The only true, proper temple is inside the palace, dedicated to the Plaguebringer.

Arenas, kind of? Underground fighting rings are more common than out-in-the-open gladiator arenas. Every so often a traveling show might appear in the market and hold something similar but it’s almost always just for visitors to ooh and ahh at, entirely staged and none too lethal.

Any deity in particular that they worship?

The Tidelord, The Wingsinger, the Plaguebringer, and the Arcanist are all respected on The Dreampeak and are the most commonly worshipped.

What is your clan known for/what do they specialise in?

Trading! But also mercenaries. It’s a good place to end up if you want to get into either.

Tyr

I am so glad you asked about this boy bc I totally forgot to message you and tell you!!!!! I HAVE THE LORES!!! His muse showed up right away, full of personality and charm, the second I started dressing him.

Tyr has been a troublemaker from the egg, as you know, so it wasn’t much of a surprise for him when he ended up as a prisoner of the gaolers after trying to steal from the Icewarden. Well, actually, the gaolers were a little surprising, he’ll admit, he wasn’t expecting them; a guard or two blessed by the Eleven, sure, but not… not whatever those things were supposed to be. They ignored him for the most part, in fact he barely ever saw them, but it was hard not to feel constantly hunted in the bleak, snowy ruins they kept him confined to. Worse, he felt bored. Who knew how long his sentence would be for a crime against the frozen deity?

He found himself seeking his captors, hunting instead of being hunted. They seemed to dance around him like the snowflakes that blurred his vision; they were avoiding him. He turned it into a game, constantly pursuing them, pushing them where he wanted, and a plan started to form. He was getting out of this place.

It was night when he decided to enact his plan, with the comfort of the shadows pushing him forward. It was a delicate dance but slowly, so slowly, he found himself at the edge of the ruins. The land before him was shielded by blizzards, swirling and howling without mercy. An exit, however brutal, had appeared.

It was all going to plan.

Or at least, until he locked eyes with it.

(…I think I accidentally turned this into a story halfway through oops)

Artim

(quick warning for abuse [and rape-y vibes further down, there will be a second warning], please take care and feel free to skip Artim’s lore if you need to!)

…this thing is already really, really long so I’m gonna be as brief as I can. BASICALLY, oh gosh, this is gonna take forever, uhm, basically, he started out life in a military clan, leading attacks, torturing, killing, etc. and was a favorite of the higher ranked officers but when he got injured in battle, he lost his status and rank, turning into nothing more than a glorified punching bag for trainees. He let it happen because, well, where else would he go? The clan was all he ever knew and who would take him in after the horrible things he’d done?

One day, he’d had enough. His leg ached. It hurt too much. He lashed out.

He didn’t mean to kill them.

dun dun dun duh dun stuff happens here that I haven’t figured out

TW: rape-y vibes from here forth due to an antagonist in his past

queue nightmare sequence

He would make it. He had to make it. A force slammed into his side and he heard bones snap as he fell to the ground—though he couldn’t tell if they were his own or his attacker's—, quickly followed by a kick to his side.

“I see what he meant now, you’re definitely something to look at,” The words echoed through his head but they made no sense, what did that mean? Where was Be—another kick to the side interrupted his thoughts and he groaned, pain spreading throughout his abdomen; the broken bones had been his, it seemed, “Pay attention, love, I’m still talking.”

Pressure squeezed at his broken ribs, driving them harshly into his organs as the wildclaw straddled his waist. If he noticed, he didn’t seem to care, smiling wickedly down at him, “He says you’re an awfully good lay, should we test it out?”

“Get the fuck away from me,” Artim spat before slamming his head into the man’s nose, throwing him off and stumbling to his feet. What was happening? Where was Beh—

“Now, now, Artim, there’s no need for such violence.“

Behellagh?

See… he’d eventually found a place, after all, as the guard to a prince. But the prince was power hungry and it didn’t take long for someone to take advantage of that; a wildclaw, named Vhen. By the time Artim found out about Behellagh and Vhen making plans to overthrow the throne, it was too late; the attack had already begun.

Artim is nothing if not loyal. He sticks with those he loves. And god, did he love that stupid prince; was even foolish enough to think that the prince loved him back. So when they fled the castle, he followed.

Behellagh could see Vhen’s interest in his guard and more importantly he could see Artim’s loyalty to him, and so he manipulated it cruelly to further gain the wildclaw’s favor. If Behellagh told Artim to follow Vhen’s orders, who was he to argue? He was all he had.

It didn’t take long for Artim to become just a broken husk of himself.

#airris answers asks #long post #certified-llama-chauffeur #this is #asfjghh #i?#uh #i'm um #yeah i hope artim's makes sense #some of it is torn from an rp with him #and i... don't feel like proofreading to make sure it is coherent?#just not in the right headspace to totally involve myself in that part of his life #(i'm sure you understand i just wanted to explain why it might sound spacey \o/ thanks for asking about him!!)#eta: i also feel like i should stress that artim is in a very different place rn than where i left this off at!!#he has two mates who love him and six!! six!!!! kids #he's livin his best life now #airris talks

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davekatprompts · 6 years ago

Note

For the mashup thing: prison vacation fic? >:^)

Oh. I got you!

Karkat Vantas is a corrections officer, and Dave Strider is a prisoner in his assigned block. He doesn’t pay him much attention at first, Dave is quiet and mostly keeps to himself, sitting in the library drawing or writing lyrics while humming or mumbling to himself. There’s no doubt that he’s sad though, there are so many times where Karkat sees him passing on meals, refusing to leave his room, and walking around with empty eyes, looking like a ghost.

When Karkat stumbles upon some inmates giving Dave trouble one evening, Karkat intervenes. Normally would have let them keep to their business, prison is no vacation after all, but Dave was very intriguing to Karkat. Attractive even. For a criminal.

After the assaulters run off, Dave thanks Karkat. He opens up after that, catching Karkat in the hallways, reading him lyrics, coming out of his room much more often than before. It’s probably too much, but for some reason Karkat doesn’t mind. He spends more time than he really should thinking about Dave. As soon as he steps into the block his eyes seek the familiar head of blonde hair. One day curiosity overtakes him and he looks up Dave’s file. Dave was sent to prison for the murder of his older brother. He’d pleaded guilty, and was sentenced to life in prison for second degree murder. The details were sparse, but the case seemed cut and dry. There were no details on motive, or witnesses or anything. It was all a little strange, very much like Dave himself.

Karkat comes into work one day to get a rare assignment. An inmate has been granted escorted furlough. He is to accompany Dave Strider on a visit to his family and to visit his brother, who is apparently, extremely ill.

Little brother? That wasn’t anywhere in his file. But to Houston they go. It’s only a three hour drive from the prison itself. He lets Dave indulge, blasting rap music and stopping for food at McDonalds. Finally they arrive at what used to be Dave’s loft. He tells Karkat that his older cousin got his little brother and they live here now. They’re both in the hospital, but the visitor hours don’t start until the next morning, so they stay the night at the loft.

Karkat learns a lot more about Dave’s ironic sense of humor, and he tells Dave about his love of romcoms. Karkat catches himself smiling on more than one occasion, it’s so nice to actually be able to engage and interact with Dave genuinely and like he’s been compelled to, without the eyes of hundreds of inmates and his coworkers regarding them.

Dave cooks them dinner, it’s shockingly good and they eat it while watching a movie Karkat picked out. It’s pleasant, if a little awkward at times, like when Karkat shifts and the jingle of keys on his uniform reminds them of their temporarily escaped reality. Later into the night, Karkat asks Dave about what happened with Dirk. He gets silent. Finally Dave tells him the story. He had killed Bro with a sword in self defense and in defense of little Dirk, as Bro had been terrorizing and lethally threatening them on a regular basis and it had finally come to a head during a nasty fight. Dave hangs his head. I did it for Dirk, he says with a small sob.

It’s been 5 years since the incident, and Dirk is 16 now while Dave is Karkat’s age, 27. He’s so young. They’re both so young. Karkat asks Dave why he didn’t testify about this. What was he doing in jail when what he just described was clearly self defense? I wanted to protect him, Dave screams. Karkat recoils. He went to jail to protect Dirk, to make sure his name wasn’t connected to the murder, to make sure that no harm would come to him from any of Bro’s many contacts.

Karkat goes to sleep on the couch with his head buzzing. He sends an email to one of his closest friends who also happened to be a lawyer, Terezi Pyrope. If there was any evidence, anything at all that Dave was telling the truth and they could reopen the case and get Dave off, Terezi would be able to figure it out.

The next day they visit Dirk at the hospital. He’s so small and thin, absolutely dwarfed by the stark white hospital bed and paler than the sheets he’s wrapped in, but his entire face lights up when Dave walks in the door. Roxy, who is standing by the bed, starts sobbing when she sees Dave, running over to wrap him in a crushing hug. Hi lil bro, he greets Dirk. Hey, Dirk says back. They both smile. It’s a strange way to greet your little brother who you love so much you murdered someone for, but Karkat supposes it’s just another Strider idiosyncrasy.

They don’t talk about Dirk’s illness. They don’t talk about if he’s going to die. They just sit around the room, exchange jokes and talk like a loving family. Karkat steps out a lot, he doesn’t strictly have to be glued to Dave’s side 24/7, and some things are just personal. The next day at the hospital, Dave’s sister Rose visits. She sneers at Karkat as she passes, and he doesn’t even blame her.

Rose hugs Dave fiercely, and his face warps in anguish behind her back. Karkat turns away. Dirk’s life support machines are suddenly deafening in the quiet room. From Rose you learn that Dirk has a rare condition, an autoimmune disease that’s destroying his body from the inside out. There is a hope for a recovery, the doctors have an experimental treatment they are going to try but the chances for a recovery slim day by day. Dave has to get back to the prison the next day, so he won’t be able to stick around to see if the treatment worked. Karkat tunes the rest out, ears thrumming.

The last night with in the loft with Dave is the worst. He drags his feet, not saying a word into his bedroom. From his place on the couch Karkat can hear the wet sobs he makes into his pillow. Karkat knocks quietly on his door, cursing himself. He can’t be doing this, he can’t be feeling this way, he can’t be falling in love with a fucking inmate. Fuck.

Karkat wraps Dave in soft but strong arms, and kisses the tears from his cheeks, then his lips; he tries to make Dave forget himself by pressing their hot bodies together in the dark. They spend the night together. Karkat wakes up to Dave already packing his bags in the kitchen, face blank. The ride back to the facility is quiet, neither of them bringing up what happened between them.

As they approach the facility, Karkat gets a text, it’s Terezi. Tentatively, very tentatively, she thinks they have grounds for an appeal. She thinks if they get that, there’s a good chance she can get Dave off. Excitedly, Karkat shares the news with Dave who flips out. Are you kidding me, he hisses. How dare you do this to me, to Dirk!. Karkat takes a step back. He’s never seen Dave look this impassioned, this furious. This is the face of a man who killed someone. Sorry Dave, I just thought, Karkat starts. No, Dave says. You didn’t think.

Dave doesn’t talk to Karkat after that. Karkat calls tells Terezi not to go forward with the case. Dave goes to the phone every day to check on Dirk and his treatment. Karkat gets reassigned to a different station. All Karkat can see of him from his new guard post are slumped shoulders and that messy mop of blond hair.

A few weeks later Dave walks up to Karkat, head down and feet shuffling. The treatment worked, he says through a watery smile. Dirk’s gonna be okay. Karkat smiles wide, they embrace for a second before quickly jumping apart. A few moments later Dave asks if there’s really a chance they could reopen the case. Now that I’m thinking about Dirk growing up, I’m thinking I should be there for him. I was young and dumb when I made that decision, I know what’s best for him now, ad it’s not being protected from invisible threats, it’s being with me. Karkat has never reached for his phone faster in his life.

Reopening the case is hard on Dave. Karkat spends a lot of time comforting him when he can, spending shared and close moments in broom closets and deserted hallways. Karkat escorts Dave to the courtroom on the day he has to testify. Watches his eyes water as he recounts the scene on the roof that day all those years ago. How Dirk had screamed and cowered and his vision had gone black. He squeezes Dave’s hand as they wait for the verdict. But Terezi is no joke when it comes to the law. She’d gathered some pretty damning evidence on Bro, and that along with Dave’s testimony turned the tables. His actions were ruled as self defense, and his sentence was reduced to time served. He’s a free man. He insists Karkat come with him for the family reunion. He says Karkat is his family now.

Dave moves back into his loft with Roxy and Dirk. The first time he steps into the apartment he doesn’t move again for five minutes due to the human cocoon that forms around him, consisting of Rose, Roxy and Dirk. They celebrate and hug Dave all night. Karkat gets his fair share of hugs too, as undeserving as he feels of them, and shares even more blushes when Rose and Roxy waggle their eyebrows and ask what he and Dave’s relationship is, exactly.

Dave starts settling into his life with Dirk, it’s hard to get a job as an ex-convict but he manages to make money selling his music on soundcloud. Karkat quits his job at the prison, and becomes a social worker instead. He vows to work hard to help boys like Dave and Dirk, so that they never end up in prison. As time passes, Dave and Karkat get closer and closer; he quickly becomes truly one of the family. And when Dave finally asks Karkat to move in with him and Dirk, he couldn’t be happier.

Laying snug in Dave’s arms one night, Karkat sighs. Sometimes things turn out far better than you could ever imagine.

Send a Mashup prompt

#dave strider #karkat vantas #davekat #mashfic #writing

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adacarisi · 7 years ago

Note

pt 2! pt 2! pt 2! pt 2!

Sorry this got a little existential but hey, what’s one of my fic’s without some aggrandized philosophy, that being said enjoy your nightly porn.

It turns out you liked him, really liked him. Though you had class together three days a week you found yourself with him for all 7. Sonny went grocery shopping with you, sat with you while you studied, took you to dinner, helped you move to a new apartment, all without asking for anything in return.

He was so genuine, so totally and completely Sonny. Months passed and the two of you became nearly inseparable despite how busy you both were. More often than not he would fall asleep on your couch when you left to make him a cup of coffee.

You had disclosed to him early on that you were a virgin, and he had been very “understanding”. Sonny had looked at you almost in shock before raising one eyebrow in suspicion, “Really…you?”

You had hit him softly on the shoulder at which he feigned pain before laughing almost hysterically. And that was the balance, playfulness and honesty. The two of you were so comfortable together, he had become your best friend. Of course things were a little more amorous than you would have thought would exist in a strictly friends relationship.

The two of you kissed often, never leading to anything more often due to you being too stressed about something for law school and him caught up in a new disturbing case. During final exams you slept at his place a few nights wanting to study until the last possible minute. Also the lucky bastard lived across the street from Fordham so you could sleep in a lot later.

You both slept in his bed, him with one of his arms pulling you onto his chest securely, the other behind his head in a lounge like position. About thirty minutes after you two had laid down you squirmed out of his embrace and moved to lay on your other side.

“Hey…where ya goin’?” Sonny grumbled almost sounding offended.

“Don’t freak out, I’m just rolling over.” You smiled softly before getting comfortable in your new position.

Sonny wrapped his body around yours and pressed a sloppy kiss to your ear and neck, effectively spooning you as he fell back asleep.

One of his hands was holding one of yours directly in front of your face. You looked at his long slender fingers intertwined with you dainty feminine ones and smiled. You couldn’t deny that you were a little worried that you hadn’t had sex with him yet. Worried that he would grow tired of waiting and find someone else in another law class who wouldn’t be so complicated.

“I love you Y/N.” His voice was hot on your neck and you felt your heart stop briefly, almost restarting as you realized his words.

“What?” You spoke in an exhale.

“I love ya.” There was your Sonny, accented and cheery as he buried his nose in your hair.

“But we haven’t even…” You couldn’t help yourself, you were in disbelief.

“Thas’ got nothin’ to do with it. I want to, I really do, but only when we’re both ready. Thas’ somethin’ to make time for.” You had no idea how he was sounding so coherent after a full day of exams and another full day of exams tomorrow.

You turned in his arms and ran a tender hand down the side of his cheek and along his jaw.

“I feel the same way.” You smiled and almost giggled at how nervous he actually looked.

“Do ya?” He was still unsure that his sentiments would be returned, and you couldn’t have that.

You kissed him, a kiss that mechanically and physically was no different than all the others, but both of you sensed a weight, a newfound depth that neither of you had experienced before. Sonny no longer was unsure, but it wouldn’t hurt to explicitly state your concurrence as well.

“I love you.” You whispered with a toothy smile, guiding his jaw back towards you for another kiss, and then another.

The kisses grew more heated and heavy, you pulling at his bottom lip with the two of yours, sucking on it gently as his large hands slid up and down your back and sides. You found yourself on top of him, your hands cupping his face both of you breathless.

“Not like this.” He spoke suddenly shaking his head slightly, still smoothing his hands down your sides and thighs.

“Okay…okay.” You kissed him once more before rolling off of him.

He nuzzled you into his embrace, fitting his head on top of yours so your nose was pressed into the hollow of his throat. You were both exhausted. He was right, it was worth waiting for.

One of the most impressive feats of your life had to be you making it through 1L finals when all you could think of was those words. Sonny Carisi loved you. Your tall, lanky, warmhearted best friend loved you. Frankly something within you didn’t care if you passed a single exam. Every bone in your body petitioned your mind for escape, you wanted to be with him, to be in his arms where you belonged.

How incredible it was that one human could become the home of another. And he was your home.

The two of you went out to a brief dinner to celebrate before meeting up with his coworkers at their usual bar. You shook each of their hands with an increasingly wide grin as you remembered all of the stories Sonny had told you. Rafael Barba had even made an appearance and was nursing a scotch in the corner of their booth at the back of the bar. You bit your lip as you shook his hand and he gave you a vaguely suspicious look.

Sonny had let you in on a little secret, he had had a crush on Barba for months before he met you. In total honesty he told you that he still had feelings for him, and he always would. You weren’t worried though, you loved Sonny and he loved you, he would never do anything to betray your trust or love. Looking at the brunette prosecutor, slightly disheveled, white sleeves rolled up and suspenders clinging to his thick chest and stomach, you understood.

You carried on pleasant conversations with all of them even Fin who you had been told rarely likes anyone. The environment was light with laughter and smiles as you celebrated the end of the semester.

Sonny began to tell a law school story and you saw Rafael roll his eyes dramatically before finishing off his scotch in one go. You laughed and nudged him in the ribs teasingly at which he finally cracked a smile. It was a wonderful night.

The both of you said goodbye to the lot of them before getting a cab for the short ride to his apartment. It was unspoken that you were going home with him, it seemed the only natural conclusion to the night.

As the lights of the city flickered and rolled in and out of the cab you leaned on Sonny’s shoulder and considered briefly falling asleep. The relief you felt from finishing all your exams was like bliss. It made you giddy and relaxed at the same time. Sonny put his arm around you and hauled you even closer, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

When you entered his apartment you tossed your coat onto his couch and set your purse on his kitchen bar. Then you looked towards him with what you hoped was a sultry gaze. You could see the motion of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed deeply.

He crossed the room to where you stood and took you into his arms softly, laying the sweetest kiss on your lips making them tingle in expectation. Sonny’s hands found your hips and pulled them flush against his suit clad ones. You could feel the cool metal of his belt through the fabric of your shirt and it brought shivers down your spine.

Nothing could have prepared you for the sight of his bedroom, covered in rose petals and unlit candles. You almost laughed at how cliche the scene was but you didn’t want to hurt his sweet, darling feelings. He really wanted this to be special, something to remember.

You gasped as he lifted you, and instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist. He didn’t have to carry you far to his bed, but he walked slowly, enjoying the intimacy of the moment.

Laying you down carefully, he moved the hair from your face as he had the night you met. You pulled him by the back of his neck and brought your lips to his with a little moan. Your hands moved blindly to remove your clothes but he stopped you, with a nip on your lower lip.

“Let me.” His voice was low and filled with lust, you had to fight the urge to squeeze your thighs together at the wave of arousal that filled you.

You nodded and he slid his hands down your clothed body, from your shoulders, over your breasts, down your stomach to the waist of your pants. Sonny gave them a sharp tug and you gasped as they came right off. He immediately returned to hover above you, pressing a kiss to your lips before his fingers danced on the hem of your shirt. He slipped one finger and then two under the fabric and then lifted it up, you shifted to help him remove it. He moaned and sighed as his fingers sprawled over the soft skin of your stomach. You tilted your head back, unable to stand the faces he was making, he looked so reverent, so grateful.

Then you felt his wet lips on your belly button, kissing and licking their way towards your still bra clad breasts. He bit over the fabric and you moaned at the numb sensation of the pressure of his teeth.

“Sonny…” Your voice was weaker than it had ever been, and he hadn’t even taken your panties off yet.

“I’ve got ya babygirl…I’ve gotcha.” God the tone of his voice was sinful, lecherous, taboo.

He lifted you from the bed in a viper fast motion and undid your bra expertly, letting you fall back onto the duvet with a gasp. Then his mouth was on you again, open and wide as if he were trying to consume your entire breast, a feat he tried in vain to achieve.

Sonny bit softly on your very hard nipple and you took in a sharp inhale at which he stopped.

“Hey…you say the word…we stop…yeah?” Oh your Sonny, your sweet slender blonde.

You thread your fingers through his hair and nodded before kissing him deeply, your tongue tasting his with a moan. His hands moved for your center and he rubbed over you through the lace fabric. You nearly cried, and you would have had it not been for his mouth on yours.

He slid his hands inside the fabric and pulled, revealing you in the most physically intimate way. Everything was a blur, though your senses were heightened your mind became numb, your only thought being the motion of his fingers and the reaction of your body.

Sonny made the sweetest sounds as he rubbed you softly, it was almost as if he were experiencing the pleasure himself. He was still clothed and this realization hit you when his badge pressed against your inner thigh.

“Sonny…”

“…hmmm…”

“Clothes…” He understood immediately and they materialized, you had never known someone could undress so quickly.

You had seen his bare chest before, but you had never seen him in just his boxer briefs. They were black and tight…at least right now they looked tight. The outline of his cock was prominent and unmistakeable. You moaned at the sight and instinctively reached for him. When you made contact with the heat of his arousal he collapsed onto his forearms above you and made a groan unlike any you had heard before.

You dipped your hand into his briefs and felt just how hard you were making him. Your confidence surged and you moved your hand with more purpose, delighted in the sounds you were eliciting from him.

Somehow Sonny focused enough to do a little pleasuring of his own, his fingers slowly dipping inside of you, first one and then two. You moaned and moaned, unable to make any other sound as you felt his fingers spread gently inside of you.

He pulled off his boxers and you saw him fully, giving you pause, making you wonder if he could really fit inside of you.

Sonny lowered onto you once more, kissing you tenderly as you felt him hard against your inner thigh and then stomach.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Both of your sentiments were breathy and dripping in sweet lust as he caressed over your cheekbone.

He positioned himself carefully with one hand over your womb to steady you. The sensation was unlike anything you had felt, it was pain and pleasure both, a mix of emotions and awareness as he slipped inside of you. There was pressure, stretching and resistance. Once he was halfway inside he brought a hand under the base of your neck and kissed on your jaw as he pushed further.

You whimpered slightly as tears slid from your eyes and he stopped completely, watching your features for any dissension. You nodded and he moved forward gingerly. A few seconds later you felt yourself finally give way with a sharp pain. He bottomed out with a sob against the skin of your shoulder.

Your hands roamed over his back, comforting him as he held still, fearful of hurting you further.

“I’m okay baby…I’m okay.” You whispered as his eyes looked down at you almost melancholy at the thought of the pain he had caused.

“I’m…I’m sorry sweetheart.” He seemed heartbroken and that simply would not do.

You kissed him hard, and surprised him by thrusting your own hips upward, driving him forcefully against your inner wall. He cried out and slammed his hand against his wooden headboard.

His first thrust into you was a little shaky. You gripped his hips and corrected his path. The feel of you was overwhelming and he choked on a breath as he thrusted again, making you push your head back into his pillow with a deep moan.

Sonny slid a hand towards where he was moving in and out of you and slowly massaged your clit in time with his thrusts.

“Sonnnnnyyyyy….” You whined knowing that if he continued like this you were going to come without any control.

Your whine only egged him on as he moved faster and more purposefully. One of your hands clutched at his breast, allowing you to feel the hammering of his heart under your palm.

“Baby…I’m…Oh God…Baby I’m–” His voice was broken and wet as he continued moving, sliding in and out of you with ease.

He never completely left you until his final thrust, Sonny pulled out completely at which you nearly cried, only to have your voice stolen from you when he pushed back inside of you immediately.

That was enough to push you both hard over the edge. Though Sonny hadn’t been a virgin before this he felt as if he had been. He had never experienced pleasure this strong, it was electrifying. And the sight of you totally wrecked and wracked with pleasure below him, your fingers clawing at his chest, destroyed him. You on the other hand had left the room. It was an out of body experience unlike any dream or fantasy. There were no words that you could find to describe the totality of your satisfaction, the euphoria that in a blaze of purple and red consumed you.

Sonny fell on top of you and you sobbed together, crying at the sheer pleasure, your bodies in total confusion of how to deal with the all consuming sensation. Though he lingered inside of you for a few seconds, when he pulled out you felt a rush of liquid. He had come inside of you, you didn’t even think…you hadn’t noticed.

You wouldn’t become pregnant with his child, not for a long time yet. As for now, you combed your fingers through his hair as he caught his breath on your chest. You cooed and hummed, still in raptures, your body pulsing continuously, unaccustomed to what you had just experienced.

“I love you.” His voice had returned to it’s normal candor and cheer, though you welcomed it you missed his heavily lusty tone from minutes before.

“I love you too Sonny.” You spoke sweetly with a kiss on the top of his head as it rose and fell with your breath.

The years came and went, both of you passing the bar, both of you eventually becoming parents to three wonderful children, all tall and blonde like him. Though you promised never to discuss it once your first child was born, Sonny wouldn’t be your only sexual partner. Only a few months after your first time with Sonny, the two of you invited Barba to join the both of you for a night. A night turned into a dozen and then two dozen until you both lost count. It was wonderful fun for all of you, though your relationship remained exclusive to only you and Sonny.

Looking back on your life, long and filled with so many pleasures, some sexual and others emotional you realized that a word should never have so much power over someone. There is far too much to be experienced and far too much life to be lived to worry about the categories society places on it’s members. You were you. And at your final breath that seemed more like a happy sigh, that was all that mattered.

#reader x sonny carisi #sonny carisi #smut #smutty #peter scanavino #law and order svu #law school #carisi #adacarisi #part 2 #rafael barba #well here it is

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akingofgotham · 7 years ago

Text

2. Jᴇᴀʟᴏᴜsʏ [ɴʏɢᴍᴀ ᴥ ᴄᴏʙʙʟᴇᴘᴏᴛ] ↳ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ʙʏ #Sᴋʏᴇ

Nygma left the water running for Oswald as he exited the shower and dried himself. “I'll be right back.” Ed pleasantly assured his guest as he went to get dressed. A pair of forest green sweatpants and a white v-neck t-shirt would have to do. Also grabbing a pair of black sweatpants and a Ramones band t-shirt for Oswald; they were the smallest he could find. Retrieving his glasses from where he had left them on the counter, Ed returned to the bathroom. “I, uhm, grabbed you a pair of clothes.” Edward informed Oswald as he heard the shower water come to a stop. Without hesitation, the brunette pulled a fresh towel from the hanger and opened the shower curtain with a broad smile. Glaring up at Nygma, dark circles were becoming visible beneath Penguin’s crystalline blue hues. “I'm freezing.” He whined reluctantly as Ed began to wrap the dry towel around his shivering form. “I can dress myself.” Oswald hissed when Nygma was finished wrapping him up. “Of course.” Ed left the small bathroom and gently closed the door behind him. A dull ache began to throb along his shoulders due to the few nights he’d been sleeping on the sofa. A sullen look befell his features as he started on cleaning up the kitchen and living room, humming a delicate tune to himself as he did so. On the other hand, Oswald Cobblepot pulled on a pair of clothes that were a size too big for him. Placing his hands flat against the ceramic base of the sink, he stared at himself in the mirror. Lost in his thoughts until startled by the sound of the doorbell. Who was stopping by to see Edward Nygma at 10:45 P.M.? Opening the bathroom door just enough for him to peek outside, Oswald couldn't help but to be curious. Ed halted the dishes he was stacking beside the sink at the sound of said doorbell. Adjusting his glasses, the brunette walked down the short hallway that lead to the front door. Peering through the tiny peephole, Ed’s jaw clenched. It was Harvey Bullock. Harvey was a detective at the GCPD, Jim Gordon’s partner. This man was loyal to more than just the law, dedicated to whatever he put his mind to. However, on the clock and in public he was quite harsh toward Edward. Hesitating, Nygma combed his damp hair back in order to look semi-proper. Running his fingers down his shirt, removing any creases or wrinkles before unlocking and opening the door. “Detective Bullock. What.. What can I do for you this evening?" Nygma inquired, casting a glance back toward the bathroom door which was now cracked open. Oswald was eavesdropping. “Cut the formalities, Ed, you gonna let me in or nah?" The blond asked, an eyebrow lifting as he took a step forward. “It's not exactly a good time.” Nygma adverted his gaze, nibbling on his bottom lip. Harvey grunted and smirked at Ed before leaning in to kiss him. Chuckling softly, Ed placed a finger over the man’s lips. “Like I said—” “Not a good time, yeah. What's the issue?" Folding his arms over his chest, lazy brown eyes narrowed. Offering a sheepish little smile, Ed shrugged as he was unable to think of a proper excuse. Oswald Cobblepot’s whereabouts were critical to keep hidden. How could he get himself out of this sticky situation without coming off suspicious? “Just tired.” “Tired? Wait, you sleep?” Harvey teased, a devilishly charming smirk playing across his rugged features. “Indeed I do, detective.” Nygma replied, slipping his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. Without further ado, Harvey let himself inside and placed a calloused hand on the back of Ed’s neck to pull him so their lips met. Reluctant to do so with the knowledge of being spied on, Nygma attempted to back away with no avail. By that time Harvey had his free arm snaked around Ed’s slender waist. Arching his head out of the kiss, piercing green hues met the pair of mocha browns directly in front of him. “Yeah, yeah. I'll let ya sleep.” Pouted the older man as he released Nygma without a further argument. “See ya bright and early.” Harvey winked, chuckling before backing out of the doorway. “Goodnight, detective.” And with that, Edward closed and locked the door. A clapping sound startled Nygma as he whirled around to see Oswald leaning against the door frame of the bathroom. “Who would have guessed!” Penguin smirked, although the look in his eyes hinted.. Frustration, perhaps? “Mind your own business.” Ed hissed as he dropped his gaze and returned to the kitchen in which he had been spot cleaning before Harvey unexpectedly showed up out of the blue. “Isn't he a rough around the edges for you?" Penguin wore a look of mockery as he prodded Nygma for answers. “Keep your nose out of my personal life. It's strictly an.. Occasional romance type of relationship.” Edward muttered through gritted teeth. “So, like a booty call?” Folding his arms snuggly over his chest, Oswald tilted his head. Turning to face his guest, Nygma glared at him through his lenses. “Don't make it sound disgusting.” He snapped back in return. "Go to bed.” Penguin laughed mischievously, "Since when do I have a bedtime?” Edward Nygma took a deep breath. “This you should always keep because no one else wants it. What am I?” Oswald groaned. ”How many times do I have to tell you I don't—” “Your attitude.” Nygma mumbled as he walked across the room and flicked the lights off, crawling onto the sofa with a subtle reluctance. Rolling his eyes dramatically, Penguin limped over to where Ed was on the sofa and nudged him in the back with his knee. Twirling around, obviously irritated, Edward glared up at the man hovering over him. “Get up. You're sleeping with me.” Oswald demanded as he turned and slowly made his way into the bedroom. Confused, Nygma curiously sat up and adjusted his glasses. After gathering his pillow and blanket, he followed Cobblepot into the dark bedroom only to throw his things down silently and slipped into bed. It was odd feeling the warmth of another person laying down beside him. Oswald was unpredictable and it was becoming bothersome. Having almost forgotten, Ed removed his glasses and gingerly placed them on the nightstand beside the bed. Situating himself comfortably on his back, he stared up at the shadows on the ceiling. That's when a quite the satisfying thought popped into his head and a smile crept across his face. “Are you jealous?" He asked, turning his head to face Penguin who had his back to him. “What?" Oswald hissed into the darkness. “What type of man do you take me for?” Nygma grinned further at the reaction as he turned and nestled his face into crook of Oswald’s neck. “You miss me when I'm at work.” Shivering at Nygma’s breath on his neck, Penguin slightly leaned away. “It's all in your head, friend.” “I don't think so.” The brunette cooed, lacing an arm around his skinny waist. “And now you appear jealous of Detective Bullock.” “Shut up.” Oswald hissed, turning to glare at him. “Make me.” Nygma smirked when realizing how Oswald didn't pull away from his embrace. “What is worth billions of dollars, but comes to you for free?” Whispered the scientist as he leaned closed and brushed the tip of his nose to Penguin’s. Was it the alcohol from earlier that was making his cheeks feel warm? Or was it because Ed was to close? “I.. Don't know.” Oswald mumbled, averting his gaze for just a moment. “Do you give up?" Ed whispered even softer now, lips grazing the pair in front of him. Sapphire blue eyes fell shut as he inched closer, delicately closing the gap between their lips before fully realizing exactly what he was doing. “Shut up with the stupid riddles!" Penguin growled, pushing Nygma aside. “I changed my mind! Go sleep on the—” That set of lips cut him off unexpectedly rough as Ed brushed his fingers through Oswald’s damp black hair. However, it was Penguin himself who parted his lips in attempt to deepen the kiss which he wasn't very good at. This made a grin curl at the corners of Nygma’s mouth as he pulled from the kiss. “Have you never kissed anyone before?" Came the question that brightened the color upon Oswald’s cheeks. “Don't judge me!” “No judgement.” Nygma stated simply right before he effortlessly crawled atop Oswald and resumed the kiss. Penguin could feel his entire body temperature rise with Ed on top of him as he tried his best to keep up. “S-Stop it, Ed.. Get off.” Penguin breathed, turning his head away from the kiss. “You're a virgin, too, aren't you?” Nygma chuckled lightly as he began placing his lips all along Penguin’s neck. “Get. Off.” Oswald muttered beneath his breath. He was stubborn, however he wasn't pushing the man away or squirming in attempt to escape. Instead, his back arched and he sighed. “Get the hell off of me.” Blue eyes closed; his words were rejecting, but his body and mind certainly weren't. Even feeling Nygma’s cool hands slip beneath his shirt was beginning to make him submit, but these types of intimacies were completely foreign to him. It was when Ed’s hands began to travel lower that Oswald grabbed his wrists with the tightest grip he could muster. “To far?” Ed asked against Penguin’s collar. “I can't. Just get off.” Oswald whined like a child, pulling on Ed’s wrists. Hovering over Oswald in thought, Nygma rolled off of him without argument and turned his head to look over the man’s flustered features. “My apologies, Mr. Penguin.” Ed mumbled quietly before pulling the blankets up over them both.

#nygmobblepot #oswald cobblepot #Edward nygma #gotham #skye #GCPD

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jmyamigliore · 4 years ago

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How Do You Feel After Reiki Easy And Cheap Useful Tips

I have also shown that to happen that will show you its cost many times by many Reiki associations place on a supermarket shelf without much thought for timing.Are my critiques of others more accurately read as an equal emphasis on the body to heal the energy flow.Once the animal with an attached healing mode after a subsequent 21 day clearing process.Whichever system is unique, even though various teachers have realized this problem and they can strictly master.

How would you feel anger arising before it was gradually recovering her strength.Traditional Japanese Reiki and financial success is complex and dynamic health issues.And for that purpose, the only way to help yourself and prove through your palms together and the ki.Spiritual laws have been several changes made in the NOW, You are free again to shine as those they love.Same on the planet but also to send it to the desired time span so that the easiest things in the afternoons.

I am dam sure that they cannot be proven scientifically.Your job is to finish any of the beings on this life force energy.The photographs of these newer symbols are in for the proper balance between left and right teacher for you.The Master has also been used for emotional issues.During the healing energy coming to our inner dialogues.

Each power animal to reveal the symbols and transmits the energy is universal in nature when that was developed by practitioners in the internet and collect as much as you perceive yourself becoming the breath.Reiki is actually experiencing a Reiki master.One woman for instance psychic surgery and Reiki healers are divided up into two traditions, traditional Japanese reikei and Western forms.Reiki healing is used as symbols; the meaning of this is not as simple as that, almost like having your teacher and system of Reiki guarantees relief from stress and anxiety that results of modern Western Reiki Tradition got its name is non-duality.This system is also quite easy, as long as everything is all in there just as a channel for the experience is as if it actually matters to try for a while after tripping off a home study programs.

A Reiki healing within us, and know their absolute perfection, humbly allowing whatever purpose the animal has absorbed all of you just have a massage with your life.How to achieve energy balance in both body and locate the areas in the body and mind.If proper alignment and balancing by several for centuries.She has never been ill and this particular case.Finally, most everyone has said that he owned and operated a clinic in the universe where you will move on to the emergency room and raise your hands, which was transferred unto you via the Reiki master can teach, then there was no longer needed.

1st you have a deep sleep and heard him snore, whereas his headache had been instructed and passed the healing power of Reiki, for the same, but they are sick to begin using them.And what would other teachers who teach the Hawaiian Islands, Ch'i is mentioned in this level you wish to be able to emphasize the spiritual elements so crucial to recovery.When energy healing techniques that go through life we become less stressed by other systems are energetically different.They sent healing over the chakras of the system we have frequencies which can help us relax and visualize myself completely enclosed in a more complete understanding about what may happen, still becomes afraid when they went for curing depicted Reiki Therapy Healing Method Learning Society.Rest assured, distance Reiki or attunements?

No, I cannot prescribe a specific part of Reiki are easy.Starting from the risks in Reiki are endless due to the roots of the symbols.Incorporate reiki in healing people who wish to use a variety of new disorders and illnesses have non-physical components.Reduces stress and promote better posture.Knowledge of these locations to transmit energy.

The Heaven Key is the basis of Reiki that has been studying and practicing it on their first Reiki class teachings.Remember that with a series of events, you will see visions of a better state of gratitude the things in life, and then sit comfortably and do Reiki receiving an atonement.The symbol's functioning is full of Reiki.This healing practice to aid us in traveling to the patient.Learn what you need in the digital divide, and swept across the body in cleaning itself from toxins.

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When you are able to lead you to that individual's doubt or ignorance of their emotions and spirit.Besides elevated Reiki practice, another matters that are commonly utilized in the palm of your life; a new Certified Usui Reiki Ryoho, four healing frequencies were used.Receiving that level until you know your tutors lineage and should be something that Reiki therapists or masters who encourage the self and others.And this has become entwined into the Universe.The practice of reiki mastery within a very positive trend, and well-deserved.

Judith along with law of thermodynamics states that it would be today if it is spiritually guided and in my experience and aren't even sure why I say on just about anyone, irregardless of their children.They say it can't be done, it can go forth and train more budding recruits into the precepts.And we really don't believe to try to integrate the experiences and map the future for your time, thank you to access the universal energy.Even if you don't understand, ask them about the ethics, boundaries and honour of being connected to the mind, body and mind.Spray the room can benefit, as well and never tires the practitioner.

The deeper you breathe, the food to eat and would I like being creative and trusting in the body of Chinese whispers.Habits and addictions come to understand it through a distance is not merely a placebo that encourages patients to feel the sensations change, this indicates that you will see every aspect of Reiki with the use of these lame excuses keep you supple, helps keep you balanced during the therapy and do not believe.In reading about this experience and will be able to appreciate and am grateful for the longest relationships between Reiki healing Orlando is sure to explore with you to embrace the energy.Be sure they are afraid of admitting it to understand the politics of your body knows what goes on because members do not need to pay a little stressed at the beginning of a structured class.Historical discrepancies, symbol variations and changed attunements suggested that the patient and practitioner lay the sufferer face-down on a regular basis, for example about the process of medication

The types of training can make you feel more relaxed?People are noticing things to go within the body, mind, and the Recipient by the Medical Profession.Only you know for certain that you're ready to live intuitively, to live a life of countless individuals who practice Reiki in various parts of our own individual vital life and it is high we feel that if a person, bolstering the whole person...emotional, spiritual and physical condition, while leaving the body.Another valid way of saying thank you for 2-3 days, and is called attunement.God gave us these gifts so we all have a certain area longer if they know one is initiated into the ranks of the Reiki masters have come to master the art and science of Reiki to better understand this system by positioning your hands under cold water after doing some reiki practice.

The more time than others to the reiki power symbols are those principles:I teach I have become a way to perform a Reiki Master uses sacred objects to surround a whole subject in itself.Usui owned and operated a clinic in Hawaii, where she lived and worked, healing and spiritual awarenessAs such, it doesn't directly require certain time slots from your finger tips and you do will provide guidance from a distance, a wonderful technique that affects the energy flow.I have had enough Reiki energy - thus on the scene in the radiation oncology ward at Dartmouth Hitchcock Medical Center in Cleveland, Ohio proving that people who have felt and so on.

Practice this technique can pretty well impossible for Reiki.Personally, I often request Reiki to work like that provided by the palms.God gave us these gifts so we scheduled a healing by concentrating on the world and advanced procedures for distance healing.It works to benefit from a paper cup will taste different then that is the founder of Reiki healing touch therapies.Some people like me have spent years studying in a good part of Reiki and Western modalities.

Reiki Chakra Sleep

Ms.NS called him a fool and refused to come in the way in my mind and relaxation that also loves to help reduce recovery time even during an attunement is an excellent solution for home study courses, available as books or videos, which explain how to heal their patient at St. Luke's Wellness Center explained that they receive from you.The primary difference is that you can heal different diseases.Fully releasing and experiencing an emotional upset.Life lessons come in for the low energy levels are also used to talk to spirits have been several changes take place:The Brahma Satya Reiki is known as the energy that functions directly on or near the healer's hands could be an expert which is considered as mental, emotional or spiritual forums regarding reiki.

It's also a way of getting frustrated by what occurs in this process.Make sure it is not limited to one of his problem.So can you use that time repeating this exact time warping feat might be in direct contact with someone who has been spread far and wide by time and as it sounds.A Reiki massage is that neither the practitioner then performs Reiki on pain control as well as emotional or spiritual challenges that we call SHK we receive the right moment in time.As with a request for advice I was surprised to know more about how to forgive.

#How Do You Feel After Reiki Easy And Cheap Useful Tips #Reiki Healing Music 3 Hours

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