#The Day when all the Miracle becomes Reality | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

supernotnatural2005 · 1 month ago

Text

Lebanon

Paring: Dean x Reader

Summary: A wish gone wrong right brings back a familiar face. However, you all soon discover it's not as simple as it seems when what you’ve all accomplished, and your family, hangs in the balance.

Word Count: 7.4k (yikes 😬)

Warnings/tags: Major spoilers!! S14 Ep 13 especially, angst, fluff, canon (semi) divergence, episode rewrite (kinda).

AN: Okay so this was a lovely request from an anon which you can read here. The summary of it was John interacting with his grandson, fathered by either Sam or Dean. Ofc I went with Dean on this one. Personally I struggled finding a way to fit this in and be faithful to the boy's journey. The only thing that felt right to me was what I have written. I hope that is okay anon? ❤️

Main Masterlist

You sit at the library table with Bobby, your three-year-old son, surrounded by scattered crayons and sheets of paper filled with colourful scribbles. His tiny fingers clutch a crayon tightly as he drags it across the page, his little tongue peeking out in deep concentration. His brows furrow—just like Dean’s do when he’s focused—and the sight tugs at something deep inside you.

“Good job, baby,” you murmur, smoothing a hand over his soft, sandy hair.

Even now, three years later, you still found yourself in awe of him. Of the fact that he was yours. That despite everything—despite the life you’d lived, the battles you’d fought, the countless times you weren’t sure you’d even see another day—you had him.

You never thought you’d even be able to have a kid after all the knocks your body had taken over the years. But then Bobby happened—an accident, sure, but never a mistake. Not once. And Dean… Dean had loved him from the second he knew he existed. He loved him with everything in him.

A lot had happened since you first met Dean. You’d bumped into him and Sam on a case years ago, all of you unknowingly hunting the same thing. Sparks flew instantly—partly from attraction, but mostly from the sheer force of your clashing egos. Neither of you were the type to back down. He was cocky, you were stubborn, and together, you were like gasoline to his flame.

But somewhere between the banter and the bickering, a friendship formed. The three of you started meeting up more, sharing research, trading expertise. And then, one night, that tension between you and Dean finally broke.

After that… Well, life never stopped moving.

Losing Bobby Singer. Dean being dragged to Purgatory. Losing him for a year. Getting him back. Then the angels fell. Metatron. Almost losing Sam. Sam being possessed by Gadreel. Losing Kevin. Losing Charlie. The Mark of Cain. Losing Dean again—only to get him back as a demon. Getting rid of the Mark, but unleashing something worse—God’s sister, the Darkness. Oh and God was Chuck? Then Mary came back. Then Lucifer and he had a son, Jack—a Nephilim who, against all odds, had become family. And then there was the discovery of other earths, alternate realities bleeding into their own, which had led you here.

To Michael.

And somehow, in the middle of all of that, you’d fell pregnant and raised a, now, three-year-old.

Bobby had been the one good, untouchable thing in all of it.

But since Michael… Everything was different, because of your son.

Dean had been in turmoil. He hid it well most days, but you saw it—in the clench of his jaw, the way he rolled his shoulders like he was trying to shake off a weight he couldn’t see.

Michael was still there, buried deep, locked away—for now. And that terrified him. Not just for himself, but for you. For Bobby. Because no matter how strong his will was, no matter how hard he fought to keep control, there was always that lingering fear…

What if the lock didn’t hold?

So you did what you always did. You held everything together. For him. For Bobby. For all of you.

Because no matter how much the world took from you, you still had each other.

And maybe—just maybe—you were still holding out for another miracle.

The heavy bunker doors creaked open, and Bobby’s head snapped up. His green eyes went wide with excitement, his crayon slipping from his grasp.

“Daddy!” he shouted, his voice ringing through the library.

You barely manage to help him down from his chair before he bolts, little legs pumping as fast as they can across the cold bunker floor. His tousled hair bounces with each hurried step, arms swinging as he races toward the only person in the world who could make him forget everything else.

Dean barely has time to brace himself before Bobby collides with him, tiny hands grabbing at his flannel. A tired but genuine laugh escapes Dean as he scoops him up with ease, holding him close. The exhaustion lining his face softens, replaced by something warm and unshakable.

“Hey, buddy,” Dean murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of Bobby’s head. “You miss me?”

Bobby nods enthusiastically, burying his face into Dean’s shoulder. “Uh-huh.”

The sight pulls at something deep in your chest—Dean, looking worn from whatever they’d just faced, but still lighting up the second he has his son in his arms. His perfect little double. The same green eyes, the same cluster of freckles dusting his little nose.

Sam steps forward, offering you a tired smile before ruffling Bobby’s hair. “Hey, little man.”

Bobby grins, immediately stretching his arms toward his uncle. Sam chuckles, taking him with ease, and Bobby squeals as he’s lifted high, giggling when Sam playfully swings him in the air. Your son has them both wrapped around his tiny fingers, and they don’t even try to hide it.

But your gaze flickers back to Dean, and you immediately notice the weight in his stance. The way he rolls his shoulders, like he’s trying to shake something off but can’t. The way his smile, as bright as it is for Bobby, doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“What happened?” you ask softly, stepping closer.

Dean and Sam exchange a look—silent, heavy, something unspoken passing between them. And then, after a beat, Dean finally meets your gaze.

“A Baozhu?” you echo, brows knitting together as you absorb everything Dean and Sam just told you. The day they’d had sounded like something straight out of a horror novel.

It started with them tracking down an old friend—well, former hunter—who had been murdered. His death led them to an antique shop owner who had a whole damn room full of occult objects. Dean had rattled off some of the inventory like a bad joke—dragon’s breath in a perfume bottle, a skull supposedly belonging to Sarah Good from the Salem witch trials.

And then, just when things couldn’t get crazier, a couple of idiot teenagers stole Baby, along with all the cursed artefacts they had loaded into the trunk. Dean’s jaw still ticked when he mentioned it, and you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing—because, yeah, it was serious, but the way he got so damn worked up about his car was just so him.

That would’ve been enough of a headache, but then came the kicker. One of the stolen objects contained a spirit. And not just any spirit—the ghost of John Wayne Gacy.

“Seriously?” you’d blurted when Sam told you. “Like, the John Wayne Gacy?”

“Yup,” Dean had muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Evil clown and all.”

Sam still looked a little queasy at the memory, and you knew why—his fear of clowns was legendary. But thankfully, the boys had handled it, no one got hurt, and the worst that came out of it was a couple of traumatised teenagers who now knew the truth about what lurked in the dark.

But out of everything, the most important discovery was the pearl.

Sam sits at the table now, flipping through an old lore book, his eyes scanning the pages. “It’s supposed to grant the user their heart’s greatest desire,” he explains. “Like a wish.”

You inhale sharply, the weight of those words pressing into your chest. “A wish? Like, an actual wish?”

Sam nods. “That’s what the lore says.”

Your mind starts racing. If it works… if Dean uses it…

You glance at him, and you can tell he’s already there, thinking the same thing. Michael. The archangel still locked inside his head, slowly eating away at him.

It hasn’t been easy. Not for him. Not for any of you. The sleepless nights, the migraines that leave him clutching his skull, the way his hands sometimes shake when he thinks no one’s looking. The moments where he just stares, zoning out, fighting a battle no one else can see. You’ve watched him struggle, pushing himself beyond his limits, trying to hold it together when you know he feels like he’s falling apart.

“Dean…” you murmur, reaching across the table, lacing your fingers through his. “You're sure?” You ask softly and his grip tightens, warm and solid. He exhales, steadying himself, his voice quiet but firm.

“Yeah,” he says, giving your hand a squeeze. “If this thing works—Michael’s gone. For good.”

All Dean had to do was hold the pearl and concentrate—wish Michael away for good. Simple.

But the moment he did, the bunker’s lights flickered violently, plunging the room into an eerie, stuttering darkness. Then, without warning, a deep, unnatural red glow pulsed around you, filling the air with a static charge that made the hairs on your arms stand on end.

Your breath hitched as you clutched Bobby tighter against your chest. His little fingers fisted into your shirt, his small body trembling.

“Dean?” you called, alarmed, but his sharp, commanding voice cut through the chaos.

“Take Bobby to our room. Now.”

The authority in his tone left no room for argument. Your heart pounded, panic clawing at your ribs, but keeping Bobby safe was all that mattered.

You turned and bolted down the hall, his small arms locked around your neck as you ran. Behind you, the sounds of grunting and scuffling echoed—something was happening, something bad.

“Mommy?” Bobby’s voice was small, uncertain, his wide green eyes shimmering with unshed tears. His bottom lip trembled, and the sight of it nearly broke you.

You placed him gently into his cot, cupping his soft cheeks between your palms, forcing yourself to smile. “Mommy’s just gonna make sure Daddy and Uncle Sammy are okay, alright?” You kept your voice steady, though your pulse pounded erratically.

Then, just as suddenly as it started, the bunker fell silent. The flickering lights steadied. The air no longer buzzed with electricity.

You swallowed hard.

“You’ll be my brave boy and stay here, yeah?”

Bobby hesitated, then gave you a small nod despite his fear. You kissed his forehead firmly, lingering just a second longer than usual, then forced yourself to pull away. You slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind you, willing your hands to stop shaking.

As you rounded the corner, your steps slowed, your breath catching in your throat.

Dean and Sam stood frozen in place, their expressions a mix of shock and something almost… reverent. But it wasn’t fear in their eyes. It was disbelief.

A man stood before them, his stance rigid, a gun poised tight in his grasp, not aiming, but gripped tight. He wasn’t Michael— you’d met that bastard before he possessed your boyfriend. No, this was someone else entirely.

“You boys better tell me what the hell is going on.” The stranger demanded, his voice deep, weary.

Your grip on your gun tightened as you raised it, the chamber clicking into place, shattering the heavy silence.

“I could ask you the same thing.” You demanded, voice steady despite the storm raging inside you.

All six pairs of eyes flickered to you at the sound of your voice, and the moment the strangers gaze met yours, a chill ran down your spine. You knew that face.

It took another heartbeat before the realisation struck like a freight train.

You’d seen him before. In the small collection of worn photographs Dean kept tucked away—memories of a childhood long gone.

John Winchester.

After leaving Dean, Sam, and John to catch up, you had gone to check on Bobby. He was still curled up in his cot, clutching the stuffed moose Sam had gotten him for Christmas last year. You’d learned quickly that it was his comfort toy, and seeing him holding onto it so tightly made your heart clench.

His green eyes found you instantly, and he climbed to the edge, making grabby hands. His bottom lip jutted out, a clear sign of distress.

You scooped him into your arms without hesitation, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Hey, sweetheart.” Your voice was soft as you ran a soothing hand over his back. Truthfully, you needed the comfort just as much as he did. John was back. Just when you thought life couldn’t get any crazier…

“Where’s Daddy?” Bobby mumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“He’s with Uncle Sammy and—” You hesitated. How exactly do you explain to a three-year-old that his grandfather—who’d been dead for over a decade in your timeline—was alive and plucked from another?

Bobby frowned. “I wanna see Daddy.”

His voice wobbled, and that was all it took for your hesitation to crumble. You weren’t sure if barging in with a toddler was the best timing, but Bobby didn’t understand that. Right now, he just wanted his dad.

“Alright.” You kissed his forehead. “Let’s go see him.”

He clung to you as you carried him down the hall, his little fingers curling into your shirt. As you neared the kitchen, low murmurs drifted through the doorway—John’s voice, rough and gravelly, eerily similar to your boyfriends.

“So, you’ve, um… been busy,” John said, amusement laced with something softer.

Before Dean could respond, Bobby stirred in your arms. The second he spotted his father, his whole face lit up.

“Daddy?”

The room fell silent.

Dean turned at the sound of his son’s voice, surprise flickering across his face before his eyes found yours. You mouthed a quick I’m sorry before setting Bobby down.

John’s gaze never left the toddler as he toddled toward Dean, arms reaching up without hesitation. Dean scooped him up with practiced ease, a small, uncertain smile tugging at his lips as Bobby buried his face in his neck.

John let out a slow breath, eyes flicking between you, Dean, and the boy in his son’s arms. His voice was quiet as he added.

“Really busy.”

There was no teasing in his tone. Just awe.

Dean swallowed, bracing himself. He wasn’t sure how John would take this—learning he was a grandfather, seeing a piece of Dean’s life he’d never expected to, but John’s eyes glistened with something unreadable, his throat working around words he couldn’t seem to find. Finally, his gaze softened.

“What’s his name?”

Dean hesitated for just a second before answering, shifting Bobby slightly. “Robert John Winchester.”

John inhaled sharply. His lips parted, but no words came. His gaze flickered between Dean and Bobby, something glassy and overwhelmed in his expression. Then, after a beat, he cleared his throat and reached out, hesitating.

His voice was quieter than before, rough but vulnerable.

“Can I?”

Dean held his gaze for a moment, then nodded.

Carefully, he passed Bobby over. John took him like he was made of glass—almost reverently—his arms wrapping securely around his grandson. Bobby, unaware of the weight of the moment, gripped onto John’s shirt with tiny fingers, tilting his head curiously.

John let out a shaky breath, one hand settling on Bobby’s back, the other gently cupping the small boy’s head. A tearful huff escaped him as he whispered, “Hey, little man.”

Bobby blinked up at him, studying his face with quiet curiosity. Then, slowly, his tiny hand reached out, cupping John’s cheek. John froze for a moment, his breath hitching as Bobby assessed him with those big green eyes—the same shade Dean’s had been at that age.

Then, Bobby giggled at the prickle of John’s beard, the sound breaking the heavy air in the room. A small, watery smile pulled at John’s lips as he let out a quiet chuckle, his hold on Bobby tightening just slightly.

You, Dean, and Sam couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

But after a moment, Bobby shifted, his little arms reaching back toward you. Instinctively, you stepped forward, and John, though reluctant, carefully handed him over.

His eyes lingered on you, then flickered to Dean and Bobby—his grandson, his son, this family he had never gotten the chance to know.

His voice was rough with emotion as he admitted, “I just… I just wish I’d been here to see it all.”

Dean’s throat tightened. He knew John wasn’t just talking about Bobby—he was talking about everything. The years they’d spent fighting, losing, surviving. The pain, the victories, all the impossible things that had led them here.

Dean met his father’s eyes, his voice steady when he said, “Dad, none of this would have happened without you.”

John looked at him then, really looked at him, his eyes flicking to you, to the boy in your arms, before landing back on Dean with a soft, knowing smile.

Then, as if needing to ground himself in something familiar, John let out a breathy chuckle. “Well, I went out taking out Yellow Eyes. I mean, that was the point, right? Get the thing that killed Mom.”

The shift was instant. You felt it in the way Dean’s grip on your hand tightened, in the way Sam tensed across the table. The air in the room seemed to still.

He didn’t know.

Dean and Sam exchanged a glance, the same realisation hitting them both at once.

And then, before anyone could figure out how to tell him, the bunker door creaked open.

“Boys? Y/N?” Mary called out and John’s face twisted in recognition and something deeper.

John turned as she approached, pausing in the doorway, eyes wide, breath catching the second she saw him.

For a moment, neither of them moved. They just stared. The kind of stare that cut through time, through decades, through life and death itself.

Then John stood and surged forward.

She barely had time to whisper his name before he was there, pulling her into his arms, kissing her like he’d never let her go.

It was raw, desperate, a reunion, decades in the making.

You felt Dean exhale beside you, his grip on your hand loosening as he watched his parents cling to each other like the world had stopped moving.

You met Sam’s gaze, then tipped your head toward the hall. A silent suggestion. He gave a small nod.

You turned back to Dean, giving him the same look, and he sighed before nudging his head toward the hallway.

Giving them this moment was the least you could do.

You followed Sam and Dean out of the kitchen, Bobby tucked securely in your arms. Dean let out a breathless chuckle, running a hand through his hair, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and exhilaration.

“It’s Dad,” he murmured, like saying it out loud might make it feel real. His eyes flickered between you and Sam, wide with wonder. “This is amazing. I’m—I’m freaking out.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam said, his own voice tinged with the same stunned disbelief. You met his gaze, both of you thinking the same thing.

Sam turned back to Dean, grounding him with a firm hand on his shoulder. “But Dean—Dean, listen.” His tone was steady, cautious. “How did this happen?”

Dean blinked, still reeling. “I—I don’t know,” he admitted, stumbling over the words. He was overwhelmed, barely holding onto the moment, and as much as you loved seeing him like this, you couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling in your gut. When did anything this good happen without consequences?

“You said the pearl gives you what your heart desires, right?” He continued, looking to Sam for confirmation, who nodded pensively, “so my heart desired—“ He shook his head, trying to articulate it clearly, “I’ve wanted this. Man, I've wanted this since I was four years old.”

Your hold on Bobby tightened, the weight of Dean’s words settling deep in your chest. His gaze lingered on you, desperate and vulnerable, like you were the only one who could truly grasp what this meant to him.

And you did.

Dean had carried this ache his whole life, a longing so deep it had shaped the man he became. How many nights had he wished for just one more moment? One more chance to have his dad back—to have his family whole again?

“Okay, I know,” Sam began, voice softer now, careful. “And I—I love this too, Dean, really I do…” He sighed, not in frustration but in that way that said he knew better. “But messing with time… You know how this ends. Things change—”

“Yeah, great—we got our family back together. I’ll take that change,” Dean interrupted, voice sharp with defensiveness. You could see the way his shoulders tensed, how his jaw clenched like he was bracing for a fight. And damn it, you wanted so badly to agree with him. To ignore the reality Sam was trying to lay out.

“That’s not what I mean—”

“Stop. Just stop, okay?” Dean cut in, his voice tighter now, more upset. He looked between you and Sam, his expression pleading. You knew he wasn’t delusional—just desperate. Desperate to hold onto something that never should’ve been taken from him in the first place.

“Look, can—can we just have one family dinner?” Dean’s voice cracked slightly as he exhaled, his walls barely holding up against the weight of this moment. “Just one. Us—All of us together. That’s all I want. Can you just give me that?”

Before either of you could respond, Dean turned on his heel, walking off, his frustration radiating from every step. He didn’t want to hear the truth. Not now.

And your heart broke for him.

Because even knowing what Sam was saying was right… What was so wrong with just one dinner?

Sam sighed, exasperated, his expression torn. He turned to you, searching for some kind of understanding, and you squeezed his hand gently.

“This means everything to him, Sam,” you murmured, your voice quiet but certain. “Just one dinner can’t hurt, right?” You weren’t just pleading for Dean—you were pleading for both of them. Because you knew how much this meant to Sam, too. Even if he didn’t want to admit it. Even if it hurt to be the one pointing out the reality of it all.

Sam let out a slow breath, shaking his head. “Yeah… maybe.” He gave you a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes, before squeezing your hand back. Then, with a sigh, he kissed Bobby’s head and walked off, leaving you standing there, staring after them—standing in the wake of something you couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

You found Dean in your shared room, shrugging on his jacket like he was heading out. He barely looked up at first, but the tension in his shoulders was unmistakable.

“Hey,” you said quietly, not sure if he still needed space or if he was ready to talk.

Dean hesitated for a second, then glanced your way, his expression softening just a little.

Bobby had started dozing off on the way to the room, his small head resting against your shoulder, warm and heavy with sleep. You carefully lowered him into his cot, tucking the blanket around him. He barely stirred, his little chest rising and falling steadily, completely lost to the world.

A quiet sigh left you as you straightened, only to startle when you felt Dean’s hands slide around your waist from behind. He pulled you in against him, resting his chin on your shoulder as he looked down at Bobby. You felt the deep inhale he took, like he was trying to memorise this moment—like he was afraid to blink and lose it.

When he finally turned you in his arms, his hands found your hips, his forehead pressing to yours in that familiar way that made the world go quiet. You let out a slow breath, your fingers instinctively sliding up his arms before wrapping around his back, holding onto him just as tightly as he was holding onto you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice rough with emotion.

You shook your head, but he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his hands tightening on you like he needed you to hear this.

“I really did wish for Michael to be gone,” he admitted, his voice hoarse. “But I guess… this just won over that.” His lips pressed together like he still couldn’t believe it, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

“My whole family—together again. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. And after Bobby was born…” His voice broke just slightly, and he let out a shaky breath, eyes flickering to his sleeping son with something deeper, something that made your heart ache. “God, I wanted it even more.”

You lifted a hand, cupping his cheek, bringing him back to you. His stubble scratched against your palm as he leaned into your touch, his lashes fluttering shut for a moment like he was grounding himself in it.

“Dean,” you whispered, aching for him.

He opened his eyes again, searching yours, something pleading in them. “I know the risks,” he said, his voice barely above a murmur. “But just for tonight… I just wanna pretend.” His fingers traced soft, absentminded circles against your lower back, his forehead still pressed to yours. “Pretend this is how it’s supposed to be.”

Your throat tightened, your chest aching with how much you understood. How could you not? You knew what it meant to him. Knew what it was like to want something so badly it hurt.

So instead of answering, you kissed him.

Soft, slow, tender.

Dean melted into it immediately, his hands gripping you tighter, like he was afraid you might slip away. His lips were warm, familiar, desperate in a way that made you feel like you were the only thing holding him together. You let yourself sink into it, let yourself pour every bit of understanding, every ounce of love into that kiss.

When you finally pulled back, his breath was uneven, his forehead dropping against yours once more. His hands lingered at your waist, his thumbs brushing gently over your sides.

“I was just gonna grab a list of ingredients from Mom,” he murmured after a beat, his lips ghosting over yours. “She wants to make dinner.”

You huffed out a soft laugh, your fingers carding through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. “Then I guess you better go make sure she has everything.”

He smiled against you, but there was something fragile in it, something that made you brush your lips against his one last time before stepping back, your arms slipping from around him reluctantly.

Dean lingered a moment, like he wasn’t quite ready to let go, before finally heading for the door.

For tonight, you’d let him have this.

For tonight, you’d pretend too.

After Dean left, you turned to one of your most reliable coping mechanisms—cleaning. If your hands were busy, your mind had less room to spiral.

You started small, straightening the blankets on the bed, smoothing out every wrinkle with practiced hands. You fluffed the pillows next, then folded Dean’s shirt—the one he’d tossed carelessly over the chair earlier. The fabric was warm from the heat of him, smelling like him, like home. You exhaled, a quiet ache settling in your chest.

Then there were Bobby’s tiny socks on the floor. You picked them up, rolling them together, a soft smile tugging at your lips despite the weight pressing down on you. It was funny, really. You were standing in the middle of another damn apocalypse, juggling the chaos of archangels and time travel, but here you were, folding laundry like it could anchor you.

But no matter how much you focused on the small, mundane tasks in front of you, the worry still crept in. About what came next. Not just with John but Michael, too.

A sudden knock at the door shattered your thoughts. You flinched slightly, blinking as you turned.

And then you saw him.

John Winchester stood in the doorway, shoulders squared, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He was the same man from the stories—the ones whispered among hunters, the ones Bobby had grumbled about over a glass of whiskey. And yet, he wasn’t.

You knew enough about him to form an opinion. Maybe more than an opinion. You resented him for what he put his boys through, for the way he shaped them into men who never got to just be. And yet... you understood grief. Knew how it could twist a person into something unrecognisable. You had lost Dean before—more than once—and each time, the world blurred at the edges, reality tilting until you weren’t sure how to stand up straight again.

John was staring at you now, his expression unreadable. But something in his eyes—something raw—made your breath hitch.

“I’m sorry to interrupt.” His voice was rough, quieter than you expected. He raised a hand, almost apologetic.

You shook your head, straightening. “No, it’s fine.” You set a folded pair of Dean’s jeans on the bed and turned to give him your full attention.

His gaze lingered on the crib. You followed his line of sight, your lips twitching at the edges. You supposed it must be surreal—coming from a time when his sons were much younger, still in the thick of his mission, only to find himself here, where Dean was not just a man, not just a hunter, but a father.

John exhaled, shaking his head slightly. Then, with a small, almost hesitant smile, he looked at you. “You know, I owe you a thank you.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “For what?”

“For taking care of my boys.” His voice was steady, but you could hear the weight behind it. “For giving Dean something real.”

Your throat tightened.

John glanced at the crib again before meeting your gaze. “I know I should’ve been—could’ve been—a better father to ‘em.” His jaw clenched, his voice thick with something heavy. “But seeing Dean with Bobby... It’s proof of how much better he turned out than I ever could’ve hoped.”

He took a slow step forward, stopping just short of the crib. He didn’t reach for it, didn’t intrude, just stood there, watching his grandson sleep. His fingers curled into his palms at his sides, like he wasn’t sure if he had the right to be here.

The hardened hunter was gone. In his place was a man who carried the weight of too many regrets.

“You weren’t always a good father,” you admitted, voice even but not unkind. “You did things that left scars. On both of them.”

John nodded, accepting it without argument. He didn’t try to justify himself. Didn’t try to fight you on it.

“But they’re still here,” you continued. “Despite everything, they’re still standing.” You huffed a quiet, almost bitter laugh. “And knowing them, they’d probably say they’re proud to be your sons.”

John’s throat bobbed, his gaze flickering with something close to pain.

He let out a breath. “Yeah.” A beat of silence. “I’m proud to be their father, too.”

For the first time since you met him, you saw it. Not the soldier, not the myth—but the man.

And before either of you could say anything more, the bunker door creaked open.

The boys were back.

“A temporal paradox.”

John repeated the words slowly, almost like he was testing them out, rolling them around in his mind. There was a hint of a smile on his lips, like he couldn’t quite believe it. But that glimmer of amusement was fleeting. The weight of the situation pressed down, the reality of what it all meant sinking in fast.

During Dean and Sam’s trip into town, they were faced with all the reasons why you should never mess with time. It wasn’t just that things were different—it was that if they didn’t undo what Dean had unintentionally wished, they could lose a hell of a lot more.

“That’s what Sam’s calling it.” Dean shook his head, huffing out a small breath. “Egghead.”

John chuckled softly, a flicker of something warm in his expression. But then, as quickly as it came, the smile faded. The truth settled in. He’d suspected as much.

“Basically, uh,” Dean started, exhaling through his nose, like the words were heavier than he expected. “If you don’t go back, Sam never gets into the life, and Mom, she, uh…” He trailed off for a second, his throat tightening.

John’s expression shifted—something sad, something knowing.

“Well, without everything that we did, with God, the Darkness… she never comes back.”

Dean cast his gaze downward, the words pressing into his chest like a tone of bricks. He’d already told you, and you’d left him to have this moment with his father while you tended to a restless Bobby. But saying it now, out loud, made it all feel so much more real.

“And, uh—” His voice wavered, betraying him. John caught it immediately, and his face softened in a way that Dean wasn’t used to.

“What?”

Dean swallowed hard. “I never meet Y/N,” he admitted, voice raw. “And, uh… Bobby is never born.”

John let out a slow breath, nodding in understanding. “Sam thinks they’ll just fade away,” Dean added, his voice barely above a whisper, and the silence that followed was suffocating.

John then looked at him—really looked at him. His mind already made up. No hesitation. No second thoughts.

“Okay.”

Dean blinked, caught a little off guard. “Okay?”

John nodded again, firmer this time. “I mean, me versus your Mom? Your family?” He scoffed slightly, shaking his head. “That’s—That’s not even a choice.”

Dean looked away, but nodded in agreement. Despite how impossible of a choice this was, his heart and soul had already picked you and his son.

John studied him for a long moment, his sharp gaze flickering with understanding before he tilted his head slightly. “Does she know?”

Dean exhaled. “Sam’s telling her now.”

Before anything else could be said, the quiet moment was broken by the sound of tiny, excited babbling from the hall. Bobby.

Dean and John both instinctively turned toward the sound, and despite the weight of everything hanging over them, a small smile pulled at their lips.

“I think that’s your cue,” John chuckled, the warmth in his voice unmistakable.

Dean let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah.”

With that, Dean turned, already set on making a beeline for you—until John’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Dean.”

Dean hesitated, glancing back.

“I, uh…” John exhaled slowly. “I never meant for this.”

Dean shook his head immediately. “Dad, we pulled you here.”

“No, son.” John’s voice was steady, unshakable. “My fight. It was supposed to end with me, with Yellow Eyes. But now you—” He trailed off, eyes scanning Dean’s face like he was taking him in for the first time. Like he was seeing just how much his son had lived through, how much he had lost, how much he had become, and Dean held his breath.

“You’re a grown man,” John said, voice quieter now, but no less firm. A small, almost wistful smile touched his lips. “And I am incredibly proud of you.”

Dean swallowed hard.

For years—his whole damn life, really—he had chased those words, hunted them down in every action, every sacrifice, every order he had followed without question. He’d needed them more than he ever wanted to admit.

And now, hearing them…

He didn’t know what the hell to do with them.

John let out a breath, shaking his head slightly. “I guess I always hoped, eventually, you’d get yourself a normal life. A peaceful one.” His lips twitched in something between amusement and regret. “But you did get a family. And boy, what a wonderful one you got.”

Dean’s chest ached. Not in the painful way it usually did, but in something lighter, something warmer, and he nodded, voice thick. “I really do.”

John placed a hand on his shoulder, firm and steady. His eyes were glassy, his expression proud, happy, even.

They held each other’s gaze for a long moment before they both let out small chuckles, both clearly not used to this kind of open emotion between them.

John cleared his throat, smiling. “Alright. What’s next?”

Dean patted his dad’s shoulder, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

“We eat.”

The library was quiet—too quiet. The usual warmth of the bunker felt dimmed, weighed down by the unspoken grief hanging thick in the air. The large wooden table was set with plates of home-cooked food, a rare sight among the usual takeout containers and beer bottles. Dishes of mashed potatoes, roast chicken, green beans, and cornbread were carefully laid out, though none of it seemed as comforting as it should have been.

At the head of the table, Bobby sat in his high chair, blissfully unaware of the heartbreak surrounding him. He kicked his little feet, happily munching on soft baby carrots, babbling to himself between bites. The sound was a bright contrast to the silence of the adults, their appetites dulled by the weight of what was to come.

Mary sat beside John, her hands resting in her lap, her gaze downcast. Her expression was unreadable—except to those who knew her well. The tight set of her jaw, the slight furrow of her brow, the way her fingers curled into the fabric of her sleeve—it was grief, raw and quiet. She was trying to hold herself together, but you could see the cracks forming. Your heart ached for her, for all of them.

Dean sat beside you, his posture tense, his grip on his fork loose. Sam sat next to him, his lips pressed into a thin line, eyes darting between his parents. No one knew what to say.

And then, John cleared his throat.

“Near as I can tell, we have two choices,” he announced, his voice steady but thick with meaning. He looked around the table, making sure each of you heard him. “All right, we can think about what’s coming, or we can be grateful for this time that we have together.”

A smile ghosted his lips as he reached for Mary’s hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. The tenderness in his touch, the way she squeezed back with slightly trembling fingers—it was enough to make your throat tighten.

“Now me,” John went on, his voice quieter, but firm, “I choose grateful.”

He lifted Mary’s hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to her skin. The small, simple act of love shattered something inside you, and before you could stop it, a tear slipped down your cheek. You discreetly wiped it away, exhaling a shaky breath—until you felt Dean’s hand slip into yours under the table.

His grip was firm, grounding, his thumb tracing gentle circles against your skin. When you looked at him, his eyes were shining—not just with unshed tears, but with love, with quiet adoration. His lips quirked into a barely-there smile, as if to say I’ve got you. And you squeezed his hand back, a silent I know.

John cleared his throat, straightening in his seat. “So, to whatever brought us together,” he said, voice rough with emotion. “We owe you one. Amen.”

You swallowed hard and echoed softly, “Amen.”

John’s gaze landed on you, warm and grateful, before Dean murmured his own amen, followed by Mary and Sam.

And then, as if on cue, Bobby lifted his sippy cup with both hands, grinning as he let out his own version of an, Amen, but without the A. The moment of it—so innocent, so sweet—broke the tension, and laughter rippled through the room, soft but genuine.

Dean chuckled, kissing his son's head, lingering a little before lifting his own beer bottle, and with a glance around the table, everyone followed suit, toasting together.

The warmth lingered long after the laughter had settled, weaving through the quiet moments that followed. Plates clinked softly as forks scraped up the last bites of dinner, the heavy weight of earlier conversations giving way to something lighter—something cherished.

Bobby remained in John’s lap for the rest of dinner, small hands grabbing at whatever was within reach. He giggled happily, his little voice rising and falling as he gestured animatedly, as if telling the most important story in the world. John listened intently, nodding along, his expression soft in a way rarely seen. Mary reached over, brushing Bobby’s soft, blonde hairs from his forehead, her smile tender, her eyes brimming with emotion as she watched her husband and grandson together.

Across the table, you and Dean sat close, his arm draped around you, his thumb moving in slow, absentminded strokes against your shoulder. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way he exhaled deeply, soaking it all in. When Bobby let out a bright burst of laughter—pure, unfiltered joy—your heart clenched.

Dean must have felt it too because he pressed a lingering kiss to the side of your head, his lips warm against your temple. When you turned to meet his gaze, his eyes were already on you—shining, full of something deep and unspoken. He didn’t need to say anything. It was all there.

The moment stretched, the low hum of conversation, the occasional bursts of laughter, the soft clatter of dishes—it all melted together into something perfect. Sam leaned back in his chair, watching with quiet amusement as Bobby shoved a piece of bread into John's mouth, earning a chuckle from the older man. Mary shook her head fondly, her fingers tracing small circles on John's forearm.

It was a picture of something rare.

A family—whole, just for now.

The air felt impossibly heavy, thick with unspoken words and the weight of what was about to happen. The time they had borrowed was running out.

John turned to Mary, his eyes soft, glassy with unshed tears. He reached for her, brushing a strand of golden hair behind her ear before cradling her face in his rough hands. "My girl," he whispered, voice thick with emotion.

A choked sound left Mary's throat as she closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. They kissed—slow, lingering, as if they could hold back time just a little longer. Your heart clenched as you clutched Bobby closer, rocking him slightly as if to soothe both him and yourself.

When John turned to you, his expression was unreadable for a moment, but then, with a tremble in his voice, he asked, "May I?" He gestured toward Bobby, and your throat tightened as you nodded, tears spilling over. Carefully, you passed your son to him, watching as John pulled Bobby close, pressing his lips to the little boy’s hair.

"I'm so grateful I got to meet you, buddy," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. Bobby blinked up at him, small hands reaching out to cup John's scruffy cheeks. The gesture made everyone smile through their tears, the sheer innocence of it grounding them all in the moment. John closed his eyes, pressing another lingering kiss to the top of Bobby's head before exhaling shakily.

When he looked back at you, his expression was serious, but not heavy. There was something lighter in his gaze now, something settled. "You watch out for these boys, yeah?"

You swallowed past the lump in your throat and nodded. "Always."

John lingered, giving Bobby one last kiss before handing him back to you. As you stepped away, Dean's hands found yours, holding tight, grounding you as you passed.

Then, John turned to his sons.

"I'm so proud of you boys," he said, voice breaking, eyes shining as he looked between them. The words hung in the air, sinking in deep, and neither Sam nor Dean could stop the tears from spilling over as they stepped into their father’s embrace. He held them tight, arms wrapped fiercely around them, as if trying to memorise the feeling, as if trying to make up for lost time in a single moment.

You couldn't hold back your own tears as Bobby nuzzled into you, his small arms wrapping around your neck. He didn’t fully understand what was happening, but he sensed your sadness, and in his own little way, he was comforting you.

John stepped back, his fingers intertwining with Mary’s as he took one last look at his family. His gaze swept over all of you—his boys, his grandson, you—before he nodded, a final acceptance settling in his features.

"Okay," he murmured, squeezing Mary’s hand. "Okay. I'm ready."

Sam hesitated for only a moment before he laid the pearl on the table and then the sharp crack of breaking glass echoed through the quiet space.

Everyone watched in wonder and sadness as John Winchester faded into nothingness.

A heavy silence followed, the air still trembling with his absence. But as the initial grief settled, something else remained—a sense of peace, fragile but real.

And yeah, maybe this wasn’t how things were meant to be. Dean’s wish had rewritten fate. But if it gave them this—a chance to say what had been left unsaid, to mend wounds that had ached for too long—then maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

AN: Okay so this one was a long boi 😅. But I would love to know everyone's thoughts? Did you think this fit well for the request? Also I know John Winchester is a bit of a sensitive topic, not everyone likes him and it's understandable, but I feel I catered more to his human side a little here. Plus this episode was pretty heartbreaking. Anywho I hope you guys enjoyed and thank you anon for the request! 💕

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter

@tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2

@deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown

@jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @cevansbaby-dove @shadysoulangel

@piptoost @star-yawnznn @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27

@idontwannabehere78 @maddie0101 @kr804573 @shadysoulangel @mrs-nesmith

@zepskies @ohheyguyss @suckitands33 @ultimatecin73 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess

@arcannaa @aylacavebear @bobbdylann @jaredpadonlyyyy @waynes-multiverse

@impala67stellawinchester @youroldfashioned @bonbonnie88 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @bejeweledinterludes

@rach5ive @ladysparkles78 @globetrotter28 @kayleighwinchester @amberlthomas

#supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x you #Sam Winchester #john winchester #jensen ackles #spnfamily #spn #spn fanfic #anon request #gifs not mine

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downthe-f4ndom-rabbith0le · 3 months ago

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Always Been You (Dick Grayson x Reader) - Chapter 10

Always Been You (Dick Grayson x Reader) Reader Insert: she/her pronouns Word Count: 4806 Warnings: death, violence, fighting, bloody wounds, angst, infuriatingly oblivious love interest, slowburn Spoilers: Young Justice Seasons 1-3 plot partially, but it ended in 2022 so catch up.

Y/N Prince - miracle daughter of Wonder Woman and Steve Trevor - and Dick Grayson - first adoptive son of the Batman himself - have been best friends since day one. They went to school together, trained together, kept each other's alter ego secret from everyone else, and they founded the Young Justice alongside their friends together.

But as time progressed, Y/N and Dick grew up and Y/N found herself wanting more than friendship with Dick. But he never seemed to indicate that he reciprocated her feelings. And when Wally died and Dick abandoned the team, Y/N realised he never would. So she heads to the one place she knows will help her become a stronger warrior so that one day she can take her mother's place: Themyscira.

Two years after his leave, Dick reaches out to his old friends to help him with a mission. But when he finds out Y/N left too, he chases after her in the hopes to bring her back.

However, when the two finally reunite, it isn't as warm as he hopes. Not to mention Themyscira becomes under siege as they go to war against Echidna, the Mother of Monsters in Greek Mythology, and her army of monstrous children.

Will Dick and Y/N be able to put their past behind them and save the Amazonians' homeland? Or will they fall, unable to tell one another their true feelings?

~~~

'Y/N.'

Y/N didn't look back, too busy focusing on what was in front of her as she made her way from the empty courtyard towards the palace. Her armour clinked; her footsteps bounced from pillar to pillar; the screams of her fallen sisters still rung in her ears.

'Y/N, wait a second.'

As she made her way inside, Y/N found the halls filled with the wounded, bleeding, dismembered, many crying and many covering their fallen in respectful white cloths. Many turned to her as she walked by them, red-rimmed eyes pleading at her.

'Princess,' they murmured as she walked past them by way of acknowledgement, but also with misplaced hope. All Y/N could do was keep walking but she could never escape their sorrowful eyes, their bloodied hands they held out to her.

This is all my fault. This is all my fault.

'Y/N, hold up.'

So she turned her head forward and increased her pace, avoiding anymore contact from the helpless and damned because what could she offer them but more empty promises and death?

The cold reality that the Amazons might not win against Echidna settled cold and deep inside her, and that spurred her on towards the Strategy Room.

'Y/N!'

Y/N was finally forced to a halt when a hand wrapped around her wrist and pulled her to a stop. Having finally stopped, Y/N noticed they were at the top of the same set of stairs that they'd argued with each other on that second night Dick was on Themyscira.

Begrudgingly, she turned around to face Dick, who looked up at her with concern and worry in his eyes. 'Hey, he said softly, taking a step upwards. 'You okay?'

'I don't have time for this,' Y/N said with a strained voice and tried pulling away. She wanted to be anywhere but there in that moment.

'Yes, you do,' Dick insisted, tightening his hold on her wrist and forcing her to face him again. 'I mean, come on, you just saw your friends die before you. You have to be feeling some sort of way.'

'Yes, thank you for reminding me of my failures, Dick,' Y/N spat back. 'Thank you for reminding me that I just killed all those women and young girls. That I lead them to their deaths and did nothing to save them!'

Dick finally let go of her wrist, but his disbelieving gaze held her in place. She never could escape those big blue eyes of his.

'It's not your fault, Y/N,' he said slowly, carefully. 'You're not the one that killed them.'

'Didn't I though?' The faces of the fallen flashed behind her eyes, and the begging of the young girl pounded in her ears. 'I incited this war with Echidna; I made those women believe we could win, that they would live. And when they begged for my help, begged for that power from last night...'

Y/N hiccuped as she felt tears well in her eyes. But she swallowed her sobs, held the tears back. She had no right to cry, to feel sad. She wasn't among those slaughtered and burned alive.

She wasn't dead.

Once her resolve had returned, Y/N said to Dick in a clinical voice, 'I refuse to lead anymore Amazons to their deaths. There will be no more bloodshed from our side.'

'But how are you going to ensure that, unless...' Realisation dawned on Dick's face and Y/N hated the guilt that arose in her from the sight. 'No, you can't just give up. You can't just surrender to Echidna.'

'What other choice do I have, Dick?' Y/N argued. 'There is no defeating a hydra of that size and ability without losing hundreds more. There is no defeating Echidna when she can just summon more of her monstrous children. I was a fool to think otherwise and it has cost us hundreds of innocent and good warriors.'

'You can choose to fight!' Dick said, his tone exasperated. 'You can choose to stand your ground and defend your home, your family.'

'At what cost, though? I have led too many to their deaths already. Calliope was injured greatly just now and I couldn't stand it if... if you...' Y/N didn't even want to finish the thought, so bit her tongue and looked away.

Dick remained silent for a moment and Y/N hated to think of what he might be thinking. 'If there is anything I have learnt from being here, it is that an Amazon would rather die than give up.'

It might've been the truth, but all Y/N felt was hurt and betrayal. 'Are you saying I'm not an Amazon?' she asked pointedly.

'Not a true one at the moment, no,' Dick answered.

'How dare you!' Y/N stepped closer to Dick until her finger was so close to his chin she could feel his haggard breath on it. 'I am the Princess of Themyscira. I am doing what is best for my people to ensure their survival!'

'At what cost, though?' Dick asked, seemingly unbothered by her finger. 'You would abandon your values and thousands of years worth of Amazon glory and sacrifice in one moment of fear?'

'What, like you abandoned the team when you were scared?'

Dick's face darkened at the low jab, but Y/N couldn't care. She was hurting, and she would make him hurt too.

Y/N dropped her finger and took one step closer. They were eye level now despite Dick being the step down from the landing. 'You don't get to judge me, Grayson,' Y/N hissed, never breaking eye contact with him. 'I am doing what is in my people's best interests the best way I know how to right now. And if you can't get around that, then I suggest you swim your way back to the mainland and pray you don't get eaten because you are of no further use to me.'

They glared at each other for a few moments longer, both of them breathing laboriously. Y/N knew whoever broke first would concede the fight and Y/N was sick of losing to Richard "Dick" Grayson.

Eventually, Dick looked away defeated and Y/N released a small sigh of relief.

'That settles it then,' she murmured, then turned to continue her journey to the Strategy Room.

'If you think you can strike a deal with Echidna that will spare the Amazons, then that is what makes you a fool,' Dick called out to her just before she turned the corner, his words tainted by anger and disappointment.

Y/N paused at the corner, frozen by the implication of his words. Coward. Pathetic. Weak.

If only he knew this was all for him too, she thought as she turned to face him one last time.

'Call me what you want,' she said weakly. 'I don't find any merit in the words of a hypocrite.'

It was a low blow, she knew, and it twisted something inside her when she saw Dick's face drop with shame and betrayal. There was no going back now, though. And so she took her injured heart and rounded the corner, leaving Dick standing wounded on the steps for a second time.

Once she rounded another corner, Y/N finally allowed her tears to fall. She allowed herself to feel her guilt, to feel her grief. Hopelessness and shame threatened to swap her at the thought of what she was going to do.

But what other choice did she have?

She couldn't answer that question, as she arrived at the doors to the Strategy Room. Y/N took in a deep breath and dried her eyes as best as possible before opening the doors.

Upon entering, she found the other generals except for Calliope standing around the round map table, her grandmother among them. Their discussions paused as they saw her, and by their expressions she didn't look to be in a good state. Y/N went to speak, went to bring up her warrior facade so that she may address them, but she couldn't do it.

The silence broke when Queen Hippolyta said softly, 'Everybody, please excuse me and my granddaughter. Now.'

The generals rushed to leave, all of them giving Y/N a gentle pat on her shoulders in slight comfort as they did. Y/N didn't respond. She didn't take her eyes off her grandmother, even when the doors closed and it was just them.

Slowly, Queen Hippolyta made her way around the table to stand in front of Y/N. Y/N only realised she was shaking when her grandmother gently took her hands into her own. Only then did she looked down to her grandmother.

'I sense a heavy burden has fallen upon you,' Queen Hippolyta said, her tone sad. 'What is it that troubles you, my dear?'

'I fear we will not survive this war, Grandmother,' Y/N admitted, her words strained as she resisted crying again. 'Echidna... I was too bold to think we could fight a god.'

Queen Hippolyta lead the two of them to a nearby lounge where they sat and held each other's hands. Y/N was grateful for the reprieve on her legs. She hadn't realised how tired she was until then.

'So, what do you plan on doing next?' Queen Hippolyta asked.

Y/N took a deep breath before explaining. 'I plan to confront Echidna... and make a deal with her to spare us.' Her grandmother's face darkened with offence and just as she opened her mouth to protest, Y/N interrupted. 'And before you argue, yes I know that this is the coward's choice. But I see no other way for the Amazons to survive unless we call for some kind of truce.'

'And what do you plan to offer her in order to achieve this?' Queen Hippolyta huffed with indignation.

'Myself,' Y/N answered. 'I will offer my life up so that she spares everyone else's. Gods love their deals.'

'Yes they do. But they also love breaking them,' Queen Hippolyta said, her tone frustrated. 'What's to stop Echidna from killing the rest of us when you are killed, huh? surely not their conscious, or should I say lack there-of. Who will be there to stop her from wiping us when she wipes you from this earth completely?'

Y/N went to argue but found she had nothing to argue with. She was naive to think a god as nefarious and vengeful as Echidna would ever uphold a deal made with a mere mortal.

'Then what am I to do, Grandmother?' she pleaded. 'I see no other way out of this mess that doesn't end up killing most if not all of us.'

'Then we will die,' Queen Hippolyta said, her grip tightening over Y/N's hands. 'But we will die as the warriors that Athena made us to be. Not the cowards Echidna thinks we are.'

Tears rolled down Y/N's face and sobs threatened to suffocate her as reality hit. 'Oh my dear,' the Queen cooed and pulled Y/N into her arms as the tears and sobs overtook her.

'I just... I just wanted to save them,' Y/N said as she clutched onto her grandmother. 'They don't deserve to die. All those girls out there... I couldn't help them.'

'You cannot save everyone, Y/N. You should know this better than anyone.' The Queen pulled away from the hug and Y/N sat up straight, looking at her grandmother wide-eyed. The Queen reached out to Y/N's cheek and wiped the remaining tears away.

'But all is not lost yet. You still have some warriors, you still have that boy of yours, and you still have your power.'

Y/N gave the Queen a confused expression but all her grandmother did was smile knowingly. 'News travels fast, you know. I heard what happened on the beach. It was quite impressive what you did.'

'But it's not my power,' Y/N countered. 'And when I asked for Athena's help again just now, nothing happened and I couldn't help those girls.'

'You think the power belongs to Athena?' the Queen asked, an amused laugh escaping her briefly.

'What? What's so funny?' Y/N asked, completely confused now.

'Athena is our creator, dear, but like most gods she does not help her children,' her grandmother explained. 'That power you used on the beach was not from Athena, but yourself.'

'From me?'

The Queen nodded. 'Your mother tapped into her power around your age, as did I, and my mother before me. We come from a long line of women who are able to tap into their inner strength, a magical gift from Athena's DNA. Not only do we posses her strategic mind and knack for combat, but we are blessed with her strength and power. It usually arises in a time of great need. But it only comes when the warrior is fully aware and accepting of they are. A True Warrior.'

The Queens squeezed Y/N's hand and smiled proudly at her. 'You have the makings of a True Warrior, Y/N. But you let fear and doubt influence your decisions too much. You fear loss and a broken heart, but I can tell you right now that none of those women who have died today or even millennia before that regret their decision to fight. Not a single person outside of this room, including that boy of yours, isn't willing to fight for this island and fight with you. All you have to do is lead them.'

'But what if I all I lead them to is their deaths?' Y/N asked quietly, almost too scared to hear the answer.

'All empires must come to an end, and maybe this time is ours,' her grandmother replied, 'but we will go out as warriors defending our homes... and the ones we love.'

She said that last part very pointedly and pang of guilt surged through Y/N. 'He's not my boy,' Y/N said, wiping a stray tear away. 'Not now anyways. If he ever was to begin with, that is.'

'Of course he is,' her grandmother interjected. 'When you love someone, you don't give up on them so easily.'

Y/N stared at her grandmother shocked. the implication of her words had Y/N's thoughts turning around so fast she could barely think a single thought except for one.

'Dick loves me?' she asked.

Her grandmother sighed in frustration. 'I love you, but you are more oblivious than your mother some days. Of course he loves you. He wouldn't have sailed the world's oceans trying to find an unfindable place otherwise. He wouldn't have helped train the other warriors if he didn't. And he wouldn't have stayed to fight this evil, knowing full well that he might not live long enough to see home again, if he didn't feel that way about you.'

Y/N could hardly breathe as her grandmother piled the evidence up. For so long she had believed he felt nothing romantic for her, but her grandmother was putting forward a convincing argument.

'But- But he's never indicated that he feels that way,' Y/N tried arguing, although she couldn't help the little flutter of excitement in her heart.

'Trust me, dear, he has. Whether he knows it or not yet, he loves you. And I think you better tell him how you feel in case this war goes further south. Don't you?'

Y/N sat with her thoughts for a moment. It was hard to comprehend that Dick Grayson, her best friend and the love of her life, actually reciprocated her feelings. But whether she accepted it or not, her grandmother was right about one thing.

'I will,' Y/N said, her mind clear, her resolve strong. 'After we come up with a plan to get rid of that hydra outside and then Echidna.'

'You've changed your mind?' the Queen asked.

Y/N nodded. 'You're right. If we die, we die as who we are, not as Echidna wants us to be. But we are not dead yet, and we are Amazon warriors, meaning we have the tactical minds of Athena herself.'

'Meaning?' her grandmother asked.

Y/N smirked. 'Meaning... I am sure we can come up with a plan or two to send Echidna and her monstrous children back to the hell in which they came from.,'

Her grandmother embraced Y/N once more and squeezed her tight. 'That's my girl.' When they pulled apart, she asked, 'Now, what did you have in mind?'

~~~

Dick sat in the infirmary beside a resting Calliope whose hands were bandaged in the hopes they would heal in time for the next wave of attacks from Echidna. All those who laid in the infirmary were hopeful to rejoin the fight. But as Dick sat there, looking around at the bleeding, the dismembered, the dead, he couldn't help but think they all were wishful thinkers.

'It's alarming, isn't it,' Calliope from her propped-up position on her cot. 'How quickly a battle can go south. How so many people can end up in a place like this after just one day of fighting.'

'I've been in battles before,' Dick replied, though his voice felt distant when he spoke, like it was coming from someone else. 'I've dealt with casualties before, just... never to this scale.'

Calliope huffed with weak amusement. 'Then you are a lucky warrior. But I guess we are lucky too. For a time, this was our people's normal. We train here most of our lives and never see battle. The younger ones crave it, but us older ones know to be grateful. War is not something I wish to experience my whole life.'

Dick hummed in agreement, reflecting on his own life. Since he was ten, he'd known violence. Befriended it in a weird way. Back when he was with the team - and even when he left - he always craved action. But Calliope was right; he should've been more grateful for the quiet times, the times of peace. That's what the Justice League and the Young Justice team were for anyways.

To fight against injustice, and keep the peace.

Breaking his thoughts, Calliope rested a bandaged hand upon his own that rested on her bedside. 'It does not do one well to dwell on the past,' she said, a knowing smile softening her usually stoic features. 'But I guess it is hard to look to the future when the past is constantly around you.'

She gave Dick a pointed look, and Dick sighed as he pulled his hands away from hers. 'My relationship with Y/N doesn't matter right now.'

His heart dropped as he recalled their earlier fight. How desperate and frightened she'd been but wouldn't let him in. It hurt him to think he couldn't help her, but everything she'd thrown at him, he knew she'd meant it. Perhaps she'd finally allowed herself to say the things she'd never allowed herself to say about him until then.

Deep down, under all her armour and strength, she hated him. She hated him for leaving, for abandoning the team.

'In fact,' he continued sadly, 'I don't think I have a relationship with Y/N anymore.'

It broke his heart to think of all the years they'd been together, all the triumphs they'd shared and all the failures they'd had to rise from together. To think that all of that was gone just because he got mad at her for trying to do the right thing by her people? He was a fool, a damn fool.

'That's the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard, mortal,' Calliope injected so matter-of-factly that Dick looked up at her like a stunned mullet.

'Excuse me?' he questioned.

'Are all mortal men as deaf and blind as you are?' Calliope asked, rolling her eyes as gently wiggled herself into a straighter seating position. 'You and the Princess might have gotten off on the wrong foot when you first arrived here, but I can tell she cares for you deeper than you realise.'

Dick shook his head. 'I don't think so. We had a huge fight just before. I don't think she'd care if I walked out of this palace right now and got smoked by the hydra.'

'Sure she would!' Calliope argued. 'Look, people have fights all the time. That doesn't mean you love them any less for it. I've seen the way she looks at you when you're not looking, like you hung the very moon and stars that look over us right now. That kind of admiration, that kind of love doesn't just vanish because of one measly fight.'

Love. Dick was stuck on that one word as Calliope kept talking. He deconstructed it and put it back together over and over again and yet it remained ever-present.

'Well... of course we love each other,' Dick staggered for words, for reasoning to battle against his warring heart and mind. 'We've known each other since we were ten. We've been through everything together.'

Calliope just sighed and slumped back in her pillows. 'You exasperate me, mortal. You will die with regrets you do not even know of. And for that I feel sorry for you.'

Dick stared at her befuddled. 'What are you talking about?'

Before she could answer, the doors to the infirmary opened and Dick was surprised, delighted, and annoyed at the sight of Y/N walking through the giant doors. She greeted and hugged all she could as she made her way down the aisle towards Calliope's bed. Dick was half-hoping, that she would just keep walking past. But she did not, stopping right at the end of Calliope's bed.

'Friend, how are you?' Y/N asked gently, a genuinely regretful expression on her face.

'I am fine, Princess,' Calliope answered, raising her bandaged hands towards Y/N. 'It is just a flesh wound. Our healers will have me out pf here in time for the next attack, whenever that will be.'

'Good,' Y/N said, and Dick saw her put on a front - the front of a general. She stood slightly taller, held her head higher, spoke more confidently. 'We will need you ready for tomorrow's plans.'

Dick and Calliope both looked at each other confused. 'Plans?' Dick asked, standing from his seat.

Y/N nodded at him then addressed Calliope. 'Once you have healed, meet us in the Strategy Room. There we will discuss the plan.'

'Yes, Princess,' Calliope answered.

Y/N turned to Dick then and tilted her head back to the infirmary's entrance. 'Would you like to join me and the others in the Strategy Room? I would like to discuss the plan with you.'

Dick held Y/N's gaze for a moment, unsure of what she was doing. Only a few hours ago she told him he was useless, a waste of space. But now she was asking for his help?

He turned to Calliope, who nodded her head as if giving him permission to leave her bedside. 'I will join you both as soon as I am able,' she said, and with that Y/N lead Dick out of the infirmary.

They climbed the quiet staircase silently, walked many hallways without speaking. Dick wanted to speak, but what to say. He felt Y/N was holding back something too but seemed to be hesitating as well.

Finally fed up with the metaphorical chicken game, he let out an exasperated sigh and said, 'Okay, what changed your mind?'

Y/N didn't answer for a few more steps until they rounded another corner and she stopped and sighed. Finally she turned back to him, regret reflecting in her E/C eyes.

'You mean what made me realise I was being a coward and not a true Amazon warrior?'

Dick winced at the half quoting of his words she'd used. But as he opened his mouth to apologise, she raised her hand to silence him. 'It's okay, I understand. You were upset, and you had a right to be. I wasn't thinking like a warrior. I let my fear and my own pride lead me down a path of cowardice and shame. But, with some help, I realised... you were right.'

'I was?' Dick couldn't believe what he was hearing. For years, she'd always been the smarter one, always been the wiser one of the pair. This was new territory for him.

She nodded her head. 'Amazons don't hide or make deals to ensure their survival. They fight for it, they earn it, and if they die trying, and that is a worthy warrior's death.' She offered him a small smile. 'We win together, or we die together. Including you.'

Dick wasn't sure where Y/N was taking this, especially as she stepped closer to him. The firelight of the hallway torches made her hair ripple like fire and mad her eyes seem molten, alive. She was mesmerising.

'I'm sorry if I made you feel you had to prove yourself to me,' she said, her voice tight, apologetic. 'The truth is, I was just scared I would lose you again because of something I dragged you into. I wanted you gone... because I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I'd gotten you killed.'

Dick's heart hiccuped with Y/N's honesty. In that moment, he saw the ten-year-old girl he'd met all those years ago. How vibrant and brave and strong she was. Then he thought of the time they picked their vigilante names out for one another, and all the times they fought battles and trained and laughed and cried and it him then the legacy she'd taken on. The pressure she felt to live up to her mother's success - and it had all started at the age of ten.

And it was all coming out now, along with the tears that trickled down her face. Immediately, Dick reached hand out to wipe her cheek, and that seemed to make her realise she was crying and then she was full on sobbing.

Dick didn't think twice as he pulled her into his comforting arms, as he pressed her as close to him as he could so she could feel his heartbeat, to let her know he was there. For her.

'I'm not gone, Y/N,' he murmured into her hair. Damn, he'd forgotten how tall he'd grown since he last saw her. 'I am right here. I am not laying out there among the dead, I am here.'

She trembled in his arms, and his heart shattered just a little bit more. 'Yes, but you could've been,' she said, her voice all muffled as she continued crying into his chest.

'But I'm not, Y/N.' Once she'd calmed down until she was just sniffling, he pulled away to look down at her, his hands gently resting on her shoulders. 'I promise, Echidna would have to burn me to ashes and then burn them again in order to take me away from you. Do you hear me?'

Y/N, with wide eyes rimmed red, just stared up at him with an expression he didn't quite recognise. It was hopeful and full of admiration. And there was something else there, something that had Dick's heart skipping a beat with the possibility that it might be what he thought it might be.

'You had a chance to leave Themyscira,' Y/N said softly, never breaking eye contact. 'You had a chance to live and forget all about this and me... Why did you stay?'

The question struck him so hard in the chest he lost his breath, thus lost his ability to think and function. It was the easiest and the hardest question to answer. It was easy because the answer was staring him right in the face, but he found it hard to say because what if he was wrong? What if he was reading this whole situation wrong? And what if he ruined the best thing that ever happened to him if he opened up his mouth?

'I stayed... I stayed because... because...' It was right there on the tip of his tongue, all he needed to do was be brave enough to say it.

The doors to the Strategy Room banged opened and Y/N and Dick jumped apart to see Queen Hippolyta standing at the entrance. 'I'm sorry, have I interrupted something?' she asked.

Y/N quickly wiped the remaining tears on her cheeks away as she stood up tall once more and replied, 'No, we were just about to come in and discuss the strategy for tomorrow.'

The Queen eyed the two of them, and Dick thought she looked slightly disappointed. But she gestured for them to come in, saying, 'Well, by all means, let us discuss.'

Y/N and Dick spared each other one more look before heading towards the Strategy Room. Dick's heart was practically beating out his chest and he wondered for a moment if Y/N could hear it.

Focus, Dick, he reminded himself as he entered the room with the generals and the Queen. We have a war to win first.

~~~

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blueflamebimbo · 6 months ago

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FIVE MAKES A HOUSEHOLD

𓆩♡𓆪 ── TENGEN UZUI X TENGEN'S WIVES X READER

After getting injured in the Entertainment District, the Sound Hashira's injuries need tending to. Your expertise in healing leaves you immersed in the Tengen household, changing your life completely.

A/N: I tried writing a Tengen fanfic, but ended up writing a love letter to each of his wives as well. File that under "whoopsie-poopsie".

Warnings: mentions of panicking, canon-typical injuries / blood loss, impostor syndrome, alcohol consumption, post coital soreness, canon-typical polygamy.

Word count: 2,248

The wooden floors creaked beneath your feet as you made your way to the back of the building. Goosebumps covered your lower back, your arms and the tops of your legs as anticipation settled into your chest. It made it harder for you to focus, so you tightened your robe in an attempt at getting warmer. The sliding door that separated you from the garden outside was left slightly ajar. The hot water interacting with the crisp, late autumn air from the onsen filled the air with a foggy steam, and you watched as the fog curled around your ankles.

“There you are!”

The sound of Makio’s voice boomed through the hallway as she made her way over to you. She raised her eyebrows, halting in front of you and considering the way you were hovering by the door.

“Are you not coming out to join us, after all?”

Makio had been the first to really approach you, all those months ago.

When Uzui got hurt in the entertainment district, you were called in to help tend to his wounds. Having completed your studies to become a healer was surely something to be proud of, but it seemed like a horrendous wake-up call to reality when you were summoned by the Sound Hashira’s household and came eye to eye with such severe injuries, not to mention an immense amount of pressure to get this man back to full health. The task seemed impossible; the blood loss alone had you convinced that this man would not see his 24th birthday. Add to that your terrible case of imposter syndrome – well, the panic pretty much summoned itself. If this man lost his life, it might mean the end of a very short career in healthcare.

That’s how Makio, one of the Hashira’s wives, found you: trembling, dissociating, and clutching a glass of water outside of Uzui’s room, wondering if you were doing enough in order to save the man. For a moment, you believed your career to be over – how unprofessional, to be panicking in front of a patient’s spouse.

Said spouse proved you wrong, however. With soft eyes and an uncharacteristically gentle voice, she spoke about how she had seen you take care of her husband with careful yet capable hands. Makio expressed how she was in awe of your determination, but understood how the pressure of getting him back to health was not to be taken lightly – she empathised heavily with your desire to work miracles and offered you a soft smile. In the darkness of the hallway, you watched her throat bob heavily as she admitted how hard it was to keep up her witty, loud demeanour around Uzui and her two wives.

“Nobody can be strong or confident 24/7. Please, don’t be too hard on yourself. If it hadn’t been for you, we would have lost him already. He’s getting better every day; please do not underestimate what an incredible feat that is.”

She had squeezed one of your hands, brushing her thumb across your knuckles, and left to join her wives by her husband’s bed side.

True to Makio’s words, Uzui’s condition had radically improved over the next couple of days. It seemed that he was more resilient than any patient you had cared for during your years of training, and it was admirable to see how his wives influenced his accumulation of hope and strength alike.

After his recovery, you were expecting to be dismissed and move on to the next call for help. It just so happened, however, that Uzui would have none of that.

“But, surely, you have others who have served you for years—“ you argued, unsure of how to take Uzui’s offer.

Uzui, now once again standing tall and healthy (minus the lost eye and arm), looked down at you with determination and mischief. “You underestimate how much you’ve become a part of this household,” he drawled, having taken on a calmer demeanour since the incident. “It seems that my wives will have no one else caring for us, and I must say that I agree. You are, truly, the best we can ask for. Please, stay.”

Spending the next few months proved to be nothing short of a dream. When the house wasn’t filled with dread and despair and the injuries were instead kept to a realistic standard for a Hashira’s household, laughter could be heard in all corners of the building. Whether it was the women entertaining each other or Uzui joining in merrily, more often than not, you found yourself falling asleep with a smile on your face. While a household that consisted of a man and three women was new to you (you were raised in a more simplistic setting), you quickly found yourself moving effortlessly with the tides of their relationship.

After all, how could you have qualms with something so wonderful - so balanced? Makio and Uzui kept a watchful eye; appreciative, protective and, some days, secretive. It wasn’t your place to question their intentions or their behaviour towards you – you were their employee after all – so you kept your curiosity to yourself. Their shared whispers remained theirs.

Suma, on the other hand, was more forward in her feelings towards you. Soon after you became the household’s main healer, Suma started coming to you whenever she felt anxious and needed someone to simply listen. No matter how much she loved Uzui and her wives, she found herself wanting to talk to someone who could see things from an outsider’s perspective. Some nights, this resulted in a dramatic Suma running into your quarters with a bottle of sake – unable to stop talking about her mind’s worries until she fell asleep with her head resting in your lap. It was hard not to grow fond of the way she would curl her fingers into your robe and mumble sleepily how much she appreciated you and how she wished you would never leave.

Hinatsuru, who was known to be calm and nurturing, intimidated you. It was strange, but to witness the fierce adoration she held for Uzui and her wives was like looking straight up into the light of the sun. It radiated off her, and she made you feel unreasonably breathless. Every interaction felt like she was looking straight into your soul; as if she were wading through the oceans of your intentions and touching her fingertips to the surface of your thoughts.

Makio could give reassurance whenever she felt like you may need it, without you even having to ask; Suma needed to express herself towards you almost constantly; and Hinatsuru made you feel so seen that you couldn’t help but pour your own heart out to her. And she would sit. And she would listen. And she would watch you.

And oh, how these women made you feel alive.

This, of course, did not go unnoticed.

The master of the household, Tengen Uzui, kept a close eye on the happiness of his spouses. From the moment he had gained enough strength to open his eyes, they were trained on you and the way you interacted with the loves of his life. It did not take long for him to pick up on the way Makio lowered her voice and lingered every time she held your hand. He noticed the many mornings Suma stumbled out of your room; robes wrinkled after she’d accidentally spent another night sleeping by your side. He spoke to Hinatsuru in hushed tones every time he wanted to know how you were doing and eyed you knowingly whenever you were tending to fresh injuries after he’d spent the morning training.

One such morning, it became evident how much strength he had regained. He felt more like himself again, which enabled his flashy behaviour to awaken from its slumber, a twinkle apparent in his remaining eye. Mornings like these were your favourite.

His hand came up to rest on top of yours as you tied off a bandage around his thigh, squeezing lightly. “Do you have a moment for me?” he asked.

Surprised at his candour, you blinked down at him and cleared your throat, “A moment? For – you?” You nodded quickly, a blush creeping across your features as you noticed the way he took your hand in his and got up from where he was sitting.

“Take a walk with me.”

It wasn’t a question, so you simply followed.

The chrysanthemums bloomed brightly in the garden as he held your hand and led you past the stream behind the house, walking you up to the centre of a small bridge that looked out on the koi fish, down in the water.

“Are you happy here?” he asked.

It took a moment for you to understand what he was trying to ask you. Were you happy?

While the first interaction with Uzui had been horrific and gruesome, it was not what came to mind. What did come to mind was Uzui’s laughter as it boomed throughout the rooms. You thought of the way he would not let the loss of his arm deter him from dancing with his wives, making them smile brilliantly. You could sit there for hours and watch them while you picked medicinal herbs and let the warmth of their happiness seep into your pores from afar. You were reminded of the many evenings Uzui had insisted that you join them for dinner, and you blushed as you thought of every time he boasted how the table had never looked so perfectly complete.

“I’ve never been happier in my life,” you replied honestly. There was no need to be bashful about your answer – Uzui wasn’t looking for bashfulness, nor was he stimulated by beating around the bush.

This was evident in the way he let a wide grin spread across his features – he looked relieved.

He took a tentative step towards you. It was becoming harder to breathe with how intensely he was looking at you, but you let out a steady, slow breath when you felt him touch the back of his knuckles along your cheek.

“You love them.”

It wasn’t a question.

“I do.”

He smiled, because you answered anyway.

“They love you just as much,” he stated.

At this, your breath properly hitched, and you felt tears sting at the base of your throat.

His thumb brushed across your bottom lip, but his gaze never left yours.

“And I love you,” he admitted.

Your bottom lip quivered now, and for a moment you could see the heartache that flashed across his features, clearly upset that he’d caused your tears. He smiled through it, however.

“I love you for who you are and for what you do for all of us. I love you for your smile whenever you have a fresh cup of tea. I love you for you determination to make us all feel safe and sound. I love you for the effort you put into our health, and I love you for letting us fret over you just the same.”

Your cheeks were wet with tears by the time he finished speaking, and he brushed them softly as he closed the distance between you, his breath ghosting over your forehead.

“There’s not a bone in my body that would wish to force you,” he continued, apologetic that he was putting you through emotional sappiness, but needing you to hear this, regardless, “but I pray that one day you may love me back.”

At his words, a laugh escaped your chest as you reached up between the two of you and curled your hands into the fabric of his yukata.

“You absolute fool,” you cried, “I fear I may love you already.”

Makio pulled a towel from a closet next to you, looking at you expectantly.

“Well, are you joining us or not?”

You blinked hard, looking away from the gap in the sliding door. You could hear Suma’s dramatic yapping coming from the outside onsen.

“Sorry,” you murmured, “I feel like I’m not all there, today.”

Makio chuckled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips.

“After last night, I’m not surprised.”

You blushed furiously, trying desperately not to recall your wedding night, the night before. You were still feeling a little sore, and you couldn’t even begin to count the love bites that were peppered across your body.

After Uzui’s confession, a few weeks ago, it hadn’t taken but a day for the entirety of the household to know about it. Suma had cried happily until you kissed her, and Makio was rendered speechless with joy. Hinatsuru, ever the responsible one, had sighed deeply.

“Finally,” she drawled, closing the distance between the two of you and kissing you until you were trembling in her arms – which, let’s be honest, didn’t take that much time at all.

The wedding took place four weeks later. Apparently, Uzui was quite proficient at arranging them, by now.

Makio slid open the door completely, revealing the outside onsen where Uzui, Suma and Hinatsuru were already relaxing.

At the sight of Makio and yourself, Uzui beamed at you from the water.

Suddenly, the throbbing between your legs and the fog in your head mattered no longer. You jogged over to the water, dropped your robe and placed your towel on top. Dipping into the warm water, you smiled as you settled in between your spouses, relishing in the caresses and the kisses that followed.

What bliss.

#tengen x reader #tengen x wives x reader #tengen reader insert #demon slayer x reader #tengen imagines #demon slayer imagines #kny x reader #kny reader insert #kny imagines #.bimboscribbles #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #demon slayer

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kerryshifts · 1 month ago

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hi kerry!! do you have any ideas for places to shift to? (╥﹏╥) all i can think of are the more well-known ones like h2o or uh... that's it, actually :[

places to shift if you have no ideas !

i , italy 1993. but it’s a romanticised version … becoming reality. you live in south italy. more specifically palermo, sicilia, a city full of old churches, monuments and works of art of inestimable value, animated by lively neighborhoods. summers are mainly beach days, eating apricots and strawberries from your grandpa's gardens, living in the rural part of the town if you like a quiet atmosphere. you are part of a friendgroup who goes on adventures almost everyday, sometimes even daring to go outside of sicilia, and who spends the majority of time together. sometimes, when the summers are too warm, you’ll spend the days in someone's private pool, reading and talking shit about your classmates. in the winters, after the homework (be careful of what high school you choose to do!!!!) you’d stay inside eating the food someone's grandma cooked for you and your group. full of vibes … and if you want to know more about italy and its high schools ask xxxx.

ii , fairyland. you are a fairy who lives next to your bestfriends, who are also fairies. actually …. it’s this whole universe full of people like you. think about it like the cartoons version of winx. you learn how to be a fairy in a school, you and your friends go out together almost everyday, maybe a romance with a rival? it’s a world full of possibilities.

iii , old hollywood. if you script out all the bigotery, it would be such a fun experience. best friends with marilyn monroe (or mortal enemies… who knows?) parties full of glam, and you are so loved by the public that the future generations will remember you as an icon, forever. not going to lie i would this just to be with james dean.

iv , rockstar. therapists hate you because you encourage rebelliousness !!!!!!!! you are full of charisma, and so are your songs. lead vocalist, lead guitar, rhythm guitar, bass guitar, and drums…. maybe a rock band? smokey make-up and red lipstick, leather jacket or skirts or pants or whatever (even nothing… if you are that bold) you are a world-wide EVENT. your concerts are full of people screaming your songs word for word. magazines write about you like you are some sort of miracle happening to music. have fun !!!!!

v , supernatural. not the show (well, if you want…!) but it’s a school full of supernatural people, and each of you is divided into an house based on your supernatural abilities. honestly it sounds cool, just make sure to script that vampires and werewolves will not kill each other… because of their dramatic ass. oop.

vi , farmer’s child. you live in kansas and you are part of this numerous family (you are the middle of, like, 10 children) and… you also live in a small town. but everything seems to be out of a movie.

vii , your dream job !!! understandable. what job do you want to do? a florist (romantic life with flowers everywhere you go, befriend clients) or an actor/actress (you would have such fun in between takes!!) or an astronaut (to THE MOON!?!?!?!?????!!!!!!!!) or a teacher (cmon, some kids will teach you life lessons. children know things we forgot) or… everything else in the world and beyond, really.

viii , monarch of an another planet. its like star wars but its not star wars. you just rule a planet. sounds exhausting but also cool?

let me know if you want more <3

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moongreenlight · 1 year ago

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Mafia!Price is NOT your fucking aesthetic. A full comprehensive list as to why.

He cooka da pizza!

He goes to church every Sunday. A massive Roman Catholic Church downtown. Ancient building with floor-to-ceiling stained glass windows depicting the life and loss of Christ. Full two hour masses that he always wears a suit to. At first it starts as some last-ditch attempt to absolve him of his guilt, but then it became habit.

And maybe it was his wife. Her parents were devout and just about keeled over when they found out their only daughter was married by a quick ceremony in the courthouse to a man they’d never met. Her mother was the worst, though it was to be expected. Likely didn’t know John had won his new bride when her husband didn’t have the funds left to pay off his debt. Fucking miracle she hadn’t yet done the math and realized his first child was born seven months later. He’d be persecuted to no end.

There was a target on his back since the wedding. Always put him in the hot seat on Sunday evening dinners while his wife was trying to wrangle their children into eating their vegetables. Drilled into him about work and life and why he always seemed too busy to prioritize “something worthwhile” in his life. Mother sets in on him like she’d been waiting for the opening all evening.

“So, John. Remind us what you do for work.” Accusatory. Glaring over her barely touched plate of roast at him.

“Contracting. Bit of this and that.” He fights the urge to roll his eyes, if only barely.

“Hm. And what does that entail? Can’t keep you as busy as you swear you are.” She’s unabashed. Her husband doesn’t share the sentiment. He sighs into his glass of brandy and tries to catch her eye.

“Don’t do much hands-on these days. Project management and bookkeeping for me now. Brought on a few guys to do the grunt. You remember from when we did your bathroom, I’m sure.” He doesn’t shy away from the challenge. Principled.

“Boys would do well to have some structure. Bet they haven’t been in a church since they were baptized.” She ignores his parry and switches to what she really wants to talk about after looking over to her daughter who is all but force-feeding them florets of broccoli. Typical.

He finally wore down after a Christmas where the only gift he got from them was a deep brown leather-wrapped bible. Used. Split down the spine, dog-eared pages. Like they’d stolen it from the shelf in the pew for the dolts who weren’t well-mannered enough to bring their own.

From then, it had become a welcome escape from reality. Church in the morning. 8am service, because he was up before the sun anyway. Sipping coffee in the kitchen beforehand, pouring over a heavy binder with the title ‘family finance’ scrawled in his wife’s delicate handwriting across the front.

He could hear her wrestling with their two boys in the bathroom upstairs. Their indignant screeching clueing him in that he should probably get up and help, but he always tried to steal a few more moments to himself. Calm before the storm.

The boys have sour looks on their faces when they stomp down the stairs not five minutes later, though they’re nothing in comparison to their mother who’s only a few steps behind. They get the deep furrow in their brows from him, the bitter curl of their lips from her.

“Glad you’re enjoying your slow start, John. Really.”

He should feel worse for not helping. Tries to lay her hackles back down by snapping the binder shut and pressing a chaste kiss to her temple. She barely pauses to accept it before pushing past to pack her purse. Four bibles, his ratty one, her perfectly white one with different colored sticky notes poking out the sides, and two smaller children's bibles that she’d shove in their laps for appearance sake. Snacks for the boys, and a flash of the handle of her small handgun- safetied and then shoved into the bottom of her tote.

“Should’ve shouted f’you needed help. Can’t hear a thing down here.” The boys snicker when he winks over at them. They’re outfitted in their Sunday best. Slacks with damp finger marks on the thighs from where she’d tried to smooth out wrinkles. Buttoned-down shirts that they were already tugging at the collars of. Hair gelled back, no doubt the reason for their griping earlier.

She doesn’t find it nearly as funny as they do. Shoots him a nasty look over her shoulder before disappearing into the spare room to grab a pair of low heels.

“We’re already late. If we have to sit in the back again, you’ll never hear the end of it.” It’s not an empty threat. They’d missed one service and some aunt had told her mother in passing. Took three months to get her to stop bringing it up.

“S’not even half seven. Takes fifteen minutes to get there.”

It’s supposed to mollify her, but it has the adverse effect. She looks ready to throw a shoe at him when she sits on the bottom stair to tug them on. He raises his hands in surrender.

“Easy.”

Somehow all four of them make it to the car in one piece. He sends a message to Kyle before they leave telling him to save them a space toward the front to err on the side of caution.

#I'm mafia-baiting sorry #This was really just to get me back into posting my writing lol #moongreenlight #moongreenlightwrites #sephspeaks #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod x reader #141 headcanons #drabble #price cod #captain john price #john price #captain price #price x reader #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #mafia au

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itsnesss · 2 months ago

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Hey so my mother passed away two days ago. And my coping mechanism is reading comforting fics. Can you please write hwang junho comfort please ❤️

I'm so sorry for your loss, i hope this fic can bring you even a little comfort during this difficult time 🤍

𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 | hwang jun-ho × fem!reader

summary | grief feels overwhelming, suffocating, like an endless void. but junho is there—steady, unwavering, offering silent comfort when words fail

warnings | emotional distress, comfort

word count | 1.1 k

The room is dimly lit, illuminated only by the faint glow of the streetlights filtering through the curtains. It’s one of those nights when silence is louder than any noise. When the world keeps spinning as if nothing has happened, while you feel like everything has come to a stop.

You're sitting on the couch, legs pulled up against your chest, eyes lost in the void. You don’t know how long you’ve been like this. Minutes, hours—maybe the whole night. Time feels irrelevant when the weight of grief presses down on your chest, making you feel trapped in an emptiness that seems impossible to fill.

Then, you hear the sound of footsteps approaching. Firm, steady, familiar. You don’t have to look to know who it is. Jun-ho.

He doesn’t say anything at first. He doesn’t ask how you’re doing, because he already knows the answer. He doesn’t try to fill the air with empty words like “everything will be okay,” because he understands that right now, nothing is.

Instead, he simply sits beside you, his quiet presence becoming a refuge in itself. There’s something about the way he settles in, the way his shoulder barely brushes against yours, that makes you feel just a little less alone.

A minute passes. Maybe two. And then, with a gentleness that surprises you, you feel his hand covering yours. His touch is warm, steady—like he’s trying to anchor you to reality, to remind you that there’s still something here holding you up.

"I’m here," he says softly.

Two words. Simple, but carrying so much weight. Because when everything feels like it’s falling apart, when the world seems too cruel to keep moving forward, sometimes the only thing you need is to know that someone is by your side.

Your breath trembles slightly, but you don’t pull away. You don’t lift your gaze from the floor, but you don’t move from his touch either. You let yourself feel his presence, his warmth, the way his thumb moves just barely over your skin in an almost imperceptible gesture of comfort.

"You don’t have to say anything," Jun-ho continues, his deep, steady voice always managing to soothe you. "I just want you to know you’re not alone."

You press your lips together, feeling the lump in your throat. You don’t want to cry again. You’ve already shed so many tears in the past few days that it seems impossible there are any left inside you.

But when you feel his arm slowly slide around your shoulders, pulling you closer into a soft yet firm embrace, the barrier you’ve been trying to hold up finally breaks.

A quiet sob escapes your lips as you lean into his chest. His shirt dampens with your tears, but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t pull away.

Instead, his hand moves up to your back, gliding slowly in a protective motion. His other arm wraps securely around your waist, holding you with a silent promise that you don’t have to carry all of this alone.

"I’m here," he repeats, even softer this time, like a secret meant just for you.

You take a deep breath, trying to absorb his warmth, to hold onto the sense of safety he offers. And even though the pain is still there, even though the emptiness in your chest remains heavy, in this moment, in his arms, you feel something you thought was impossible—just a little bit of peace.

It’s not much. It’s not a miracle cure. But it’s something.

And for now, that’s enough.

#hwang junho #hwang jun ho x reader #hwang jun ho #jun ho x reader #jun ho squid game #squid game

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sweetdispatch · 2 months ago

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May I please have 9 pieces of wedding cake and warm apple pie with flavors of peppermint and vanilla topped with coconut flakes?

Vow renewal - C. Keller

v' bakery pairing: Clayton Keller x fem!reader summary: You and Clayton got married in really young age and with time, both of you faced a huge problem in your marriage warning: none

It wasn’t an ideal scenario for both of you. You and Clayton started dating when you two were 20. Year later you found out that you’re pregnant and because of your parents' influence, you had to get married before delivering the kid. Both of you knew that you are too young to settle down, especially that you’ve been together only a year. To please your parents, you did it.

At first, everything looked like a fairytale. You and Clayton were very much in love and when you gave birth, you two couldn’t be happier. You had a healthy boy and Clayton was more than happy to see his son being interested in hockey. The kid had your character but Clayton’ look. He was your little miracle.

Because you two got married so young, two of you started struggling with keeping the feelings alive. Now, you and Clayton were 27 and the arguments had become your new reality. You tried to fight for this relationship but you felt like you’re in a lost position. Clayton was distancing himself from you and you couldn’t stop it.

The fights weren’t even hurting you anymore. As bad as it sounds, you got used to them. The only thing that was hurting you was the fact that your son was a witness of the screaming match between you and Clayton. This little 6 year old boy was hearing everything and you knew that you had to do something about it.

It was another argument between you two but this time, you were tired. All you wanted was to know if you can rescue the relationship. You loved Clayton but you loved your son even more.

“Do you regret it?” You asked Clayton in the middle of the argument. He was taken aback by your question.

“Regret what?” Clayton was confused about what you’re implying.

“Listening to my parents and marrying me” You replied. You were tired of those constant arguments. You wanted peace for you and your son.

“Yes” Clayton said and your heart broke. “I love you but I feel trapped in this marriage. If I could have a time machine, I wouldn’t marry you that fast” You could feel tears running down your cheeks.

“Is this your way of saying that we should get divorce?” You asked not to be ready to hear his answer.

“No, as I said, I love you but I think we need some time apart. You have to admit that those fights are not healthy for us, not to even mention our kid. I think separation is the best solution” Clayton admitted and all you could was to nod your head.

“Okay, if you think that might save us, I’m willing to try” You said sadly.

“I’ll move to one of my teammates so you can have the house. I’ll be coming to see our boy when I’ll be having free time. Is it alright with you?” All you did was to nod. Clayton grabbed his clothes and left.

It’s been a week since you and Clayton made the decision. It was a quiet time at home without any arguments and screaming at each other. You missed him like crazy but at the same time you enjoyed the peace you had. Clayton felt similar. As much as he liked coming back without being bothered by arguments, he missed you by his side.

Almost every single day, Clayton was trying to come home to spend time with his son. At that time, you two were acting like old times. No arguments, no screaming, just enjoying each other's presence. You two realised that this relationship is saveable but both of you were scared to bring up this conversation.

Clayton knew that he’s the one who messed up and he had a great plan in his mind to win you back. He was aware that he hurt you by saying that he regret marrying you at such a young age, that’s why he wanted to propose to you properly and do vow renewal. The time you two got married, Clayton didn’t propose. You two had a small ceremony just to have the wedding rings.

It was a sunday, Clayton had a day off and decided to pay you a visit. You were sitting at the table with your son and eating breakfast. He sat next to you two and ate in peace while listening to his son's stories. He started dreaming that this might be his everyday life if he managed to rescue what’s left between you and him.

The whole day all three of you spent on playing games and laughing. It felt so natural like you two don't have any problems in life. Your son was the reason both of you wanted to fight for this relationship. None of you wanted him to go through the divorce. When your son fell asleep, you and Clayton sat down in the living room and watched a movie.

“I need to tell you something” Clayton started and you were picturing the worst thing.

“I’m all ears” You replied.

“I was thinking a lot in the past couple of days and I know that I want you in my life. I want to fight for it to be back to normal without any arguments. I want to be the best father and husband to both of you. I know I hurt you by saying that I regret listening to your parents but now…” Clayton took off the box with the ring in it and kneeled in front of you. “It’s my decision without any influence and I know that I want you as my wife. Will you make me the happiest man alive and agree to marry me and have the vow renewal?” He asked with hope in his voice. You broke down in tears.

“Yes, of course” You said excitedly. Clayton put a ring on your finger and you spoke. “I don’t even know what to say. I’m speechless. I’m just so happy that we have a second chance”

Clayton smiled at you and put his lips on yours. This kiss was electric and full of the emotions that were hidden inside the two of you. This was a new start for both of you.

#clayton keller #clayton keller x reader #clayton keller imagine #clayton keller oneshot #clayton keller fanfiction #nhl #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #utah hockey club #v' bakery

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ashprince-of-bel-air · 8 months ago

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Touch Starved Rolan

A/N: I was on holiday and now i have written it! I dedicate this to @scandistar and @sasha199 who commented on my drunk ramblings of a touch starved Rolan!

18+ and very much smut.

Part 2

You had caught Rolan masturbating in his tower previously, his deep voice echoed through the door to his office as you listened, feeling flustered as you heard him call your name. You did not mean to listen the first time that you heard him, it was by accident as you were bringing him his supper for the night. Each night after was definitely on purpose, your thighs wet, clenching them together as you could hear his muffled moans through the heavy door, hearing him grunt as he finished. You would have given anything to be the one causing those noises to spill from his lips.

Days pass and each one was torture for you, you did not know how to broach the subject with him, do you walk in mid-session and offer to help him or do you try and flirt with him the proper way? In the end it did not matter, you encountered him in the small stock cupboard in the back of the store by accident, you were there to count the potion vials when you saw him in the corner counting the scrolls. You took the opportunity to count the vials next to him, your bodies brushing against each other.

Rolan’s voice caught in his throat as he felt your soft skin brush against his, in what he thought was an innocent gesture. “Oh… Y/N, I did not know you were going to be in here?” Rolan looked down at you, his eyes landing on your cleavage, why did you have to wear such a low cut dress, is what he thought to himself, groaning internally as he felt his briefs tighten. His eyes were transfixed, he could not think of anything other than his hands and lips around your breasts in this moment, imagining the ways he could touch and kiss you, his mouth around your nipples, kissing you with reverence. He was thankful that his skin was crimson already otherwise a blush would have spread throughout his face.

“Oh no I’m just doing a stock count” Your voice innocent and cheerful, pretending to not know what you are doing as you press your body closer to his slightly, writing down numbers of the vials to make it seem like you are doing your job, when in reality you were taking this chance to rile him up. “Can you excuse me a moment?” You had asked and shuffled your body in front of his, pressing against him, not even waiting for his response.

Rolan could feel your arse pressing against his cock and it made him groan, his hands gripping the fabric of his robes making his knuckles go numb from the force, He had wanted you for a while and to feel you against him was torture, he could feel himself getting hard against the curve of your ass, praying by some miracle that you would not notice somehow.

You turned to face Rolan, smirk on your face, knowing what affect you had on him in this moment. The closeness between you two was enough to make you blush, your bravado escaping you as you were almost chest to chest, feeling his length against your thigh. You gasped his name involuntarily as you finally felt his hands on your waist, his self-control had broken, that was all it took before you felt his lips against your neck. Rolan devoured your skin, kissing and biting it with his sharp teeth, eliciting a delicious moan each time his sharp canines nipped your skin, leaving his beautiful marks all over your neck and collar bone, you moaned even more imagining how they looked on your delicate skin. His hands roamed your body at long last and you craned your neck to let him claim you further, desperately wanting to be his.

As Rolan’s mouth explored your skin, your hand found his thick length beneath his robes, you groaned as you felt the size of it, desperate to feel it stretch you. Your touch was gentle at first, becoming rougher on him as he riled you up, desperate to feel him. It did not take long to feel him tremble against your hand and his eyes tear up against the soft skin of your neck, his load spilling into his briefs, whispering sweet apologies against your skin. You chuckled softly and kissed the top of his head, flattered that you got this reaction by rubbing him through his robes. You bent down and removed his briefs, kissing the tip of his cock gently, not wanting to overstimulate him, as you cleaned him up with your mouth, wanting to taste every inch of him

“Rolan, this is just the first of many times” you teased playfully, on your knees looking up at him through your thick eyelashes.. Rolan moaned softly at your touch and at how good you looked knelt before him, his thick fingers found the crook of your chin and slowly lifted you up, tilting you chin so you could look him in the eye. A devilish smirk crossed his face as a free hand found your clit through your clothes, moving in a slow languid pace, causing you to moan desperately against the torturous pace. You could feel Rolan lean towards you as he touched you, his breath hot against your ear. “It’s rude to tease sweetheart” Groaning deeply as you felt his teeth against your earlobe, almost begging for release, even though you knew he would drag this out as long as he could.

#rolan bg3 #rolan empire #rolan x reader #rolan #bg3 rolan #i am not well versed in smut so i hope its okay #rolan smut

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kenzan-brainrot-mp4 · 2 months ago

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Idk more random small details about the pyih ending that make me insane because I can't shut up about this stupid game:

Idk how deliberate this was from the translation team (and I have my own mixed feelings about the caption translations from more recent rgg games) but I really like the (potentially unintentional) double-meaning from Saejima saying "Guys our age are supposed to be smart enough not to go chasin' legends." You'd think that because the entire conversation revolves around and constantly repeats the words "dream/yume" (cough cough Yakuza 5) he'd say "not to go chasin' dreams", but I think by using the word "legend" instead he's able to refer to not only the legend of the treasure that everyone's been pursuing the whole game, but also the living legend himself, Kiryu Kazuma (in jp and eng he is referred to very often as a legend/legendary ("densetsu no ryuu/yakuza" - "legendary dragon/yakuza")). Not only was Majima chasing after the legend of some miracle treasure but he's also been chasing the "legend" that is Kiryu himself (something something idolization, something something Majima always wanting to bring back that strength and vitality Kiryu had at the peak of his "legend" days (see: yakuza 1 with Majima trying to fight Kiryu constantly to help him regain his strength, trying to especially hard to support him since yakuza 3), even as the chance of that happening dwindles, even if reality is literally telling him to his face that they can't go back to those days, that everyone's getting older and not what they used to be). Which imo makes Majima saying "Well, still just a dream in the end." all the more heartbreaking. It's resigned, not only to the fact that he'd never find that miracle fix to save Kiryu's life but also the fact that he can't, no matter how hard he tries, keep Kiryu around forever, that he can't keep up the image of the legendary Dragon of Dojima up for him forever. Idk I just think that was very cool and sneaky as hell if intentional, especially since they don't switch out the word "dream" for "legend" anywhere else in the conversation.

Saejima mentioning how Daigo said "Majima's runnin' around like he's forty again". Okay honestly I'm just putting this because I think it's funny that even while Daigo was going through his emo era and pissed off at Kiryu for "killing" his dad, he still remembers how enthusiastic/energetic Majima was over Kiryu all the way back in ~y1, even though we never saw him in that game. I mean it's painful as hell to think about now, considering the present day in-universe and what would end up becoming of that enthusiasm as the years went on but uh, hey.

Majima being so god damn deflective while Saejima's in the middle of revealing all his motivations for going to Hawaii. He says 3 whole lines during that part of the cutscene but it's all so Majima-like it hurts (this part's gonna be Long):

• "Told him that, huh?" (responding to Saejima recounting what Majima told Shigaki about not wanting to go to Hawaii) - Majima trying to act nonchalant/aloof while knowing what Saejima's about to start bringing up, trying to act that way even though we all know damn well that he remembers perfectly (and probably painfully) well how he acted/what he said before going to Hawaii, considering the circumstances surrounding the whole situation. His body language also starts to change from here; he turns his head to look directly at Saejima when talking to him less often, spends more time looking ahead/up/down/avoiding direct eye contact in general even when Saejima turns to look him while speaking multiple times/for prolonged periods of time (istg I could talk about Majima's body language in serious moments like these literally forever but I'll try to keep it brief) • "Kid's always been a ball breaker" (lmao) - Paired with the line before this one (Daigo's reaction to Majima). He tries to sidestep the actual point of mentioning what Daigo said, (directly exposing just how much Majima changes when Kiryu is around/involved) with feigned exasperation, and once again does not actually acknowledge Saejima's point. His body language also changes again to something more restless; (adjusts his posture from the previously relaxed way he was leaning against the car, looks away from Saejima completely, starts tapping his foot/bouncing his leg, lifting his cigarette without actually taking a drag from it) • And then of course the big one: "Well, still just a dream in the end. Stupid or not." Up until this point, Majima hasn't said anything of any actual substance until Saejima directly namedrops Kiryu. It's about the most he actually says of any worth regarding his feelings towards Kiryu himself, but that line alone reveals so much about his feelings not only in that moment, but likely the feelings he's had throughout the series towards Kiryu. It's totally unfiltered, for once, showing off his resignation from not only his inability to help Kiryu by the end of this game but likely also the weight of chasing after Kiryu all these years (again, "Guys our age are supposed to be smart enough not to go chasin' legends." Cue Majima always chasing after Kiryu/what Kiryu wants for literal decades). It's a Singular straight answer after two deflections but it says so damn much, especially coming from Majima himself. • I also just wanna note the quick range of expressions Majima's face goes through when Saejima says "Yeah, too bad about that 'elixir of eternal life.'"

↓

‎

Apart from the different expressions he makes themselves, I think it's so fucking interesting (read: painful) how this occurs when Saejima (who, by the way, is at that moment not looking at Majima) is technically supposed to be the one that the player's eyes are focused on in that moment, since he's the one speaking. The camera doesn't try to manipulate the focus of the shot to hide Majima's expressions/feelings, they don't cut him out of the frame, they don't actually do anything to directly hide Majima's face at all, but most people (including Saejima himself) would miss this regardless, because it's done in a moment where, theoretically, nobody would or should be looking. Hell, even when the camera gives us a Direct close-up shot of Majima's face when Saejima mentions Kiryu ("Kazuma Kiryu. You never could give up on that one.") his expression doesn't betray too much of how he feels, but it's only once focus is finally taken away from him that he becomes most expressive. (rgg has always been so good with showing off characters' feelings with microexpressions and I feel like this applies to Majima especially. the same kind of thing happened in y0 when he saw Makoto at the end of the game (another scene that I could analyze for hours). The times when he doesn't speak and just. Reacts subtly and potentially subconciously with his face are ironically some of the moments where he says the most about himself. Go off king don't openly express your thoughts or feelings at all 🔥🔥🔥) • And then after all that (when Saejima looks at Majima again) Majima changes the topic to Noah. You could argue that Saejima, with bringing everything before that up, was trying to open up the opportunity for discussion on Majima's part about his behavior/feelings towards Kiryu, however this was largely unsuccessful. He only succeeds in this when he finally just says Kiryu's name outright (which, by the way, surprised me so much when I first watched the cutscene. I thought they were going to keep dancing around saying Kiryu's name directly/only implying him for the rest of that conversation, but I straight up gasped when Saejima said his whole name like that. It was significant, and Saejima wanted it to be, too), and even then that success is only marginal. It's enough for Majima to finally give away one of his "real" thoughts, completely unfiltered, about as straightforward as it's gonna get, just Once in that whole part of their conversation, but after that he immediately goes to pivot the topic of the conversation to something else. Which like, damn. Damn. That's pretty crazy.

The final detail I wanna mention, (this one I think mostly everyone got) was the way that Majima repeats his line from the beginning of the game "Where do I begin? That's right… (etc)." I love how they decided to have Majima say that line again differently, because the differences say so much. The version from the beginning of the game is said in a deeper more "intimidating" tone. The whole point of it is for story-telling drama, the theatrics, specifically to entertain/pique the interest of an audience, but the way he says it to Kiryu is much more easy-going and authentic. Ironically, it's once he leaves the player's sights and once he's with Kiryu that he discards the theatrics, where he simply shows off his fully genuine self re-telling the story. (One thing I will note is that the eng sub/dub translated that line so it would be different in the beginning and end ("Alright -- let's set things straight." (to player) -> "Where do I begin? That's right." (to Kiryu) even though he says the same thing twice in the japanese audio. I know that this is so that they can match up Majima's audio with his animations in the english dub, and they reuse the eng dub captions even for the japanese dub, and while I do not neccessarily. Like that. It does hammer in the tone difference between the way he speaks to the player vs. to Kiryu further (again, trying to be more intimidating vs. more easy going), which is an okay consolation if nothing else). I just think it's crazy to hear him talk like that with Kiryu after all this time, considering that he usually only talks this directly with Kiryu in fleeting moments. No high-pitched voice/fluctuating tones, no "Yo, Kiryu-chan", just being straightforward and to the point. Man. God.

It's been 4 days since I beat this game and everytime I see someone post about it or think about it for more than 10 seconds I die and explode into a million pieces. At some point I want to 100% this game so I can get as much dialogue/as many details as possible (also the game's just really fun lol), but for now I am just rotating this cutscene in my head forever and ever in an endless cycle. I am so sorry for posting about this game like everyday but I am so unwell over it it's not even funny I hope you can forgive me </333

#yakuza #rgg #ryu ga gotoku #like a dragon pirate yakuza in hawaii #pirate yakuza in hawaii #pyih #pirate yakuza spoilers #man i still don't know what tags to use for this game there's too many #majima goro #txt #feeling extremely physically unwell (i am fucking Dying) so i am channeling that into mental unwellness through this game instead <333 #this is probably all obvious but like you know what i don't even care these details still make me SICK and majima makes me SICK augh #i think i'm still undergoing shock #can't believe touto hospital made yakuza yaoi history Twice and the people working there don't even know it. Crazy #anyways if you have any other thoughts or things you noticed let me know :)))#that or tell me to Please stop yapping i'll accept either honestly #sorry i'm extremely normal about this game. Clearly orz #certified yap sessions

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preservationofnormalcy · 4 months ago

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The scene is sombre. Though Königsratte the rat king is hooked up to various forms of medical machinery, they seem to be a formality. They can measure his vitals to a point, but the cause of his condition seems unclear, even to the parafictional professionals at the Office. The tone is one of hope, of chances taken wildly. Of wishing, perhaps, for a miracle.

The King's form has been insubstantial. His furred skin feels like paper in a way that seems literal. He changes appearances, unstable, his reality unable to settle on a single depiction.

Surrounding the figure in the cot are, by now, dozens of kitschy figurines. Nutcrackers all, from cheap plastic candy dispensers to ancient family heirlooms. On every flat surface there appears a wide-mouthed garish depiction of a soldier, of Santa, of a man in ski gear. There's even a crude alligator, dressed in the orange and blue of a Florida university. Taped to the walls are art pieces. Scribbles on napkins, doodles, some crayon drawings from a Virginia school catering to the extranormal. Digital art, painted mugs.

There's something to be said for the commercialism of the season (something worth continually critiquing) giving way to honest empathy and compassion. Beneath the thin plastic and gold paint of modern Christmas lies a core of good will. Scratch a dollar store ornament, and a thoughtful gift bleeds.

Very few people are allowed in to see the Rat King. Yours truly is only allowed due to a longstanding friendship between the King and I - European figures of myth and story share a kinship that stays across oceans.

One figure stays during my visits. After the first few days of the king's hospitalization, one Orson Knight stays by his bedside. The Office's head of security (or O-Sec) is an imposing figure, silent, unwilling to engage any other visitor. Rumors abound about his relationship to the King, but I am unwilling to speculate.

It is perhaps chance, perhaps a miracle, perhaps a grand joke at Director Knight's expense that I am present when the king stirs.

Knight's face behind his ever-present mask is fear, worry, faint hope being kindled. He reaches for the king, hesitates.

"Ah...dummerchen," mumbles Königsratte. His muzzle barely moves, a smile trying to break onto his face.

"Johann?" Breathes Orson.

"So brave in the scharzwald. And now not brave enough to hold my hand? What has become of mein ritter?"

Königsratte extends his weak hand, and I notice his fur seems more...substantial. Like he's been coloured in. Knight reaches for his hand, and takes it gently.

#office for the preservation of normalcy #holidays 2024 #documents

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monopersona · 20 days ago

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Sins of the Father

Known as the devil, loved by a saint, and father to miracles. He built his empire on blood and fire, but his legacy will not be the darkness—it will be the laughter of his children, the quiet sanctuary he shields from the world he ruled. Some call it redemption, but Sylus knows better. The past will always linger as a shadow that never truly fades, but neither does the light. He was never a good man, but he is a good father. And for them—for her—he will try to be better. A reflection of Sylus and his journey into fatherhood.

Sylus x Named MC. Family, fluff with a little darkness but mostly reflective. Sylus will forever be a doting father and husband I'm going to cry. 2380 words.

A/N: Heyyy it's Nona back with yet another Sylus fic. I have always wanted to write something that was a bit more reflective on how Sylus came to be a father and his journey as one. I kid you not, this took me 10 rewrites in over 2 weeks lol but I like how it turned out. Happy reading!

You can read on ao3 here

Series master list here

Sylus had long learned to live in two worlds.

He liked to see them as light and shadow. At home, he was a husband and father—a man who loved, doted on, and cared for his children with the love of his life. His family had become his beacon of light. It was the world where Lili stood beside him, where Aria’s laughter echoed through the hallways, where Kai’s small feet ran around the gardens without a care in the world.

When he wasn’t basking in that light, he lurked in the shadows—a path paved in blood and gold that he had built and refined over the years. One that demanded ruthlessness and precision. He had shaped it, and in turn, it had shaped him. Sylus loved the shadows, but as time passed, he had come to realize that he couldn’t live without his light.

Family had always been a foreign concept. It was something that seemed to belong to other people but never to someone like him. His childhood had been a harsh teacher, and the road he walked on was not one that allowed him to indulge in the illusions of a family. For a long time, Sylus had believed the shadows were all he would ever know. He simply believed he didn’t have the capacity to build a life beyond it.

But then he met Lili, and loving her had been the easiest thing he had ever done. There was no universe, no reality, in which he would deny her. Even then, she had never asked him to be anything other than himself. She made space for herself in his life but never demanded that he change.

Over the years, they built a life together—one that allowed them to exist in both their shared world and their individual ones. Sylus had no issue with this. Lili deserved to pursue her passions, and he would never make her give up anything she didn’t want to, so they made it work. But even after marrying her, he had never imagined himself as a father. He had come to realize later that it wasn’t that he didn’t think he was capable—it was that he had never allowed himself to want it.

And then came Aria.

Lili’s pregnancy had been a cruel one. Every month was a battle against the limits of her body—especially her heart. When she went into premature labor, Sylus had nearly lost both of them. He still remembered the blinding panic, the helplessness that clawed at his throat as he watched Lili fight for her life that day. He had known many kinds of fear in his life, but nothing compared to that moment.

In the end, they survived. And when Sylus held his daughter for the first time, something in him shifted.

He was struck by how fragile she was. She had thick white hair that was so much like his, Lili’s deep brown eyes that looked up at him in adoration, and tiny fists that clung to his fingers without hesitation—the pure, unwavering trust of someone who had never known cruelty. She was untouched by the darkness he had spent his life navigating. She was perfect, and she was his to protect. In that moment, he swore that no matter what it took, he would uphold his duty.

Sylus had always believed that sin was absolute. Once you stepped into the dark, there was no return to the light. Regret was useless; redemption was a lie. He had made his choices and had no illusions about what he was. But now, he had more than Lili to consider. Lili had walked into their relationship knowing the man he was, and it was a risk she had been willing to take. But Aria was innocent. She had never asked for this life, never chosen to be born to a father who had shadows that trailed his every step. And so, for the first time in his life, Sylus chose to draw a line between his two worlds.

Where the lines had once blurred between business and home, they became sharp and immovable. He restructured, built legitimate fronts, and eliminated dead weight. It took a while, but he meticulously planned and executed a system of protection so intricate that no enemy or ally could ever betray him without digging their own grave in the process. He wasn’t naïve, after all. Humans were predictable—easily broken by the right pressure if they hadn’t already been bought at the right price. He spent years ensuring there would be no loose ends (or lips). By the time Aria was old enough to enter preschool, there was nothing—nothing—that could tie her to his other life, even as they continued to exist side by side.

Four years after Aria, Lili and Sylus were blessed with Kai. His arrival only reinforced Sylus’s determination. He had already secured his family’s safety and future; Kai’s arrival simply proved that he had done the right thing. His empire remained, but his children would never inherit its sins.

Fatherhood was expressed not through grand promises but through his actions—through scraped knees bandaged with hands that once took lives, lunchboxes packed instead of ammos, parent-teacher conferences he went to with the same enthusiasm as protocore auctions. His presence became his promise. Over the years, Sylus had found that there was something sacred about the ordinary rituals that came with raising children. He would never trade that feeling—that purpose—for anything in the world.

Silent protection was a craft he had mastered. When you live in the world he did, expecting the worst out of people was not an unrealistic expectation. Lili watched in amusement as he twisted his paranoia into something a little more wholesome, a little more poetic. She saw the way he lingered outside Aria's door during sleepovers, counting breaths under the guise of adjusting the thermostat. Or how he taught Kai to throw punches not for violence but for confidence. His vigilance hid in plain sight—reinforced steel in the treehouse under the fairy lights, panic buttons behind crayon drawings, background checks disguised as small talk, daggers kept sharp beneath Aria and Kai’s floorboards, and of course there was also Mephisto. Despite all that, his children only knew tenderness. They found it in the way their father pretended not to see them during hide-and-seek, how he held them on nights when thunder and nightmares haunted them, or the way his stern expression always softened at the sight of them coming home from school.

And much as Sylus loved doting on his children, discipline in his household was always firm but never cruel. He had seen what fear could do to a child—had once been shaped by it himself—and had vowed his own would never flinch at the sound of his voice. When Aria tested her limits as a teenager, he held firm, kept his expectations clear, and made sure his patience remained unshaken. And when Kai, years later, confessed his self-doubt—worrying about his future and wondering if he could ever measure up to his father—Sylus simply ruffled his hair and told him, “You are your own person.”

Yet, for all his efforts to separate the worlds he balanced, there were nights when the weight of the darkness lingered too heavily. When things got too close. During these times, he would come back to the simple things—the sound of Lili’s voice calling his name, the laughter of his children echoing through the halls, the small, everyday moments that tethered him to the life he had built. They were his anchor.

Many years have passed since then. It wasn’t an easy journey by any means, but they made it. Eventually Aria went to university, Kai entered his final year of high school, Lili had moved up the ranks at the Association, and Sylus found himself growing older in a thousand ways. He had welcomed all these changes with open arms, even though sometimes he mourns how the time passes by so quickly.

Tonight, he returned home from a meeting near Whitesand Bay (N109 was an area he rarely visited ever since the restructure. That was mostly Luke and Kieran’s thing now). The negotiations had been tense, but Sylus had left with what he wanted and no blood spilled.

As he approached the door to his house, he felt the weight of his other world still clinging to him like a second skin he could never fully shed. The cold air bit at his face as he exhaled slowly, willing the remnants of the night to stay outside before he stepped in.

The living room was warm and softly illuminated by golden light. It had been years since the house was filled with the chaotic energy of childhood—no scattered toys, no hurried footsteps echoing through the halls, no screaming or crying. But tonight, it felt alive again.

“Surprise!”

Sylus turned just in time to see Aria standing by the staircase with a big smile across her face. She had grown into a striking young woman, her sharp intellect and confidence evident in the way that she carried herself. Her usual long white hair was cropped short in a bob now, her features a mix of Lili’s softness and his own sharper edges. But all he could see was the tiny baby girl he held that day at the hospital.

He didn’t ask why she was here. She never needed a reason to visit, after all. This will always be her home. Still, he raised a brow at her. “Aren’t you supposed to be drowning in law school assignments?”

“I finished early,” she said, walking over to wrap her arms around him. “And I think I’m going to stay here for a week and just drive to classes. I missed home.”

Sylus hugs his baby tighter, as if she’d disappear if he let his hold loose for just a second. “Well, home has missed you, too. Have you eaten?”

Before Aria could respond, a groggy, mildly annoyed voice interrupted them. “What’s going on?” Kai trudged into the living room, his dark hair sticking up in every direction, crimson eyes heavy with sleep. He was already taller than Sylus at just eighteen. Leaner, but still growing into his frame. “Why is it so loud?”

Aria squinted at her younger brother. “It’s eight in the evening, Kai. Normal people are awake.”

“Normal people don’t have morning practice and exams.” He yawned before dropping onto the couch. “Hey, Dad.”

Sylus nodded at him. “Have you eaten yet?”

“Aria brought home food. It was really good.”

“Yes, I did!” Aria leaned back from the hug just enough to grab her father’s hand and pull him to the dining area. “I got you and Mom’s favorite. Kai actually set it up earlier on the table.”

Lili emerged from upstairs. She had aged as much as him, and he still burned for her just as much as he did when they were in their twenties—if not more. Seeing her now in a long dress that hugged the curves of her body just right and how she ran a hand through her brown and grey strands had him already thinking about what he’d like to do to her tonight. “Some things never really change,” she would say.

A knowing smile laid on her lips. She glanced at Sylus, reading him as easily as she always had. “Long day?”

“Not more than usual.”

She hummed, unconvinced, but didn’t push. Instead, she walked over and kissed his cheek before murmuring, “Go eat.” And so he did.

Home.

It wasn’t a grand moment. There were no dramatic revelations, no intense declarations. Just this—his daughter’s unexpected visit, his son waking up late (or rather, going to sleep early and being disturbed), his wife still knowing him so well and seeing through him after all these years. The quiet assurance that they were all safe and loved. He cherished it.

Later, when the kids had settled—Aria chatting about her classes, Kai half-listening while scrolling on his phone—Sylus sat beside Lili on the balcony attached to their bedroom, his fingers brushing against hers.

"You don’t have to carry everything alone,” she told him, voice soft in the dim light.

“I’m not.”

She let out a dry laugh, but there was no malice behind it. “You still think you can keep every threat at bay by the sheer force of will, huh?”

He let out a quiet hum, his fingers absently tracing circles on her wrist. “And you think I can’t?”

Lili sighed, but there was no frustration in it. “That’s not the point.” She wasn’t asking him to change. She never had. Instead, she squeezed his hand and murmured, “Just remember that I’m here for you. Whatever it is. I think we’ve been through it all almost thirty years running by now.”

Sylus closed his eyes. “I know.” And he did. He didn’t know what he did to deserve it, but he was grateful nonetheless. “Thank you.” Some nights, he still patrolled the empty halls—fingertips tracing the doorframes where height marks chronicled childhoods that passed by in the blink of an eye. Another realization that came to be was that the real test of fatherhood came in restraint. Watching Aria inherit his temper but not his ruthlessness, seeing Kai make choices he wouldn’t, and choosing not to interfere when the consequences were manageable. They had to live their lives, and so he allows them their own learning curve as they navigated the world in a way only the know how. As long as it didn’t put them in real danger, that is. In their independence, he found his greatest victory: they feared nothing, especially not him. And when they will eventually ask about his past? He will tell them truths carefully measured—not to burden, not to expose them to a darker world, but to remind them how far he had come for them. Some would call the life he lived some sort of redemption. Sylus didn’t believe in such things. But he did believe in one thing: Aria and Kai would never walk his path. choAnd that was all that mattered.

A/N: What did you think of it? Let me know! I say this a lot lately but as someone who's trying to get back into writing, any feedback is appreciated. Thank you for reading and I hope you have a great day/night!

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baldursgate3tempobsessed · 1 year ago

Text

Past Astarion Meets His Future

This is a weird ass idea, but I'm doing it anyway. Some time travel fuckery. But the gist is: What if Astarion, decades before the Mind-flayers captured him, was on his last leg? Just on the verge of doing, what was at the time, his only way out. But what if something a little unworldly stopped him?

TW: Suicidal thoughts. M/F, me phoning it in with the dnd lore, Cazador is evil. Like, torture, physically and mentally, manipulation, literal horror shit. He's here so bad things happen to randos and our poor guy. I'm also using this as the backstory again for why Astarion can be in the sun in the future because it's so god damned convenient for drabbles.

Astarion watched the crowded bar with focused eyes, a feigned, relaxed smirk on his lips. But even with the acting, he could feel the smile on his face start to tremble, a tell-tale sign that he was truly on his last leg. It had been a long, horrible night, one that had no end in sight. Cazador was in rare form, demanding multiple warm bodies in the span of less than five hours. Astarion wasn't sure what had angered him this time, but he was taking it on the victims in a particularly savage way.

Twice already he had forced Astarion to stay in the room with the poor souls he'd brought back. And then Cazador... made him watch what he did to them. The monster truly had a knack for keeping them alive until the last possible moment. Beating them, assaulting them, laughing at their cries for help. He drank from them last, feasting on their blood until they were just on the edge of death before tossing to them ground. Then Astarion was dismissed with the order to find another.

He hated it. It was the worst part of his nights by far, not including when he was the one being tortured in their place. It didn't help that he always looked at their faces, full of terror and betrayal.

Why did he always have to look? It was a question he knew the answer to. It was because he did that to them. Perhaps not literally, but what was the difference? Astarion had led them straight into his hands.

That was all he did. His entire existence had been reduced to this. A slave, a rat, scuttling through the streets, only capable of inflicting the same torment on strangers. It was a hell that no one should experience, and one that Astarion had been in for nearly 130 years.

How could he continue like this? What was the point? He'd spent so long living on pure survival instinct, waiting for the impossible day where luck would be on his side. Where Cazador would kill the wrong stranger, where the possibility of his murder could become a reality. It was delusional, a poor excuse to continue clinging to this farce of a life.

But there was another option. There always had been. All he needs to do is wander off and wait for the sun to rise, and everything could finally be over. It's far from the first time he's thought about it. But Astarion is nothing but a coward. He'd seen the pure pain and misery of a death of that nature, your insides boiling from within as your skin turned to dust. It was horrifying, one of the worst ways someone could go. And yet... it was starting to seem like the only reasonable option he had left.

Maybe... maybe today would be the day, the first time he'd seen the sun in decades. And the last time he'd ever take a breath.

"Are you alone?" A voice asked, followed by a gentle touch to his arm.

Astarion turned, that same shallow smile instantly reappearing on his face. It was a man, one that was handsome enough for Astarion to probably not feel completely sick during the deed. Then again... he could always ignore them and go back to his final plan.

Or he could wait it out one more day, and pray for a miracle. Astarion nodded towards him, still slightly torn but willing to at least try. It's not like he could go home empty handed if things turned out that way.

"Come to my room?"

Well this was certainly easy. Astarion didn't even have to take the energy to bite out a subpar pick up line. He just followed the man to his room, a plan forming in his head on how he could convince him back to the manor. Not to mention his own escape if he turned out to have less than savory intentions.

The stranger shut the door behind him, sitting on the side of his bed with his hands folded in his lap, his eyes staring straight ahead. Astarion barely stopped himself from rolling his own. Great. A weirdo. What a lovely way to end the night, spending it seducing a complete freak. But Astarion had dealt with worse. He perched next to him, crossing his legs as he waited to see where this would go.

"I can see it," He finally said, his voice gravelly as he turned to stare at Astarion.

Astarion raised his brow, wondering for the first time if this particular prey had been partaking in some mind altering substances, "And what exactly are you seeing?"

"You."

Suddenly, the man was wrapping a tight hand around Astarion's wrist, his eyes shining with an unnatural green light, "You're close to the edge. Too close. My lord needs you breathing."

Astarion froze, equally parts horrified and confused at what he was alluding to. How on earth did he know his thoughts? What lord? Or the more likely reality; How wasted could one person be?

Astarion tried to pull back, frowning when he realized the grip on his wrist was iron-clad. He could feel a bit of panic start to swell inside him as he struggled, his voice rising, "I have no idea what you're talking about. Let go of me-"

"You must live," He said, the color of his eyes only getting brighter and brighter, near twin flames in the darkness of the room, "There is no other way. Kelemvor has work for you yet."

His confusion was quickly evaporating into rage. He didn't know what this thing wanted from him, nor why the god of death would have any interest in his life. But how dare he insist on Astarion's pathetic existence having meaning. He knew nothing.

His mask was slipping, his righteous anger spilling forth, "Let go. Before I rip your fucking arm off."

But he made no moves to back down. Instead he started to chant, an incantation that had Astarion officially panicking. Whatever magic he was using, it was powerful. Reality was shifting right beneath Astarion's feet, morphing into something different. The next thing he knew they were somewhere else entirely, his reality melting into something new right before his eyes.

The entire thing was so shocking that Astarion didn't even realize he was seeing sunlight. Without a single pain. He frantically looked around, the insane stranger's grip finally loosening as he twisted away. They were on a couch, in the middle of what looked like a brightly lit townhouse, voices spilling out of the other room.

Astarion stood quickly, a hiss escaping him, "Where in the hells are we?"

"Nowhere," The man said cryptically, his eyes still aflame, "Neither the present of the future. We are in nothing but a glimpse, taken and made for you."

That did nothing to answer his question. But it did make his mind go into more reasonable directions. This had to be an illusion, there was no other explanation for why he wasn't being burned alive. But an illusion of what? And for what purpose?

Astarion pinched the bridge of his nose, at a complete loss at what to do. He could try and kill him and pray that that would break the spell. But there was also the chance that he wouldn't live through an altercation with someone who could warp his senses so easily. Or perhaps this whole thing was a nightmare, a horrifying dream he'd cooked up after a night in the torture chamber.

Still at a loss, he settled on asking another question, "Then what is this a glimpse of?"

"Home," The man said simply before slipping off the couch. The cryptic bastard.

He started walking towards the next room towards the unknown voices; Astarion feeling helpless but to follow.

He lingered at the entryway, his eyes widening at the sight of a woman standing there, cooing at a teary-eyed child she had on her hip. They were right in her line of sight, but she had no reaction to their presence, instead calling out into the other room, "Did you find it yet?"

Another voice called back, oddly familiar as it groaned, "If I had, would I still be on my hands and knees here?"

Astarion stepped forward, more than ready to see if he could enlist the help of strangers for his predicament.

"They can not perceive us," The stranger said, interrupting the call for help that was on the tip of Astarion's tongue, "They are not real. Merely copies of what is, what will be."

"Lovely," Astarion growled out, his fingers itching to fight back against this demon of a man, "Now what in the gods' names does this have to do with me?"

"Watch and you will see," He said, his eyes blazing straight ahead, "The Lord of Death works in mysterious ways."

Astarion's theory of this being a torture-induced dream was becoming more and more believable. He didn't even bother questioning it, not when one more inane answer would send him into a tailspin. Instead he stared ahead, waiting for the moment he would wake up.

The baby was still squirming. Annoying whining sounds spilling from its lips, nearly on the edge of crying. But the woman still had a bright smile on her face, calling back "I told you we should have looked for it last night!"

"Well when she threw it across the room I assumed that meant it had fallen out of favor!" That same familiar voice yelled back, followed by an excited ah-ha! sound.

"Isabella's gonna have a fit, isn't she?" The woman sing-songed, bouncing the child on her hip, "I guess Mommy's going to have to let you start sucking on Daddy's hair again, huh?"

"I heard that!" The muffled voice called back, getting clearer and clearer by the moment. And then another man was walking into the room, grinning ear to ear as he held up a pacifier, "And I will not be forgetting it darling. Don't come crying to me the next time she's gnawing on your nose."

He leaned over to kiss the woman on the cheek before popping the pacifier in the girl's mouth, laughing when it instantly made her calm down. He was tall and pale, an elf with piercing red eyes and pure white hair.

No. It couldn't be-

"There. All better," The man sighed, his voice crystal clear in the calmness of the room, "She has quite the arm for a toddler."

It was a voice that Astarion knew, better than anyone else. It was his own.

Astarion watched, wide-eyed as his other self lifted the baby up in his arms, laughing as the child squealed around the pacifier, "She sure is cute for someone who can be such a brat. She takes after her mother doesn't she?"

The woman rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling. Almost like she couldn't help but do anything else as she watched the duo, "Brave words for someone of your nature. Not to mention how she's your twin."

"Nonsense. She looks just like you, we should have named her Tav Jr," Other Astarion playfully argued, taking his other arm to wrap around the woman's shoulders, "I'm only responsible for the corpse-like complexion."

Astarion stared at them, in complete shock. He didn't-why would anyone or anything want to show him this? It didn't make sense. How would it be possible for him to be in the sunlight? Let alone to have a family. Astarion knew that this had to be a lie, there was no other explanation.

But that didn't stop his heart from aching from being forced to witness it. He was too shell-shocked to speak as he followed the duo to the other room, listening as his other self set the child in a crib, still cooing at her, "Auntie Karlach is coming over and you'll need your rest. How else will you be annoying together?"

"Astarion!"

He watched himself laugh as he pulled back, kissing her little forehead before murmuring, "Mommy only says my name like that when she has no comeback, isn't that right princess?"

"You're going to regret telling her everything when she can start talking," The woman, Tav, piped up from next to him, "I hope you realize she'll tell me all of your secrets."

Astarion rolled his eyes before pulling her against him, pressing a sweet and lingering kiss to her lips, "What secrets do I have that you don't know? Please, enlighten me."

What kind of cruel joke was this? Astarion, the real Astarion, had seen enough. He turned to the bastard that had sent him here, growling through gritted teeth, "Why are you doing this to me? Have I not suffered through enough?"

The man offered nothing of value, "We offer you what could be, if you can survive. No more, no less."

No. No, no, no. He wouldn't believe him. He refused to. There was no future for him. There couldn't be. I-It wasn't possible. Not with Cazador looming, not when he couldn't walk in the sun without being burned alive. And especially not when he couldn't even fathom letting himself care form someone enough to have a family with.

But that's what was in front of him. He turned back, his morbid curiosity getting the better of him. Just in time to see the couple standing there, holding each other while they made out like teenagers.

"I love you," His other self sighed happily, the words free and unbidden from his own lips between kisses, "More than anything my sweet."

"With one exception?" Tav asked, her arms wrapped around his neck.

Astarion laughed, nodding towards the crib with a knowing grin, "With one exception."

Astarion stared at them, a horrifying feeling starting to grow in his chest.

Hope.

It's the greatest betrayal he could give himself, an eternity's sentence to his own personal hell on the delusional belief that something better would come. He couldn't give in to it. He wouldn't.

But the question still escapes his lips, "How long?"

"Seventy years until you meet," The stranger said, "You must live to see it. Five more until you're here."

Astarion watched, wide-eyed as the alternate reality started to fade, the stranger's eyes becoming more dull and human-like by the moment. He stared until the last possible moment, trying to commit it all to memory.

But it was difficult. Like thoughts he couldn't quite grasp, slipping through his fingers. Something wasn't right.

"Will I remember this?" He asked, even though he was already on the edge of forgetting.

"No," The man said simply. They were back in the room, sitting on the bed as though nothing had happened, "But you'll remember the hope."

It was the equivalent of a curse, one that Astarion could barely fathom as magic twisted his memories. But he could feel it there, festering in his heart. The yearning for a new life, stronger than ever.

Astarion left Shar's Caress that night feeling dazed and confused. He barely managed to drag a wasted loner back to the manor with him, preying on him in the back aisles. It was startling to think that he'd almost forgotten his original mission considering the consequences. But whatever happened had... done something to him. Something that he couldn't quite name.

But he didn't see the sun that day. Or the next. Or the day after that. Instead he continued to struggle, to suffer at the hands of his sadistic sire with no end in sight. Not until years and years later, when the worst and best thing to ever happen to him occurred. He was kidnapped by mind flayers, but gifted with a disgusting parasite that allowed him to live in the sun.

It wasn't ideal but it was better than being under Cazador's thumb. Not to mention how he found companions relatively quickly. It had been pure luck that you stumbled upon him, even luckier still that you were the type to forgive a man for having a knife to your throat.

He was happy to accompany you. He was happy to do whatever it took to increase his chances of survival, frankly. It helped that he felt... strangely drawn to you. You looked oddly familiar. He didn't know how else to describe it, but it was almost as though he'd met someone from a past life.

#astarion #astarion x reader #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x tav #what kind of christmas carol fuckery is this?#I'm having a kids moment #but hey isn't writing where you can explore the things you don't know if you want or not yet #heavy leaning towards not because my ass isn't locking down an astarion man #time travel?#what is this #idk #practice writing dont judge me #queue

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