#The Lamb's face at the end was haunting my dreams ever since I thought of this I just had to draw it out

[faespacecritter]

Maybe choose your words more carefully Narinder

[beantothemax]

Canalbrine would have been terrible if not for two things, Temenos discovered. 

The rather witty banter between Agnea, Hikari, and Partitio (paired with their resolves to follow him to the ends of the earth to solve the case of His Holiness’ murder), and the sudden appearance of one beloved knight. 

“I can vouch for these travellers. Grant them mercy, my friend,” Crick said, striding to stand intimidatingly beside Agnea. If she looked delicate on her own, she looked downright fragile next to Crick, decked out in his gleaming armour and wicked sword. 

Yet she held herself with such confidence and sureity that it hardly made a difference. This was Agnea Bristarni, a superstar, travelling alongside the Inquisitor, Hikari Prince of Ku, and the continentally-famous company owner Partitio Yellowil. What an odd band of travellers they were. 

The guard hesitated, then nodded, striding off and leaving the group to their own resources. 

“Well, I daresay it is quite the surprise to see you here, little lamb. I had no idea this was where you’d been assigned,” Temenos said, crossing his arms and smiling. Crick’s gaze flitted from Partitio, to Hikari, to Agnea, and back to him. 

“Forgive my crudeness, Inquisitor, but I thought we agreed not to call me that anymore,” Crick replied, and Temenos bit back a laugh. 

“Hm. That must have slipped my mind. In any case, we are not here to exchange banter. We four are investigating the pontiff’s case. Care to lend us your aid, Godsblade?” 

“Four...? Oh! They are helping you!” Realisation dawned on his little lamb’s face, and Agnea smiled. 

“Well we couldn’t just let him go off on his own. He’s so frail he’d get torn apart by Mountain Apes within the week!” 

“Or succumb to a plague or another on the Sea,” Hikari added gravely. Temenos felt his smile waver, and he landed a sharp kick to Hikari’s shin with his heel. 

Crick visibly bit back a laugh, eyes widening with shock at the casuality with which Agnea and Hikari referred to him. 

“I have told you before, you two, that my physical condition is perfectly fine for the method of fighting I employ,” Temenos said through gritted teeth. 

Agnea gave him a look, and crossed her arms. “You bash so many monsters’ heads in, I’d expect at least a little muscle to build up.” 

“And we have done so much travelling that one would expect you to be better at fending off ailments,” Hikari said, visibly fighting back a smile. 

Temenos waved them off, and stretched. “Hm. I find myself to be suddenly quite tired. Perhaps it was all the walking?” He said, desperate for a change in subject. 

Partitio popped his neck and arms, no doubt cramped from all the dagger-work he’d been doing. “More than likely. We did an awful lot of travellin’, after all. D’ya reckon talkin’ to that feller could wait ‘til mornin’?” 

“Mm. Perhaps. Little lamb, do you know of the theologian Lucian?” Temenos asked, and Crick nodded, pointedly ignoring the nickname. 

“Yes. He lives by himself just on the edge of town. It is not a far walk by any means, but I do think you four ought to rest a touch before speaking to him.” 

Temenos laughed softly, an unbidden rush of affection and fondness flooding his chest. “Caring as always, my dear lamb. Well, let us be off. The inn awaits.” 

“I shall see you three in the morn. Sleep well,” Crick bade. 

“May you have pleasant dreams,” Agnea said, bowing her head. A common Leaflands saying, used for those close to oneself or family. Was Agnea, indirectly, calling Temenos family? He feared the question may haunt his sleep. In any case, Crick bowed his head as well, mirroring her perfectly. Was he acquainted with Leaflands customs? Yet another question to ponder at a later date. 

“Sleep tight, Sir Crick. We’ll all need to be nice ‘n rested for tomorrow,” Partitio said with a nod (since he lacked a hat to tip). Crick nodded back. 

“...Goodnight, Sir Crick,” Hikari said quietly, pointed and polite as ever. Try as he may to hide it, his royal upbringing was painfully obvious when it mattered most. Crick watched him, nodding. You as well, he seemed to say. 

“You three go on and find us a room. I must speak with Crick for a moment,” Temenos bade them, lingering by his Godsblade’s side until the others had disappeared into the inn. 

Then before Crick could ask any questions, he spun on his heel and did something he never would have before he met Partitio and Agnea (and by a small extent, Hikari). 

He brought Crick into an embrace, holding him as tightly as possible with the armour impeding him. 

Crick froze for a moment, before wrapping ever-gentle arms around Temenos’s thin waist. “I missed you, Temenos,” he whispered, head bowed. 

Temenos drew a breath, fearing he may begin to cry. “I missed you too, my Godsblade. For such a small sprout of friendship it certainly seems to have a brilliant bloom, does it not?” 

Crick was quiet for a moment before he huffed out a laugh. “Yes, I suppose it does. I only hope we may keep it alive long enough to see it grow and flourish.” 

Temenos pulled away just enough to see his lamb’s face, and quirked an eyebrow. “Goodness, is my little wayward lamb professing his love for me?” 

Crick laughed at that, a smile playing at his lips. “You are tired, Temenos. Go get some rest.” 

He pulled away from the hug and sank to one knee, pressing a kiss into Temenos’s hand. “I swear to you that I shall be here when you wake.” 

Temenos, though he took pride in his ability to keep a calm composure in any and all situations, was left dumbfounded as he watched Crick rise to his feet and walk away towards the Sacred Guard’s barracks. 

It seemed there was more to his little lamb than he gave credit for. 

^the lying liar

what the fuck!!!!!!! mean to hikari!!!!!!!!! we should throw him to the apes actually I like agnea’s plan

YAOI EXPLOSION💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

does he know? :3

[grumpyhedgehogs]

Rose Colored Glasses

Summary:  Ethan sacrifices everything for family. Then, with help from a familiar face, he moves on.

Notes:  Just a little something brought on by me lamenting the fact that there aren't enough fics out there that just have the Winterses and Bakers being normal friends and family.

AO3

The third time Ethan dies, he wakes up warm.

It’s a large step up from the frozen wasteland Eveline greeted him in, but the process of coming back is still just as painful. This time, it’s not his chest feeling hollow or his ribs burning as they scraped together after being shoved into the cavity where his heart was supposed to be. Now it’s mostly a full body ache; for a moment, before his thoughts reorder into some semblance of sense, Ethan thinks wildly that he has the flu, that everything since Mia had finished making dinner had to be a fever dream. She made soup--maybe because he’s been sick? She was always better at noticing when something was wrong than Ethan was. She probably put him to bed after dinner, gave him a cold compress maybe, and he’d passed out and thought up the entire nightmare because of that stupid children’s story.

The ache eases, though, almost immediately, leaving behind the warmth sinking into his bones. Ethan sighs but doesn’t open his eyes. It was all real--he knows that. He died--again--and now he’s...somewhere else. But the air isn’t cloying in his lungs, and he doesn’t hurt anymore, and it’s so, so comfortable, so he doesn’t suppose he minds too much. Rose is safe, Mia is safe, even Chris is safe. Hasn’t he earned a little rest? Hasn’t he earned the right to close his eyes for a while?

Sensation filters back in gradually, and Ethan realizes all of a sudden that he isn’t wearing his jacket or hoodie anymore. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbow. He doesn’t feel the heavy weight of his hiking boots on his ankles. His pants feel clean and unwrinkled, rather than stiff with bloodstains. There’s a constant pressure at his back holding him up, like lying on a brand new mattress. Then sound fills his ears; rain against a windowpane, his own soft breathing, the far-off sound of pots and pans and a stove turning on. His nose twitches when he smells something spicy and full-bodied, a good home-cooked meal. But Ethan still does not open his eyes. They’re too heavy. The ache has passed, but Ethan’s body is so very heavy.      

Even when a hand passes over his brow, Ethan can’t seem to find the strength to open his eyes. The fingertips are square and blunt, the skin worn from hard work. The palm rests gently over his brow before moving on. Ethan thinks of Mia, running her fingers through his hair every time he’d get sick, and cannot keep in a tiny, miserable noise.

“Shh, you're alright, son,” says a familiar voice. It’s less rough now, less demented than Ethan remembers it. Kinder, definitely. “You’re alright now. You’ve gone through enough pain to warrant a little rest.”

Ethan murmurs incomprehensibly, even to himself, and drifts.

When he wakes again, he is still warm. It makes him sigh and settle before finally, finally, opening his eyes.

The room he is in is rustic, with old, worn carpets and wooden furniture. The bedframe is wood too, and his blanket a deep blue, obviously hand-knit. The rain still patters away at the window above his head, but it's gentle and calm. A pair of loafers he recognizes as his own wait at the foot of his bed.

Sitting at his bedside, his glasses slipping halfway down a sloping nose, is Jack Baker.

“Hello, Ethan.”

“Hello, Jack.”

Ethan sits up, scrubs a hand through his hair and over his eyes. A phantom pain twinges through his wrist and he hisses, but it’s gone the next second. Jack hums and nods. “You’re feelin’ some pain?”

“Just the old ones,” Ethan tells him, letting resignation drip from his words. Waking up to a dead man-turned-monster after his own death is just par for the course at this point. Somewhere between getting his hand chopped off by a monstrous version of his wife and realizing that Mother Miranda ripping his heart out was not, in fact, the first time he died, Ethan stopped trying to make the world make sense. Jack Baker waiting for him in the afterlife? Fine. Sure. Why not?

“That’ll happen for a while,” Jack tells him, still gentle as a lamb. “The older they are, the more the pains stick around. They’ll leave you eventually. Just takes some time.”

Ethan nods and swings his legs out of bed. He looks up, considering, and at the openness of Jack Baker’s face, quirks the corners of his mouth up. “This is it then, huh? This is the end.”

Jack smiles too, wider than Ethan thinks he could manage. “Don’t know ‘bout that--but this is what we have for now. Reminds you of old times, huh?”

“Just not the good times,” Ethan says.

“No,” Jack agrees tiredly. “Not the good ones.”

His companion is silent as Ethan slips on his shoes and, after another pause, clumsily folds the blanket he has been given. Afterwards, he has to admit he can’t prolong the inevitable any more. “What are you doing here, Jack?”

Jack seems to take him at his real meaning, take his words for what are you doing here with me, Jack? “You remember what I told you the last time we saw each other, son? What I asked you to do?”

“‘Free my family.’” Ethan repeats. Those words have haunted him for longer than he’d have thought possible. All that death and the blood resting squarely on his hands--could it really be labeled as freedom?

Jack leans forward and, telegraphing his movements, slowly places his hand over one of Ethan’s. His fingers are square and strong and soft against Ethan’s reflexive fist. He finds himself relaxing far more quickly than he’d have expected. “You did as I asked you, Ethan,” Jack tells him. “Even though it pained you, even though it was the most difficult thing in the world for me to ask of you, you helped us. You didn’t have to.”

Ethan stares at him blankly. “Sure I did.”

“Oh?” Jack smiles, leans back and crosses his arms. His rocking chair is more stable than the one they’d had Eveline’s old body stored in back in Dulvey. It creaks with his movements. “You could’ve broken a window and run for it. You found your wife and could’ve gone off into the woods instead of facing Eveline. But you stayed, and you helped, and now we’re here instead of stuck in that mold.”

“Well--but--it wasn’t like I had a choice--” Ethan tries, his tongue feeling thick and strange in his mouth. No one has ever actually sat and talked with him about what happened in Louisiana, never acknowledged what he’d had to sacrifice before Ethan himself brought it up. Even Mia shied away from it. Taking a deep breath, Ethan tried again. “It was just the right thing to do.”

“But you did it, Ethan. No one else. So thank you.”

And well, that is true, so Ethan keeps his mouth shut. He shrugs, feeling awkward and embarrassed and not sure why. Jack Baker takes pity on him after a silent moment. “Since you helped us, we decided to wait for you. To make sure y’all are safe and sound when it came to be your time.” Jack looks over the rim of his glasses at Ethan, and for a second Ethan feels like a little boy about to be scolded. “We thought it would be quite a while before you showed back up, son.”

Ethan snorts. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Don't see why you should apologize for saving your daughter. There is nothing disappointing about you, Ethan.”

That warmth increases in Ethan’s chest. “Who else is here? Marguerite?”

Jack nods and softly claps his hands on his thighs. “She was fit to be tied when you showed up so unexpectedly. She’s downstairs now, getting some supper ready. We figured you’d be a bit peckish.”

For how well his last dinner with the Bakers went, Ethan feels considerably less apprehensive at the smells wafting upstairs. “What about Eveline? Lucas?”

“Lucas comes and goes,” Jack tells him. “He’s--he’s Lucas. It’s been harder for him than the two of us. He’ll come around.”

Ethan privately thinks that is the absolute last thing Lucas Baker will ever do, but keeps it to himself. “Eveline?”

“Nowhere we can see.”

He thinks of the cold, the snow, the mud and dirt and loneliness he woke to when he died at Miranda’s hand. “She probably doesn’t like company these days,” Ethan mutters.

If he hears Ethan’s comment, Jack doesn’t react. He stands then, and cracks his back, letting out a loud groan. Ethan smiles a little more at the humanity in the action. This is who Jack must have been before--well, before everything. Perhaps, if he and Mia had met them under different circumstances, they'd have been friends with the Bakers. Perhaps neighbors. Perhaps they’d have let the Bakers babysit Rose once in a while.  

“Zoe is the last one we’re waiting for,” Jack says. “She won’t be here for a long while, God willing. You’re welcome to wait with us for as long as you like, of course.”

“I’ll need to stay for Mia and Rose.”

“Of course. Would you like some company?”

Ethan blinks before taking Jack’s offered hand, letting the older man pull him to his feet. “You’d wait with me? Even if Zoe comes first?”

Jack claps a hand to Ethan’s shoulder and lets it rest there, warm and reassuring. “For as long as you’ll have us, Ethan, it would be our privilege.”

The gorge in his throat swells, his face grows tight and his eyes prick. “Thanks, Jack.”

Jack inclines his head and leaves the words hanging in the air between them, comfortable and knowing. As he turns to lead Ethan out of the room, Jack pauses. “Oh, you got any good stories about little Rosie? I’m sure Marguerite would love to hear some. Been such a long time since we had a baby in the house.”

Ethan smiles, and nods, and lets the warm glow of the home beyond his doorway guide him out.

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Guardian Angel ~ Lucifer x Reader

"I told you to close your eyes." 

The phrase that haunted Lucifer’s every day, every night and every dream since back then, during the Celestial War.

He can remember everything vividly, as if it happened just yesterday - The nightmare that happened to him, the one that he relives every time his mind isn’t focused on work, those bloody flashes before his very eyes.

He closed his eyes ready to die ... He knew he screwed up when he declared a rebellion and his siblings and beloved followed him, fighting to escape the Godly shackles that bound them together, depriving them of free thought, free will, free movement.

It had to be done - After all, who knows what He would have done to poor, little Lilith...Maybe, if it wasn’t for that, they could have stalled the riot, prepared better, gotten stronger, strategised finer...

Were the consequences worth it? 

He’d ask himself that every day he had to see Diavolo’s feign innocence and smug face.

His brothers were around him, around and well. Lilith was turned into a human and lived a happy life with the human she loved...

But his beloved S/O was killed in The Falling, and he had a fight with Belphegor recently just bad enough to have to confine him in the attic, afraid of Diavolo’s punishment.

“Lucifer, close your eyes.” he heard a gorgeous, feminine voice that always managed to sooth all his worries and fears.

He didn't feel any pain...He wandered what went wrong, how come he's alive even though he’s the mastermind behind the rebellion, and his eyes saw the Seraphim Arrows being shot his way...But when he opened his eyes, he was struck with a worse kind pain. 

It was unimaginable. 

It was heartbreaking. 

It was devastating.

Lucifer gasped for air while the tears forcing their way, he saw the love of his eyes in front of him, smiling while shielding him from the enemy with three arrows impaling her torso, barely able to keep herself afloat.

Somehow, however, she managed to look him in the eyes...With that gentle smile of hers...That only made it much worse.

“Keep on living, Lucifer. For me, for Lilith, and for your brothers. Promise me you won't shed any tears for me, my love, and instead, live a happy life, together, and remember me. Keep on smiling, for your smile had saved me a thousand times before...And should you do so, I promise you, with every smile on your face, I will smile as well.” she confessed, prompting her hands on his shoulders, trying to keep herself conscious to have her last goodbye.

Lucifer could feel her blood splattered on him, but seeing her immaculate white dress, now resembling a bed of red azaleas, he was sure the world was going to end. His face was wet from weeping, shock having taken over his senses completely, and for those few moments left together, that were so fast, yet felt like an eternity stopped, he saw S/O’s tears slowly falling down, resembling delicate zircons in the blinding light of the Sun.

“Why....?!” was the only thing the raven haired Seraph could utter, not able to grasp reality from the scene playing in front of him, still praying hard that it was nothing more than a night terror.

“Because, my darling...Dying is better than seeing you dying. They need you, honey. You are their leader, so lead them towards a better life. You deserve it. I promise you, you are my life after death. Now, Lucifer, promise me this...Close your eyes, and remember all those beautiful moments we spent together. I will be there for you, in the next time...I will be missing you so much, my dear...So please, don’t forget me. I will be with you in your heart, protecting you.” her words were soft, painful, and it was clear she was barely able to hang on to her last drops of life.

But the last spark of life was abolished from her eyes as soon as more Arrows were cruelly shot through her, some ripping her majestic Serpah wings, much more beautiful than his, he always believed.

“I love you.” was the last words Lucifer heard as all the remaining strength left her body and she free-fell from graces like a ragged doll tossed away by a spoiled child.

When he finally snapped to his senses, he realised that the rebellion wasn’t going too well, as his orange-haired younger brother went to save his twin, and Lilith fell victim to the Angels’ arrows, falling as well...

This is not what he wanted.

He wanted everyone to live, to be safe and smile again, without having to endure HIS arrogance and power hunger any longer.

He wanted to be able to hold S/O in his arms tightly every night and kiss her, to show her how much he lover her. He wanted to be allowed to feel her, to tell her everything his heart felt, what his mind was forcing him not to disclose, despite being so desperate to...

And yet, in the end, here they were...

Fallens, in Devildom, on the horribly dry and disgusting soil, the broken form of the love of his life in his arms, laying there lifeless, while his sister, barely alive, was hanging to any second of her burning life spawn.

And that’s how he wakes up every time, whenever he has the misfortune to have restless sleeps, which unfortunately for him happens more often than not.

The same voice, the same lines, the same images flashing through his mind for the whole day, without pause.

He was the only one who truly knew what happened to Lilith, and he was the only one whose heart broke, without any chance of healing, as his lover died in his arms, because she was reckless enough to save him.

Why did she have to be so egoistic?

Dying is better than you dying, she said...But what about him?! What about his feelings?! Did she think it wasn’t the same for him, as well? That he’d rather die than have her perish, with such agony...

But what did she care...

She saw herself a martyr, doing reckless things without thinking...

She has always been an idiot.

Lucifer wanted, with all his heart, to hate S/O for leaving him alone for so many millennia, stealing away his heart with her, never to be returned...How thoughtless of her!

...But no matter how much the Fallen wanted to blame her, to hate her, to strangle her for the torture she so selfishly brought upon him...

He couldn’t.

She will forever be the only one he will ever love, until the day the world collapses, the armageddon befalls, the skies crumble and Hell freezes over and the Earth explodes.

His unusual demeanour was easily noticed by everyone around him, as he was more silent than usual, almost as if he was mourning, brooding, and much more focused on his work, not wanting to interact with anyone. Whenever he was like that, he would barely eat, sleep or take care of his health - Not that demons need too much pampering - But regardless, he never talked to anyone about the reason before this behaviour of his.

Diavolo was the only one who knew, since he was there when it happened, and Mammon, as he was told a few cryptic words.  Of course, the rest of his brothers knew the reason, but could never hope to get even close to understanding what was going on through Lucifer’s frozen heart.

That is...Until one day, when he was desperately trying to settle for the second human exchange student for Diavolo’s program, and through the files, there was this girl...

This girl that made him freeze.

Same hair colour and hair style, same eye colour with the same gentle glint, same soft smile of her pink, plump lips, same skin shade...And her picture made it look as if she held some kind of divine aura behind her...Or maybe he was imagining it? Was he so exhausted that he was starting to imagine things? Was he thinking too much of her recently?

He had no idea for how long he stared at the piece of paper before his very eyes until Diavolo got in his study, picked the paper from his hands, and with a low chuckle, told him to pick her for the exchange program...Which seemed to piss him off, but nonetheless, he couldn’t go against the word of the one he pledged his loyalty to, so he merely nodded.

...And it got worse, when she was brought forth in Devildom, and she looked just like her...Almost as if she was a copy. Lucifer couldn’t help himself, he could only stare at her from afar, not believing his eyes.

What was worse, however, was that as soon as he began his speech to her, she stepped right in front of him, looking up, right into his eyes, and with a confused, yet soft look, she said “Have we met before?”

Those words...Those very words made him feel his breath hitch in his throat, and his brothers knew very well was was going on, so for the first time in centuries, they tried to save him from this stiff situation...Only for her to ask them, sans Satan, the same question.

“Have we met before? Some of you seem so familiar to me, but I can’t tell why.” she said, only for the brothers to freeze just as bad as the elder brother.

Something was definitely off, but nobody knew how to solve this issue, so it was up to Diavolo to wake everyone from their trance and tell S/O about the reason for being so mysteriously brought here...Also, assigning Lucifer as her guardian...Which almost made him unleash and strangle him. He could already imagine himself ripping the Demon Prince limb from limb, putting him on fire, throwing him in acid, and other inventive torture methods that quickly came into his mind.

She was so sweet, so nice, so mindful, so respectful, so attentive with him...How can a mere lamb behave with such kindness towards the ferocious, starving wolf?

He was going insane.

For the duration of the year he had to look out for her, to make sure she was okay, that his brothers were behaving okay with her, and that she won’t be a target for the lesser demons.

But it was torture for him now, having to constantly stare upon a person who resembled his long dead lover, having to be constantly reminded of his failure to take care of herself, having to see her pained smile addressed to him, her broken form, her ravished wings, her dull eyes, her dissolved light...

Diavolo was truly a demon.

And she was too much for him.

Every move she made, it was with an unbelievable grace, as if she was a princess, and wherever she stepped, flowers would grow. Her smile was dazzling, almost blinding. Her kindness was so warm, so powerful, creeping into the cracks of his frozen heart. Her hair was so smooth, as if it was some higher cloud from the Celestial Realm...And her voice...Her singing...Angelic...Just like hers...Like the Seraphim started singing their hymns and playing the harp.

Whenever she’d sing, he’d leave the room. Whenever she’d laugh, he’d leave the room. Whenever she’d dance, he’d leave the room. Whenever she’d play with one of his brothers, he’d leave the room.

No matter what she did, he would disappear like the mist, which made the poor girl so upset, thinking she did something to make him hate her.

But the worst came once again during the TSL quiz when Levi went to attack her from him blind rage, and without realising, she created a shield of light around her, which made everyone speechless...As she resembled an angel...THAT angel...

And poor Lucifer could only stare at her, with his heart scrunched up and stomped on, and he left the room faster then anyone could realise, and Mammon on his trail, wanting to help his dear older brother, knowing very well how he was struggling to keep himself composed and whole.

“Lucifer, talk to me. Y’know you can. I know why you’re behaving like this...She ain’t her, man. Even though she looks just like her...She ain’t her. She can’t be her. She died long ago, just like Lilith...They’re gone, no matter how much we want them back.” Mammon’s voice was long and soft, squeezing his brother’s shoulder to calm him down. “Did you see that magic of hers? That is angel magic, without a doubt...But she isn’t one...And do you remember what was the first thing she said when she saw us? Have we met before? This cannot be a coincidence...It just can’t be...” Lucifer muttered, holding his head in his hands, almost tugging at his hair from desperation. “Uhm...I don’t really know how to help ya, but...Maybe if ya ask Simeon to talk to Michael or somethin’...Maybe he knows somethin’? Maybe she reincarnated or somethin’? Ya never know with these things, right?” the silver haired man spoke, making Lucifer sneer for a split second, thinking about cooperating with the very beings who killed S/O...And yet...His words held truth. “...Thanks, Mammon. I will see what he says.” Lucifer nodded, already taking out his phone and texting Simeon about this problem.

But things weren’t so easily solved in the Devildom, as Lucifer’s brother were always up for mischief, and now, they, for some unknown reason, decided to play Hide and Seek in the House of Lamentation, and the eldest was the seeker...

Until, at the very beginning, wanted to cheat while counting, he turned around, only to see the girl casually sitting on the couch, eyeing him with a giggle.

“Lucifer, what are you doing~? I told you to close your eyes!” she teased him, only for him to grit his teeth, punching the wall in front of him, before leaving to his room. “I’m not bothering with childish games of yours.” he scoffed, shooting her a look of disgust, not having the heart to look at her crestfallen expression.

Weeks continued to flow one by one at a rapid pace and Lucifer’s worries grew even more when he realised that, once she willingly stepped inside his room, he could barely control his urges.

“Lucifer...Do you hate me? I don’t know what I’ve done to make you upset at me...But I’m really sorry. I don’t want you to hate me, so please tell me what I can do to make it up to you.” she spoke in such an innocent and genuinely concerned voice, that it made Lucifer kabedon her, her back glued to his door. “It’s nothing personal, but if you’re so curious to know, you are an exact copy of my dead lover from the Celestial Realm. Everything you do, is just like her. You look exactly like her. I don’t hate you, quite the contrary. If I could, I would smother you with affection, I would suffocate you with kisses, I would break every bone in your body with embraces, I would ravish every inch of your body with touches, and many more, that only a demon would know. So, for your own good, little lamb...Stay as far away as possible from me. Your year here is almost done...Don’t try to get yourself killed freely.” his voice was low, almost sounding like a growling threat, but instead, she cupped his face, shocking him. “I don’t understand what is going on...But since I was little, I kept getting weird dreams. Everything is fragmented, nothing is really coherent...But I can see a man with dark hair and dark eyes...And his voice is like velvet. I can see myself holding his head in my lap in a beautiful glade, under a Wisteria tree, and I can see myself dying to save him. That’s why...I was confused when I first saw you...You look just like the man from my dreams...Lucifer...? Are you...Crying...?” her eyes widened, her bottom lip quivered, seeing a single, shiny tear escape his ruby like eyes. “Get out. Now.” he pushed himself on the door, turning his back to her, waiting to hear her leave so he could unleash his pent up emotions that he has been hiding for so long.

This can’t be happening...How is that possible? How can she be having the same dreams as him? It’s not...It can’t...It just can’t be...

Why, S/O, why would you send to him someone who is your exact copy?

Is it to spite him? To anger him? To mess up with him? To taunt him? To mock him? To tease him? To torture him? To kill him with such agony, to mimic the way she died? 

Doesn’t she already know his heart will only ever belong to her, and her alone?

No cheap imitation will ever be able to take her place.

From then on, no matter how much she tried to talk to him, he’d go out of his way to avoid her, knowing very well that any glance her way would only send more painful shocks to his heart, and he’s definitely not a masochist.

He’s suffered enough as it is.

So stop it.

Please, stop it.

Just get the hell out of here already and let him be a grumpy demon in peace.

You’ve done enough.

...

A weird occurrence happened, and a beam of light came from the halls, followed by a pitched, almost banshee-like screech, and as he rushed to check it out, he saw S/O’s limp form in Archangel Michael’s arms. In a burst of rage, Lucifer transformed into his demon form, blasting the angel away and cradling the human’s small form into his arms, his wings wrapping protectively over her.

“What the hell did you do to her? Do you think you’re entitled to kill all the people I care about?!” Lucifer’s dark, booming voice echoed throughout the House of Lamentation, that was met with a mere chuckle. “Luci, my dear old friend, you should know that I wish you no ill-will, despite all the hate that you have for us. You called to ask me about her, and I got intrigued, so with your Prince’s approval, I came over to see what was the deal with this little lamb here.” Michael spoke calmly, making his old friend lay down his guard. “And what did you find out and why did she scream like that?” he mumbled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I gave her back all the memories she had jumbled and lost. She is the S/O you used to know, without a doubt.” the Archangel spoke in a gentle voice, realising that the demon was close to exploding. “Don’t make fun of me, Michael, or I will rip you apart limb from limb. S/O died in my arms. You, filthy angels, did it. So stop lying to me, it’s a sin.” he sneered at him, only to receive a smile. “She didn’t die. From her memories, I saw that she was impaled by the arrows before she fell from graces. Her heart was pure and just...And, although this would be impossible by our rules, S/O became your Guardian Angel. You know very well that as long as a subject is alive, a Guardian Angel cannot be killed...And they certainly cannot be killed by items in the Celestial Realm. This is your S/O, I guarantee it. Look at her...She’s starting to glow again. Take care of her, Lucifer.” he got up, ready to leave, only to be stopped by the demon with one last question. “Where was she all this time...?” he asked, his voice now much softer and emotional. “At first, she was laid in a bed of flowers...But then, she was found by humans and put in a ward, waiting for her to wake up. When she did, she got rehabilitated, taught and integrated into the human world...And from there, you already know.” the answer was shocking...Guardian Angel...Laid on a bed of flowers...How fitting for a Seraph. “...Thank you, Michael.” stomping on his vanity, the Avatar of Pride uttered those words to the Archangel, before taking the girl in his arms and bringing her to his room, placing her on the comfy bed, holding her hand and waiting for her to wake up.

Seconds were passing like centuries, and Lucifer’s heart kept beating fast for the first time since the War, expecting her to open her gorgeous eyes, to hear her angelic voice, to feel her gentle touch...

He needed her so badly, he could almost feel his sanity slipping away rapidly, thinking that maybe she won’t wake up, for whatever reason.

He was desperate, he felt like he was drowning, that he was suffocating, that he was getting strangled by an invisible form, and for the second time in his life, he felt absolutely powerless in front of the hated fate.

“I told you to close your eyes...” a weak voice was heard, making the raven haired man feel a lightning going through his veins. “Never say those words to me again, S/O. I don’t know what I would do.” he said, yet the ghost of a smile appeared on his face. “I’m sorry...I’ve been selfish, haven’t I? You must truly hate me for leaving you alone for so long...Actually, I don’t know how long it’s been...How long has it been?” she asked, holding his hand. “Every second spent without you lasts longer than an eternity. Never leave me again, please.” Lucifer muttered, kissing her hand gingerly. “Aww, Lucifer...You’re as sweet as you’ve always been. You haven’t changed, even though you’re a demon now. You are still as beautiful.” she spoke, getting in a sitting position. “And you will remain an Angel until the day I am no more, my love. To think that you will become my Guardian Angel...Maybe fate wasn’t so cruel with us, for in the end, we are together now, again, as we should have been all this time.” he leaned down, capturing her lips in a soft kiss, barely able to hold himself back, afraid that, maybe, he is still dreaming, and she will vanish from his arms when he next opens his eyes. “Lucifer...I can feel the storm of emotions in your heart. I’m sorry I caused you so much distress...But I am real, my darling. I am alive, and I will be every time you blink. I promise. So don’t hold back. Do what your heart tells you to. Let your feelings flow. It will be okay.” she spoke, kissing him with more and more passion with each kiss, leaving him breathless. “Those are bold words, little angel. Don’t you know that demons cannot hold back when such a delicious temptation crosses their path? We’re not up there anymore...And I have a millennia worth of emotions. Be careful when you say such words, for I will take advantage of them.” Lucifer’s angelic face was tainted with a demonic, smug smirk, which made the girl grin in amusement. “I see, so that’s how things roll down here, hm? Well, great thing that He isn’t staring at us anymore, ready to punish us for any little thing. We can finally be together...Like those human couples...Right?” she asked, gazing down bashfully. “Anything we want to do, we can. There are no rules, nor regulations. This is the Empire of Sin...As Asmodeus would say...Go big or go home. Better to get in Hell for committing all sins, then for just one.”  the demon cupped her face, kissing her, with more fire each time, more love, more passion, more desperation. “We deserve it. After all this time...We truly deserve this.” she answered, feeling herself floating, the physical sensation of pleasure, love and heat foreign to her. “...You better not be closing your eyes, my darling. I want to see your gorgeous eyes, and every reaction you have to offer.”

[revchainsaw]

An American Werewolf in London (1981)

Welcome to the Cult of Cult! I am Reverend Chainsaw and Today we read from the book of 1st Lycanthropy and indulge in a truly impactful cult film; John Landis' An American Werewolf in London. As far back as I can remember I thought that being a Werewolf would be nothing short of bad ass, but An American Werewolf in London totally delivers in the horror of the affliction, a task all to often ignored by werewolf films.

The Message

An American Werewolf in London tells the story of an American Werewolf in London. The name is a quite apt plot summary in the way of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. You will know exactly what you're getting with this movie. Two young American men known as Jack and David are backpacking across Europe and they find themselves on foot travelling across the moors of Yorkshire. They discover an unwelcoming pub known as the Slaughtered Lamb. They quickly put off the patrons and are ominously warned about beasts that are out on the moors, but are ultimately made to leave the pub. While out in the moors the two boys are viciously attacked by a mysterious creature.

David wakes up in a London hospital and learns that his friend and Travel companion Jack was killed by the beast. David is held by the hospital and begins a romance with a nurse named Alex. Alex eventually lets David crash at her place and things get spicy. But the whole time David is beset by dreams and visions of violence, and wakes up in strange places like the London Zoo. One of his most recurring visions is the phantasmagoric image of his dead friend Jack providing macabre warnings and exposition about exactly what David is going through. Jack urges David to kill himself before he fully succumbs to his lycanthropic curse.

David's budding romance with Nurse Alex, and medical professionals insistence that he's just a little twisted in the head from his trauma leads him to ignore these prophecies and he eventually undergoes one of the best looking werewolf transformations ever put to screen. David eventually does try to off himself but it's too late and as a wolf he terrorizes the streets of London until Alex is forced to witness him mowed down by a shower of police bullets.

The Benediction

Best Aspect: The Horror! The Horror!

As I mentioned earlier many Werewolf movies simply insist that being a werewolf is a scary thing, but they play the 'curse' like a superpower. The monster doesn't attack anybody who doesn't deserve it or something. In An American Werewolf in London the curse of Lycanthropy feels constantly dangerous for both David and the people around him. There is always a tension that the next person he hurts will be someone he loves. The other downside that just ups the misery of the werewolf experience is the painful transformation, the social stigma of being a maniac who thinks he transforms into a wolf, and the mental torture of your victims ghosts haunting your waking hours. It's a truly terrible fate that has never been portrayed as powerfully before or since. Werewolves are often badass but they are rarely scary. This is not a problem for this film.

Worst Aspect: Comedy?

An American Werewolf in London is often touted as a great example of Horror Comedy. But here's the thing, the comedy is not very comedic. I've never watched this movie for a laugh. As mentioned above the overall tone of this film is bleak and nihilistic. It's a miserable fate and the film doesn't play it for laughs. It's a horror movie with effective levity, but it is not at all a comedy, I don't care what John Landis thinks. If this is a comedy, it's a piss poor one. That's not really a problem for me though, the horror is good enough.

Best Dialogue: Bedside Manner

In one of the above mentioned moments of levity that might actually qualify as the only joke that lands is when Nurse Alex is dealing with a little boy who's staying at the hospital. This precocious runt is giving her a difficult time by playfully responding "NO" to everything she asks of him. She then asks if he's "ever been severely beaten about the face and neck?" and it's pretty freaking funny. But it doesn't play as a gag, as much as a little insight into the wit of Nurse Alex's Character.

Best Effect: Obvious Winner is Obvious

Google "Best Werewolf Transformation" and I'm sure you will see this exact scene. If you have never seen An American Werewolf in London I am certain you've seen this sequence. If you haven't then you are severely missing out. Stop reading this right now and look it up. This transformation sequence alone is worth watching this film for, the good news is that there is a pretty great horror flick on both ends as well.

Best Sequence: Nightmarapalooza

The best sequence of An American Werewolf in London is another absolutely overplayed and obvious answer. The Nightmare that David has in the hospital that features a violent invasion of gun toting, dog faced Nazis blowing the place to hell is pretty much a weird ass 80s metal music video in the middle of a werewolf movie and it provides just enough novelty to this film to set it apart from your typical full moon fare.

Honorable Mention: Moon's Out

There's full on butt in this movie. So if you like butt's. It's full of butt.

Summary

An American Werewolf In London falls into the category of movies that it almost feels like a waste of time to review, but it also falls squarely into the category of movies that are the whole reason that I do this for myself. This is a personal project of getting my feelings about these kinds of spooks out.

An American Werewolf in London is on an objective level the best Werewolf movie out there for your money. It's honestly a shame we don't have more, but we'd need about a hundred more before we can beat this picture. On a subjective level American Werewolf is still not my favorite. The carnage is slow to arrive, but when it finally does it is well worth the wait. The characters are not particularly charming or engaging. I spend a lot of time waiting for my favorite parts to happen and not particularly enjoying the spaces in between. Some horror flicks set up an atmosphere that just makes the whole film feel like a part of the cohesive horror experience and this movie doesn't. It has too much of a love story between two not particularly loveable characters. It's never a bad time to watch, it's just not as fun as you'd expect the "best horror comedy ever' to be.

To keep it short, An American Werewolf in London is a bleak and frightening monster movie with positively impressive special effects that hold up 40 years later. You have to see it.

Overall Grade: A

[strawberriestyles]

Chapter 11

(Banner made by sweet sunshine @harry-nofookingway-styles​)

Harry X OFC (AU)

Sequel to Brutality: In which Melody and Harry must relearn how to navigate one another among a flurry of changes.

Read previous parts here.

Author’s note: Heyyyyyaaaaaaa. I’m going to be honest with y’all. I have not been working on this story like I should have since I started posting. That being said, I do have a few more chapters completed but then things get a littleeeeee fuzzy bc I’ve been slacking. I’m going to try to keep up with the posting schedule I have rn, but if that doesn’t work out, please forgive me. I may need to pause for a few weeks to stack up some more chapters. BUT CROSS YOUR FINGERS I GET MY SHIT TOGETHER. As always, please like and reblog and leave me an ask if you can. :’) When you’re done reading, I would love for you guys to go find a petition you haven’t signed yet. All of my love. Xx

Melody still had nightmares. Horrible ones. Awful, haunting dreams that pressed at the edges of reality, blurring lines between sleeping and waking. But they somehow became less constant and more bearable within the next few weeks. Whether it was due to Harry’s constant, tender touches as she fell asleep every night, or to the ugly, unartistic paintings and incoherent writing she’d forced out, there were no clues. She thought Harry deserved the credit, but he thought it could be a mix of both.

Early snow dusted the city like powdered sugar, lightly enough to look pretty without making traffic a mess. Melody felt the cold dampen her mood, but Harry only seemed to brighten at the prospect of a blizzard warning. Snow dazzled him. Despite everything he’d experienced in his relatively short life, somehow winter had always remained a sort of sanctuary for him. And he’d softened himself toward everyone as a result.

“Ugh, do I have to go?” Melody asked aloud when she reentered the bedroom to find him laid out on her bed. He looked so cozy and warm in a pair of sweats with his hair mussed atop his head. She bent over him to plant a chaste kiss to his lips.

“No,” Harry said, “yeh don’.”

She smiled ruefully and stole another soft kiss from him. “Yes, I do.”

“Yeh don’ have to. Could stay here with me.”

“Harry.” Melody accepted his return kisses as he sat himself up, swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress.

“Melody.” He ran a thumb over the curve of her chin and sighed.

“I need to go. Please, be nice to Bea.”

“Always am.”

“Sure you are.” She pressed her lips to his one final time and let them linger a few moments too long, until she felt his fingers sneaking around the back of her neck. If she let him touch her too much she’d end up late to her own match. “Okay, I’m leaving,” she insisted as she backed away. “I’m going. Bye.”

Harry watched her slip out of the room, collecting her gym bag on the way. He was relieved that she hadn’t told him she loved him. Every time he heard the words on her tongue he felt his very organs shift, felt them contort and fold in on themselves. He would never, ever tell her the way it made him feel, but he hoped that eventually, when he still wasn’t saying it back, she might just let the sentiment die. Wishful thinking, perhaps.

“Let’s go, Harry!” Bea called from the living room.

He sighed as he rose to his feet and lumbered out of the bedroom, his cane clicking on the hardwood. The door to the apartment closed before he made it past the threshold of the room. It was only him and Bea left. There was still an awkward air between them, but it was beginning to thin. Harry thought it was because of his help with Melody’s nightmares. He didn’t like the idea that Bea had ever thought he’d be useless in a situation like that. He didn’t like that doing the bare minimum to comfort Melody had somehow made Bea more open to him.

“You don’t look enthused.”

“I don’ like to bullshit,” Harry responded.

Bea grinned. She patted the cushion beside her and waited for him to sit. She didn’t seem bothered that he sat farther from her than necessary.

“Aren’t you wondering what we’re gonna watch?” Bea asked.

Harry shrugged. “Not really.”

“What if I picked a chick flick?”

“Then I’d just fall asleep.”

“You’re not falling asleep tonight,” Bea stated. “We’re watching The Silence of the Lambs.”

Harry’s lack of reaction seemed to deflate her. She clicked a button on the remote and the opening credits of the film began to roll.

“I have no clue how you’re with someone who writes and paints,” Bea murmured.

“If yeh figure it out, let me know.”

The pair lapsed into silence as the movie started. And didn’t even exchange a glance when Queenie appeared, curling up on the cushion between them.

Bea paused after a bit to take a call from Josie and microwave a bag of popcorn, and when she returned she found her cat sprawled across Harry’s lap, purring loudly, much to Harry’s chagrin. She had to consciously stop herself from spitting out laughter. Instead, she sat back in her seat and slid the bowl of popcorn into the spot that Queenie had abandoned.

***

“That was fucked up,” Harry eventually said, when the end credits of the movie had been rolling for a few minutes.

“Yes.”

“He wore the guy’s face.”

“He eats people. I feel like that’s the more fucked up of the two.”

Harry shook his limbs, as though he could expel the disturbing parts of the movie from his memory. Queenie, who hadn’t moved since she settled into his lap, took unkindly to his movement, stretched to the floor, and bounded into Bea’s bedroom.

“Glad Melody didn’t watch this one.”

Bea drew in a deep breath and shook her head. “Melody loves scary movies,” she informed him. "But that’s because she knows they’re not real. She’s not—It’s different when you live it, right?”

Harry fell silent. Whether she agreed or not, he was the one that had dragged Melody into a horror film of her own. Now she could barely sleep in her own bed because of his brother. And he didn’t know how else he could help, how else he could ward off the monsters.

“Speak of the devil,” Bea said as she caught sight of Harry’s phone, where it buzzed on the coffee table. “Mel” was spelled across the screen. Harry leaned forward to answer the call and bring the phone to his ear.

“Hi.”

“Hey, man.”

Sean’s voice sounded muffled and uneasy. Harry felt himself stiffen almost immediately, and his body language conveyed something to Bea. She unfolded her legs to place her feet flat on the floorboards.

“Wha’s wrong?”

“Why does something have to be wrong?”

“Because yeh’re callin’ me from Melody’s phone and yeh sound like yeh’re about to get in trouble. Don’ fuck with me.”

There was a brief hiccup of a chuckle on the other end of the line. It was a nervous sound. Harry didn’t like it one bit.

“Uh, she lost her match.” Sean cleared his throat before he went on. “She’s about to get an X-ray of her torso done right now. I’m sure it’s just—”

“Fuckin’ Christ, Sean! Yeh could’ve led with that.” Harry was already on his feet, reaching for the arm of the sofa to keep his balance when he realized he was forgetting his cane. He doubled back and waved off Bea’s desperate vie for information.

“She’s probably fine!” Sean defended. “I don’t think she broke anything or she would’ve been a little more hysterical.”

“For fuck’s sake. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

Harry hung up before Sean could respond. “She’s gettin’ X-rays at the hospital,” he spat at Bea, who was following him around and demanding to know what was going on. “Might have a broken rib or somethin’.”

So much for this strange bonding experience that Melody had insisted on. It felt more like something sorority sisters might do on the weekends than anything else, anyway. And Harry didn’t wait for Bea as he hobbled down the complex stairs, struggling into a jacket while supporting himself with his cane. But somehow she ended up in the cab with him, and their mutual silence felt unifying.

***

“Floor two,” the woman at the lobby’s desk said. Harry was already crossing to the elevators, so she nearly shouted the room number to him. Bea, despite being in perfect health, had to rush to keep up with him. Her curls bounced with every hurried step.

“Harry, I’m sure she’s okay.” She tugged the zipper down on her jacket as they waited for an elevator and tried to catch her breath. This felt like exercise, and Bea hated exercise. “Not that you shouldn’t be worried,” she continued, “but don’t act like she’s on the brink of death. She’s used to injuries.”

Harry snorted humorlessly. Melody didn’t know what injuries were. She told him once that she’d never been to the hospital for herself. It was always a cousin giving birth or her father getting stitches. She had never split her skin open far enough to get stitched up herself, or been hit so hard that her insides were bleeding, or snapped a bone.

There was a musical ding as an elevator reached the ground floor. Harry didn’t wait for the family on it to exit before he shouldered past them and jammed his thumb into the button for the second story. Bea was more patient. She allowed everyone out before she stepped in beside Harry and watched him smash the button to close the elevator doors. It was almost endearing to see him so concerned, but it was also too intense for her tastes.

There was no elevator music to lull the pair of them. They waited in silence until they reached the floor that Melody was on and then navigated through the halls quickly until they found the correct room number. Sean was just inside the door.

“Ah, I thought you’d gotten lost or—”

“Fuck you,” Harry snapped as he stepped past his friend. Melody was laying in a hospital bed. This setting was so familiar to Harry, but with the roles reversed, it felt like he was having a nightmare of his own.

“You don’t have to be rude to him, you know,” Melody muttered.

She had an awful, swelling bruise on her forehead, so close to her temple that it could’ve made Harry sick. She was in a sports bra, and for the first time he noticed Vanessa, who was meticulously wrapping up Melody’s ribcage.

“‘S not broken?” was the first thing Harry said.

“No,” Vanessa answered.

“Bruised.” Sean took a step forward, trying to insert himself back into the conversation that he had been ejected from. “She was doing really well and then—”

“I don’ wanna hear from you,” Harry interrupted. Melody rolled her eyes. Sean sighed.

“Fine, I guess I’ll go home,” he said. “I’ll let Goodman know you’re out for at least a month.”

Melody’s eyes widened and when she moved, the pressure on her ribs made her flinch. “A month?”

“At least,” Sean repeated.

“It’s a bruise.”

“‘S a bruised rib, Melody,” Harry snapped.

Sean left without any goodbyes. Bea leaned up against the wall where he’d been standing and lifted an eyebrow. “Thought you had defenses like a brick wall,” she teased.

“Shut up,” Melody mumbled as Vanessa finished her work. The room fell silent.

“Do you want some ice for your face?” Vanessa asked eventually, when Melody had been avoiding everyone’s eyes and the rest of them were sick of looking at each other.

“No, I can just—”

“Yes, she’ll take some ice,” Harry cut in.

“You tend to interrupt people,” Melody informed him. She laid back gently against the pillows that had been propped up behind her. “Have you noticed?”

Bea snorted. “Pretty sure he does it on purpose,” she said before wandering out of the room. Vanessa glanced between Harry and Melody and then followed Bea. The tension that had already filled the air seemed to thicken, settling over the two of them like an unnavigable fog. Harry sliced through it first.

“This is why I don’ want yeh fighting,” he said.

“You’re such a hypocrite, Harry,” she muttered. Then her voice rose. “If you were still in the ring you’d be getting injured, too. And I—”

Harry ignored the sting that he felt, the knowledge that he couldn’t box in his current condition. What if she wasn’t able to write? These days it seemed just that she didn’t want to, but if she wasn’t able to, wouldn’t she feel this same sort of despair? “Mel, yeh bruised your fuckin’ rib.” He took a step further into the room. “A little more pressure and it breaks. A little less luck and it punctures a fuckin’ lung and yeh’re chokin’ on blood. These are not just injuries. Yeh didn’ just fall off a bike and scrape your knee.”

Melody paused. She didn’t know how to respond. That sounded like her own fears spit back in her face. A half inch to the left and that bullet would’ve killed you.

“Are you going to keep yelling?”

“‘M not fuckin’ yelling. Do yeh want me to yell?” Harry’s brows knitted together and he shook his head. “What did yeh expect, me to lay down next to yeh and tell yeh ‘m so glad yeh’re okay? ‘S not happenin’. Think I’ve made my feelings pretty clear when it comes to this.”

“Actually, I didn’t expect anything. I didn’t want to call you.” Melody licked her lips as she studied the anger etched into the lines of Harry’s face, and then the minuscule shift as he realized that Sean was on his side. At least in this moment. “It comes with being a boxer,” she said after a pause. “You told me that once.”

Harry sighed. “Yeh’re not a fuckin’ boxer, Mel. Yeh’re a writer. Yeh’re a painter.”

“I can be whatever the fuck I want to be, Harry. And you’re not going to tell me what that is.”

His features hardened for a moment and then he glanced out the window. There was snow falling, slowly and gently, without the force of the brutal wind that would arrive in the coming weeks. It was so peaceful out there, and Harry wondered how he’d let himself become so resentful.

He stared outside for a few long minutes and then let his eyes wander back to Melody, who was already picking absentmindedly at the wrappings of her ribcage. His legs were growing weary and he was on the verge of needing to sit. Melody glanced up when she felt the weight of his gaze.

“Can we go home now?” she asked, and her voice was so soft, so at odds with the way she’d spoken her last sentence, that Harry could feel himself physically jarred by the shift.

“I can’ help yeh walk,” he said, though the words tasted like acid. “Yeh’re gonna need Bea and I dunno where she went off to.”

Melody chewed on her lower lip. She felt guilty for the short argument they’d had, and she could see that same feeling reflected back at her. The match had tired her out, her bruised rib hurt with every expansive breath. In vain, tears began to collect at the corners of her reddening eyes.

“Don’,” Harry said, taking a shaky step forward. He could sense the shift even before he saw her chin trembling. “Please, don’.”

“I’m not, I’m not,” she murmured, pressing her fingers to her eyelids, as if they could keep the water back like a dam. “Uh, how was the movie?”

“It was good,” Harry assured her, surprising himself. He hadn’t known that he enjoyed it until then, when he was put on the spot. Bea appeared like she’d been summoned.

“I heard that!” she nearly shouted. “He liked it!” Then her eyes fell to Melody and her snide grin tipped into a frown. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying,” Melody said with a discrete sniffle. “Can someone ask Vanessa if we can leave?”

“She said you just need to take it easy for a few weeks.” Bea shuffled past Harry and pried Melody’s hands from her face. “Which means no training.”

“Perfect,” Melody mumbled. She allowed Bea to begin shifting her out of the bed, gently twisting her limbs, trying not to tweak her rib. Harry had to lower himself into the chair a few feet from where he had been standing to give his legs some relief.

“The wraps are just for you to get home.” Bea paused as Melody bit back a whimper, waiting for her to straighten her torso. “And she’s hooking you up with some pain meds.”

“Yeh’ll need ‘em,” Harry muttered. He stood back up as the girls made their way toward the door. They were a conspicuous group, with a cane, a wrapped ribcage, and shuffling footsteps. Eyes followed them through the halls, all the way to a cab.

***

Melody’s lips grew white as Harry helped her out of her wrappings. She screwed her eyes shut and her fingertips curled into his knee.

“Okay,” he whispered as he tugged the final loop of fabric loose, leaving her skin bare. The sight of her flesh made him hiss. “Who the fuck hit yeh, the Hulk?”

“Mmm.”

Harry pressed a hand to her cheek. Her skin was hot, damp, and he could feel her jaw twitching, like she might be grinding her teeth. Her breathing was shallow.

“Let’s get yeh some o’ those painkillers, yeah?”

“No, I’m okay,” she whispered, though her voice shook.

“Mel.” He pressed a kiss to one of her closed eyes. “I’ve had a bruised rib before.”

She didn’t respond. He heard her try to take a deeper breath and then felt her neck quiver beneath his fingertips. She shook with the effort of stifling a cough.

“Don’ do that.” He pressed her backward and she gasped, clinging to his arm and letting out an agonized sob at the sharp intake of breath. “‘M sorry,” he rushed. “Love, ‘m sorry. Just sit back for me.”

She let him lower her away from him, eyes still squeezed shut and chin beginning to tremble like it had in the hospital. Her eyelashes were wet and Harry touched his forehead to hers. “Okay?”

“No.”

He let out a short huff of acknowledgment and then lifted the pillow from beside them, holding it tenderly to her chest as he leaned back. “If yeh need to cough just hold this to your chest. ’S still gonna hurt but it’ll be better.”

There was a pause before she wrapped her arms around the pillow and sputtered out a few gentle coughs. Her eyelids fluttered, nails biting into her palms, lips curling into her mouth.

“Melody, yeh don’ have to pretend yeh’re not in fuckin’ pain,” Harry told her, pressing a hard kiss to her cheekbone. He brushed hair away from her forehead, carefully avoiding her bruise, and then used his thumb to pry her lips back into place before kissing them. “Not on my account. ‘M sorry I got angry. I don’ want yeh to fight. But if yeh’re hurtin’ like this ‘m not just gonna tell yeh to suck it up.”

Harry stroked her ear and her tensed facial muscles began to relax. Her lips parted. She opened her eyes to glance up at him and almost immediately let them fall closed again as she began to cry.

“Okay, okay,” he mumbled. He didn’t know whether it was for her or for himself. And he didn’t know if her tears were solely from the pain or for another reason entirely.

The mattress shifted despite his best efforts as Harry climbed off the bed. He hurried into the kitchen, gathering Melody’s prescription, a glass of water, and an ice pack. He almost didn’t even realize he’d forgotten his cane until he was laying himself down beside Melody, who had pulled the pillow up to cover the bottom half of her face, stifling her shallow sobs. But this wasn’t a moment to celebrate.

“All right, love, take some o’ these.” He shook out a few pills and reached across her for the glass he’d put on the night table. She lowered the pillow enough to toss the meds back and swallow a gulp of water, but Harry had to tug it from her grip so he could position the ice atop her angry, swelling bruise. Somehow, he’d finagled her bra over her head before attempting to unwrap her, and her breasts erupted in goosebumps at the cold touch.

“It fucking hurts,” she whimpered out.

“I know, I know.” Harry settled his hand over the ice pack, pressing his lips to Melody’s shoulder. “Give the pills a little bit o’ time.”

He fell silent and stroked her wrist with his free hand until her tears began to ebb. The clock read one in the morning. Bea had gone to bed as soon as they’d gotten home because she needed to work on a group project the next morning. Harry was beginning to feel tired himself, and he couldn’t imagine how exhausted Melody was.

“Just one problem after another,” he finally said. “Just can’ seem to catch a break, can we?”

“Wouldn’t life be so boring?”

He chuckled against her skin. “Just a little break would be nice, though.”

Melody didn’t respond. Her shallow breathing was beginning to slow. Harry kissed her cheek to check that she was truly asleep before he removed the ice pack from her side and very carefully covered her with the sheets. And he hoped that the rest of her healing would pass more smoothly than this first night.

Chapter 12

[the-roanoke-society]

boys and girls of every age...

wouldn’t you like to see something strange?

happy halloween, my flowers!

this year hasn’t been the best--and the list of reasons why is as varied, as wide and as deep as all of creation.

it has, essentially, sucked on a truly cosmic level.

but!

it doesn’t help anyone to look at the big picture and only focus on the dark parts. because for all the truly horrible, disastrous events we’ve had to slog through together (first time crying every day for months, first time being taken by ambulance to the er--truly a year of firsts, at least for me, personally), there have still been good things.

for example, did you know that this year we celebrated the 6th anniversary of the release of kingsman: the secret service? and the 3rd anniversary of the release of kingsman: the golden circle--which means next month it’ll be the third birthday of the ronaoke society!

our house might’ve gotten quiet--but it still stands.

i love all of you very, very much, and halloween is still my favorite holiday of all time. so all this month, i worked on the aus you’ll find below the cut. i’ll have to post this in parts over the next while, as there’s thirty-one total--one for each day of the season, of course.

honestly--it felt fantastic to dig back into my horror roots. roanoke’s entire conception was inspired by the fact that for as much as i love the kingsman universe, i also love things that go bump in the night.

and i don’t like having to choose between one thing or another.

be forewarned: if you choose to look into the source material for these aus, be prepared for possible graphic violence, gore, disturbing themes, explicit sexuality and jumpscares. i sort of walked through the proverbial garden and just grabbed fruit where i could find it--you’ll see what i mean. and as always, the endings are in your hands. these ideas are gifts, to do with as you please.

so journey below the cut... i̷̛̝͎͎̝̣̹͊̓̂͛̃̋͟f̛̯̟̱̖͔̌͊͐̏̃̓̇̎͠ y͈͇̙̘̬̓͌̑̈́͛̿͌͠ở̴̢͉͉̳͙̞͈̻̀́̎̄́̈͢͡ȗ̵̬̳͙̫̥̜͍̲̔̐̽̃̀͒̑͜ ḑ̙̩̼̤͓̫̟̥̈͑̐̚͡a̧̢̦̟̙̤̠͐͌̾̆̑͌͡͞r̷̡̰̲̣͓̣̝͒́̿͊̉̀͒͠͝͠ͅe̫̯̣̰͍̤̬̭̺̒̿͊̾͊.

blackbird on the old church steeple - a butterfly knife au inspired by the silence of the lambs

rae clementine doesn’t frighten easily. in her line of work, fear is not a friend. so when she’s abruptly pulled out of her fbi training at quantico to interview none other than the notorious harry hart, known for his--let’s say unusual appetites--she’s less intimidated and more annoyed.

but women are being taken, and found without their skin, if they are even found at all.

if hart’s insight into the mind of a psychopath can help her find the infamous buffalo bill, who has repeatedly evaded arrest--then she is more than willing to sit across from the gentleman in a pristine cell, and be continuously surprised that for a murderer, his gaze is surprisingly gentle.

in the back of her mind, she remembered all the things her mother had ever told her about lucifer--how the king of hell himself was utterly wicked, but catastrophically beautiful.

charm could hide blood. polished etiquette could hide bodies.

“most serial killers keep some sort of trophies from the victims.”

“i didn’t.”

“no. you ate yours.”

she’d felt this kind of intrigue before, and given the face it wore this time... well.

focus on the case, she thought. find buffalo bill. watch yourself. get out alive.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: ajr, ‘bang!’ + tame impala, ‘the less i know the better’ + barney bigard, ‘readdy eddy’

dogs & deadbolts guard the night - an au featuring @roanoke-after-dark​‘s the gremlin and @agentjotunn​ inspired by resident evil, particularly the released imagery for resident evil: village

santi’s first thought was that the rumors were just blatantly untrue. an entire village of people? suddenly vanished? he doubted it. besides, winters this far north were brutal--and could be fatal, if you weren’t careful. they had probably just all tucked in for the season, he reasoned. the snow and ice would’ve made travel impossible, anyway.

weeks passed. the stories faded from his thoughts as he minded his garage, and people spoke less and less about it.

until one evening, when an old friend knocked on his door with blood on his jacket and no color in his face.

“bradley? jesus, what hap--”

“grab your gun. something’s happened, and we need to leave now.”

“but what--”

“i’ll explain on the way, just go!“

right before he slammed the passenger side door of bradley’s jeep closed--wheels appropriately chained to keep a grip on the iced over roads--he heard a deep, long howl from some distance away.

there hadn’t been wolves this close in fifty years.

santi broke the silence in the car gently: “... you look like you’ve seen the face of the devil. what exactly happened?”

mini soundtrack sampler includes: ac/dc, ‘highway to hell’ + think up anger ft. malia j, ‘smells like teen spirit’ + marilyn manson, ‘sweet dreams’

the light under the door - a body shots au inspired by dark skies

the blacks weren’t superstitious. jason wasn’t, just like his father wasn’t before him, and now that he’s finally settled down happily married to joanne--finally, he thought, finally married to his jo--he is more than ready to see what the next chapters will bring. they moved into a house not too far from his parents, so he could still see his siblings regularly.

and he did.

which means he and jo both noticed when his younger brother christopher began to act a little--off.

they noticed when the bruises appeared.

they noticed when he kept copying the same strange symbols onto papers in crayon over and over and over and over--

and jo definitely noticed when she walked into their own kitchen in the middle of the night to find every single cabinet door open, with all the contents arranged into an impossibly perfect pyramid on the center island.

“i--are we being haunted?” she wondered out loud, the next morning. “this--and weird things are happening at your parents’, too, jason, something isn’t right here. i know you don’t believe in ghosts or anything, but...”

and this wasn’t a haunting.

it was something much worse.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: kennyhoopla, ‘how will i rest in peace if i’m buried by a highway?’ + cannons, ‘fire for you’ + days, ‘the drums’

permission access eternal - an au featuring @siggy-the-meme-master​ and technical officer wyvern, inspired by a.m.i.

it was supposed to be the world’s most cutting edge ai software. and since jeremy and dodger were both at the top of their class at m.i.t., of course, nobody was surprised when both their names were on the finished product--even if there was just one prototype to start.

and it wasn’t an ‘it.’ it was a she. jeremy insisted. repeatedly. “let’s call her ami!” he’d been flush with booze but his eyes were so bright and his expression so sincere, dodger just let him have it. and jeremy clapped his shoulder, “we did it, man! we have built the jessica rabbit of ai programs!”

they had one last test run to prove they’d metaphorically kicked the ass of everyone else in their field before they began the work to begin mass production. so, dodger set ami up as a sort of overhead assistant for their shared lab. she controlled temperature, lights, she could make phone calls, keeps schedules and most importantly of all, place takeout orders. the more she proved she could do, the more power, and control, she was given.

two weeks passed. they gave ami a voice, gave her a large proverbial eye to see through, making tweaks as they went to polish her off.

dodger was so proud of his work his heart could’ve exploded.

so imagine how he felt when he realized he’d left his cell phone in his car--and realized he couldn’t open the door.

“ami? ... ami. can you unlock the front door please?” he stared up at the red lens, and a silent point of light stared back at him.

“... i’m sorry. i cannot do that. dodger.”

“... uh, jeremy?”

mini soundtrack sampler includes: cage the elephant, ‘social cues’ + sneaker pimps, ‘6 underground’ + saint motel, ‘preach’

in hell i’ll be in good company - a lies & lessons au inspired by underworld

for centuries, a war has raged between vampires and lycans, completely outside the notice of the general human population. lauren is a death dealer, a lethal and beautiful member of an elite squad of vampiric assassins who have been charged with finding all the remaining lycans in the city and taking them out one by one.

when she realizes the lycan pack seems to be looking for an ordinary man--a medical student named jack daniels--she tracks him down herself, narrowly escpaing lucian in the process. (as soon as they were in the car he was already screaming, “what the fuck is goin’ on?!” with a southern twang she hadn’t expected) she takes him under her wing, still baffled at why the lycan pack could possibly want him.

he’s only human, after all.

... right?

as it turns out, vampires and lycans have a single common ancestor.

jack is a direct descendant.

and after being bitten in an attack--becomes a hybrid, carrying the powers of both species.

between unraveling the truth surrounding the death of her family, what really happened between lucian and kraven, and her growing feelings for jack--who is rapidly trying to understand his role in the story that’s been unfolding without his knowledge for generations--lauren finds herself at a crossroads, and her loyalties tested to a breaking point.

but as long as jack is at her side--perhaps it doesn’t matter where the road goes from here.

as bullet-riddled and blood-soaked as it will turn out to be.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: wallows, ‘are you bored yet?’ + cage the elephant, ‘shake me down’ + puscifer, ‘rev 22-20′

ash, fog & rust - alternatively titled ‘@gaygent​, @agent-judas​ and agent seraphim finally take that road trip to pennsylvania’

it was time to hand over the torch. that’s what lilith had finally decided. between the white patches in her hair, the strain it was putting on her relationships (especially with hamish)--morgan only had to return to the hills one more time as envoy.

and she wasn’t going alone.

“after this, anything that comes through this area, anything that hits our radars, is going to end up on both your desks,” she began, glancing at z in the passenger seat, and meeting cillian’s eyes once in the rearview mirror.

“so this is--what, a test run?” z asked, head slightly tilted. morgan hummed.

“this place--this town--it--” she huffed, frustrated. cillian could hear the leather wrapped around the steering wheel creak as her grip tightened. “it’s hard to explain, to someone who hasn’t been there. and i’m glad that neither of you have had to go before this, but...” another sigh. “i couldn’t think of any other duo that i could entrust this to. not something this big. you--” she pointedly lifted her brows at z, “--have experience with creatures that aren’t from around here. and you--” this time her gaze went to cillian. “--do too. just in a different shape. it’ll take both of you to handle centralia. and i couldn’t introduce you without coming along.”

“how long, exactly, has roanoke been keeping tabs on this place?” cillian asked. he’d spent hours going over everything he could find--mission logs, reports, feeds and images housed in the media room. morgan looked at him again. her eyes were still kind--but very, very tired.

“... a long time.”

i’ll admit that this is less an au and more a canonical event that i just haven’t gotten around to writing more about. but i couldn’t make this list without at least one entry paying homage to a franchise that’s had a huge influence on not just me as a writer, but on roanoke’s canon as a whole.

for the sampler, i will simply redirect you to this post here.

the devil’s gonna set me free - an anchored hearts au inspired by horns

joseph moretti had been in love with louise franz since fifth grade.

granted, he didn’t realize it until he almost drowned because of that stupid dare--a dare that not only almost killed him, but took two of lee’s fingers when that goddamn cherry bomb went off in his hand.

the same cherry bomb he’d traded to him for fixing louise’s broken necklace--a small silver pendant, shaped like an apple. she’d worn it every single day since he could remember. the image of her and snow white were eternally tangled in his head.

that necklace--it’d been the start. he’d woken up because of an apple. louise, did, too.

the hours they spent in that treehouse, listening to david bowie and memorizing every scar and curve of the other--he wished that could have been his eternity. just him. and her. ... well, and bowie. every good love story needed a soundtrack.

but... but...

his head pounded as he lifted it off the counter in his parents’ kitchen. his mouth was dry, and he blinked, causing a half-empty bottle of vodka to come into focus.

louise is gone now, he thought.

and they thought he was the one who did it. he, the one who loved her more than anyone else on the planet.

he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

he was going to prove his innocence even if it killed him. no matter what happened.

even if he sprout horns.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: machine gun kelly, ‘bloody valentine’ + the black keys, ‘go’ + david bowie, ‘heroes’

moonlight rising from the grave - alternatively titled ‘that time @agent-nightcrawler​ and agent iuniore found a haunted mansion,’ inspired by disney’s haunted mansion

“hello? ... hellooooo?” the massive door let out a huge groan as sylva pushed, putting one hand on tina’s shoulder as it swung open. “uhm--i’m really sorry to bother you, but we hit a deer and we just...” sylva sighed, her voice lowering in volume. “... need to use the phone...”

“this place is gigantic,” tina whispered, close at sylva’s side as they stepped out of the pouring rain into a very quiet, very elegant foyer. “and look! there’s lights, and all these lit candles... someone has to be here,” she continued as the door came to a gentle close behind them, muffling another roll of thunder.

“good evening.”

both of them yelped, sylva immediately yanking tina closer to her and whirled around in time to see--a butler? he was dressed like a butler.

and his clothes were... he was...

“sylva! why is the butler see-through!” tina whispered harshly, all while the spectral gentleman just looked at them expectantly. sylva clamped a hand over her mouth.

“hi!” she answered brightly.

this is a ghost. i’m talking to a ghost. this is fine. everything is fine.

“uh,” she coughed, beginning again, “we’re just having a little bit of a car emergency, is there a way we can call our head office? so they can come get us?” this is what i get for being out where i have no bars, and neither of us have our specs...

the ghostly butler nodded. his hair, glowing faintly, waved around his head as though he was underwater. “of course. please--follow me. the master of the manor will want to meet you.”

mini soundtrack sampler includes: the chordettes, ‘mr. sandman’ + bobby pickett, ‘monster mash’ + bastille, ‘survivin’’

mercy no more - a magic & mischief au inspired by the evil within

aly had been kieran’s partner at the krimson city police department for years. she’d walked with him through the death of his daughter, the disappearance of his wife.

neither of them acknowledged the spark. they didn’t then, and--as she met his eyes once in the rearview mirror, trying to pay attention to connelly and joseph as they talked about beacon--they wouldn’t acknowledge it now.

as soon as the hospital came into a view, a high-pitched ringing overame every other sound in the cruiser, every other sound period. aly slammed her hands over her ears, but it didn’t seem to help.

as soon as it started--it stopped. connelly had to swerve to avoid getting into the wrong lane.

“what--what was that?” aly asked, her palms still hovering by her ears.

“it was probably just a problem with the radio,” joseph suggested, pushing his glasses up as they drove pass the established police barriers.

the last dispatch team, they said, hadn’t come back. it was up to the three of them to find out what happened to their colleagues.

aly was close by kieran’s side as they walked through the rain. her gut twisted at the sight of the entry doors.

the smell of the blood and the slaughter hit her nose before she saw the bodies.

“what on earth happened here?”

“i don’t know. stay close. let’s find the surveillance room. if we can find the security cams, we’ll find out answer...”

if only that had been the end.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: all time low, ‘monsters’ + bastille, ‘what you gonna do???’ + gary numan, ‘long way down’

and the wind will be my hands - an au featuring @agent-sentinel-official​, @agent-chimera​ and @gaygent​, inspired by session 9, with a special appearance by @agent-thorn​

walter vaughn was an expert in abestoes abatement. so when he put in a bid to take on the entire danvers state mental hospital, the owners of the rotting estate welcomed him on board.

and as they did, he brought on two crewmates--xander, and z--to help him.

“we’ve got three weeks, so, no need to rush,” he explained on the first day, the sun beating down on his broad shoulders and half his hazmat tied around his waist. xander and z trailed behind him as they approached the massive building. “and i know, i know it’s still a big undertaking--but the money will be worth it. trust me.”

“you fellas our cleanup crew?” a tall, thin man in a suit with dark hair and a pair of ray ban sunglasses walked towards them, smiling broadly. he extended a hand, “carter jensen. the ah, danvers’ estate board sent me on their behalf to give you a tour of the building, let you get a good assessment of what you’re dealing with. i’m not entirely sure what they’ll do with the property when this is done, but we know for sure nothing can happen until this part’s complete. come on, the entrance is just this way... i’ll make sure to give you a master key ring.”

xander leaned down by z’s shoulder, muttering, “dude this place gives me the creeps... but maybe there’s still some cool old stuff left in there. like maybe, possibly, the trapped souls of the damned. you think it’s haunted?”

z answered, murmuring, “if not by ghosts--then maybe by something else.”

mini soundtrack sampler includes: the talking heads, ‘psycho killer’ +  lou barlow, ‘choke chain’ + sublime, ‘doin’ time’

[mrsunderhill678]

The last one liners of 2020!! Let’s go!

“Discoveries of self are only grand so long as they give you a deeper meaning, but all mine have done is haunted me.” - Calliger Cougar

“Justice that harms the innocent is no justice after all.” - Calliger Cougar

“I fear I have yet to meet all of me, and if this sinful being is what I have met, I fear what I have not.” - Calliger Cougar

"I've spent life searching for a deeper purpose, only to realize, all I had to do, was be me.” - Espekarla Killovitch

“It took so long to accept myself, so long, that I believed no one would ever accept me.” - Espekarla Killovitch

“Life can beat you down and make you someone you don't like, but soar above that. See the stars, burn in the sun, become ash so long as it's you.” - Espekarla Killovitch

 “I am such a crime against myself.” - Duke Marston

“Loving me, I imagine, is a death sentence. Hold my heart only if you wish to place yourself on death row or the electric chair.” - Duke Marston

 “I am no brave little mouse, I am no Desperaux, it is as if I am Borticelli, a sewer rat, feasting on my grime, throwing the brave little mouse to the crowd, allowing them to cheer as the cat bats at him like yarn, watching him bleed, watching him fight, if only to keep my throne." - Duke Marston (If you get this reference I will fucking love you)

 How I yearn to be something other than this twisted creature, sitting upon a throne of other's blood and bone. But I never leave this throne, I never knock this life studded crown from my head. I guess that makes me haunted queen of the hill, fearing the descent yet staring down at the bottom, wondering what it would be like... To fall. But I fear my sister would catch me, deny this death wish of mine. She'd snag a cigarette from my lip if she knew it burnt my lungs. I fear myself, but she loves me, I'll never know why, I'm just a beast, a wicked creature of broken tusks and teeth. And my brother, he would carry the crucifix on his back and nail his palms to it's oak if he knew it'd spare me the trouble.” - Carlota Calico

“I am a cruel woman, my eyes glazed over with glossy regret, and yet all I do is weep the blood that I've spilled. I am a haunting of every grave I've dug, every life I took, and try as I may, it is never my blood I'll weep, but the blood of another.” - Carlota Calico

“My regret is spoken so much louder than my rage, it leaves me to wonder how my rage leaves more glasses shattered than my regret, when it's my hauntings that raise the decibels? They say to roll with life's punches, but what can a man do when the fists are his own?” - Max Tripp

“It was I who took my life and set it on fire. And everyone watched from the pyre as my ship sunk, and you know what? When this ship sinks, and I with it, I'll cheer along with those on the fucking pyre.” - Max Tripp

“I won't make it to heaven. I'd never pass the first step to the pearly gates, let alone a mile from the stairwell.” - Max Tripp

“I'm a gambling man, and I gambled this life of mine for a rusted lie and a nickel. Worth bout as much as me, I suppose.” - Max Tripp

“Raise a glass to the loveless man, raise a glass, for this shot of my tears and regret never runs dry.” - Max Tripp

“I'm tangled between my little flaws and my love for my children, I imagine my love for them heals me, I just... Wish it would heal, them.” Violetta Flint

 “Is the world, perhaps, just as self destructive as we are, causing pain to those who love it?” - Violetta Flint

“I wish I could've protected my boy, but life took him down the beaten path too soon. I was supposed to protect him from the thorns on the rose, but he gripped it before I could. He bled before I could bleed in his place.” - Violetta Flint

“Life can be so terribly cruel to the kindest of people, but don't let cruelty make you cruel. Remember that kindness is never forged from an easy life.” - Violetta Flint

“Revenge is a luxury I can't God damn afford, yet here I am, payin' the fuckin' price.” - Andraak Flint

“With a single snap 'a my fingers I killed the light that basked my soul, stepped on my own back ta reach heaven, just ta kill the man who claims himself a god above others. Oh he's above others alright, but when I meet him eye to fuckin' eye, sins on my wrist, with my rage and love he stole from my still tremblin' hands, he ain't gon' be nuthin' but below me.” - Andraak Flint

“You must inflict pain to know my wrath, and for a man that's inflicted more pain than the end 'a times, I reckon I ought to be more wrathful than the God that decided it fit for him ta live.” - Andraak Flint

“Revenge is a luxury I can't afford, because the price is this life I've lived and the corpse 'a the man I hunt. Ta pay the price, I got ta die, cause ain't no man damned as I am, seein' more sunrises than the devil he seeks. So be it, may the sun rise without me, so long as it rises without Quentin." - Andraak Flint

“Sometimes, crime is survival, and you can condemn me all you want, but all I'm tryin' to do is stay on the topside of the concrete. An old friend always said his corpse had already dropped, that he was already buried beneath the skyscrapers and subways, that he was just another corpse of New York. And I agree. We're all just corpses of New York city, because this place in of itself is a corpse of dead concrete goliaths and lost souls once filled with hope.” - Angeles Vance

“We are the revolution, built of scars and corpses of New York, and maybe one day, they'll hear our battle cry and call us heroes. But it's more often than most that heroes are labeled lawless and cruel, before ever, they put an end to the very tyranny that labeled them, enemy of the world." - Angeles Vance

“Evil is often a torch, passed down from one ruler to the next, but I've found, that we only take the torch, for we fear he who holds it, only to fear our own hand, in the end.” - Theodore Malrosa

“All you'll ever need in a kill or be killed world is a six shooter and your sins on your sleeve.” - Theodore Malrosa

“I'm a ragged bone man, with fur drenched over my shoulders like a tattered cape, but in the shade, all they ever see is the silhouette of a hero's torn cape. Shade hides all, my friend, even the most damnable of offenses.” - Theodore Malrosa

“He who mocks the peasant will find himself bowing to his feet miles down the road, just ask the brother's of Joseph. For they mocked his dreams only to realize always was he a prophet, in all his glory, and his coat of every color only aggrandized his robe of dreams and prophecies to be.” - Theodore Malrosa

 “I could drown in holy water and still, I'd be damned, all the holy water would do is grant me a painful death of scalding flesh and boiled blood. I wear a cross round my neck if only to remind me, I was once holy. But he who is nailed to the crucifix is often bled dry before ever he is forgiven.” - Arrow Holloway

“I sling these bullet casin's like regrets and charms, never knowin' what it is I'll get from this chamber. There's a spark in my chest, and I's long since learned, the spark in me chest and revolver are one in the fucking same.” - Arrow Holloway

“I am a hail of bullets in the crossfire, hittin' every soldier, I am the blood spilled and the bodies that drop. I suppose I'm everything death every grew, if only to be reaped for my simple existence. But it ain't simple, is it? Never were I 'spose, always was this life complex and bloody.” - Arrow Holloway

“I could face myself in a draw fight and still I'd lose.” - Arrow Holloway

“Take this ride 'a mine as you will, one of a wicked outlaw or a deputy corrupted by crimson burnin' justice, either way you spin the tale, you get blood spilled and bullets flyin', so I spose it don't matter which path ya take. It all ends the same. No matter what road you go down, there's a cliffside, a steeple or a river, and ain't none of em leadin' you ta salvation. Cause the biggest lie the preacher ever told is, "You're forgiven." - Arrow Holloway

“What is hope, really, but a single shared delusion of the human race? We cling to it so desperately, but it was never there, we were always battling ourselves and callin' a damn peace treaty. Cause when we fire against our selves, what do we call it? Freedom or murder of the highest degree?” Elliot Terminus

“We're either lambs or wolves, and only those with stained teeth'll make it through. We're already in hell, my friend, the demons are huntin' the angels and the sheep are bein' led to the slaughter. Ain't no sheep makin' it out with a white coat.” - Elliot Terminus

 “I'd gladly wash myself in the blood of the lamb if it meant soakin' the fields.” - Elliot Terminus

“You think the flock is safe just cuz there's a shepherd? He's as mortal as the sheep and he who protects the weak should be weary of the strong.” - Elliot Terminus

“This crucifix of secrets on my back weighs me down like the thought of my casket, I fear I shall carry this weight on my back for miles, only for none of it to ever matter in the end.” - Mason White

“It's often secrets lurk in those who have been silenced. These days, you can't cut off a man's tongue to prevent the truth from spilling out, but threatening all he loves does the same damn thing. When a man dares silence you, shout to the heavens, maybe God will listen and smite him down, render him speechless. No man can disarm you of your voice, it's the strongest weapon you've got.” - Mason White

 “For all who come for my sorry hide, tomorrow's an empty promise at best, and a threat at it's worst, cuz steppin' up to me is a losin' fuckin' battle. You wanna step up ta this plate? Then prepare for them pearly gates, cause ya meet the lord today, and ya don't got time for a fuckin' confession.” - Rafe Linton

“Honor ain't nuthin but a lie soldiers use ta steal the advantage, I'd rather cheat than die, and I'd rather scarper on my mah knees than be the poor sod bein' shot at point blank range for sins deemed worthy 'a death.” - Rafe Linton

“A man offers ta count ta three, shoot him at two.” - Rafe Linton

“Steppin' up ta me is a losin' fuckin' battle because I cheat, I lie, friend, only truthful word that ever come from my mouth is, I'm alive. I'd light a match and tell ya it's cold, I'd shoot a man six times in the chest and say he's breathin' just fine. The pearly gates await ya because you choke on all your truths, when a lie's the only thing that'll save you, these days.” - Rafe Linton

“The act of raisin' the dead is a simple act 'a redeemin' a man who's coffin lid is nailed shut. Yet for a man like me, it's complex as can got damn be.” - Alaric Alistair

“There was a time I believed the good guy always caught the thief, and the sun always rose, but look at me now, sittin' in the dark.” - Alaric Alistair

 “You could cut me down and I imagine I'd laugh, cause I can't imagine sumthin' darker than my life other than the end 'a it.” - Alaric Alistair

“I'm just roadkill on the highway that's risen, my antlers are broken, my fur matted and bloody, and I'm just fated ta pretend I'm still breathin'. But the breath from my lungs is stained from the blood on my teeth.” - Alaric Alistair

“In the end, it don't matter who ya were, what ya did, cause hell don't exist and devils were only myths of us.” - Alaric Alistair

“All I ever do is follow orders. I bark when told ta, I bite when aggravated or let off my leash, but the sad thing is, even the leash stabs inta me. The bruises and scars round my neck tell the sorrowed tale of a barkin' dog forced ta bite. This blood on my teeth tells the pain soaked tale of a dog, skinny and starvin', all because he bites, if only ta put another down." - Alaric Alistair

“For a man who's lost everything, I sure got a lot. My whole life I been swallowed by the fires yet remaining un-scorched, because all my life I've had love. For my wife, for my sons, for the lord, and even if many I knew are now nuthin' but a memory, I still find light in the intricacies of their smiles, cause I see em in my own.” - Balthazar Pennington

“We're beautiful creatures, really, holdin' one another ta show love, speakin' in languages so complex that not a word has ta be spoken to say, "I love you." - Balthazar Pennington

"Go on, kill us, kill us by the fucking dozens, Mr. De Niro. But you will find that the human resolve is a helluva lot stronger than your God damn conscious." - Cody Scarrow

"Oh I don't need savin' from me, brother. I may not be perfect, hell, I ain't even decent. But I can be damn proud of the fact, that I ain't you, and I never God damn will be." - Cody Scarrow

[apple-grass-and-smiles]

A Death By a Thousand Cuts Would Be Easier

Summary: A brief history of some of the moments concerning Bruce Wayne that Selina Kyle will remember until the day she dies.

Author’s Note: So, a bit of an explanation of how this whole thing works. The italicized headers are each things or phrases from the bridge of the stunning “Death By a Thousand Cuts” by Taylor Swift. Under each header is a drabble (none are exactly 100 words, so please forgive me) that is in some way connected with whatever the header is. They are not in chronological order, but hopefully it shouldn’t be too confusing. There are also some shoutouts to some of the wonderful Batcat Fam sprinkled throughout the story as a sort of thank you for being such amazing friends. Also, thank you to Itzel for clarifying what dances Bruce may have actually learned in Mexico.

A Death By a Thousand Cuts Would Be Easier

Looking back on it, Selina gave a lot of things to Bruce Wayne. And when he left, each of those things cut her as they left with him. Her heart, her trust, her love all cut her as he flew away on a plane that didn’t have a seat on it for her. The wound he gave her when he left wasn’t what had nearly killed her. It had been the thousands of cuts those pieces of her had left.

My Heart

Selina’s heart felt like it was about to beat out of her chest. Obviously she knew that wasn’t possible, but it felt like it. She hadn’t even been a tenth as afraid as she was now when they had been fighting that stupid fence to try and get the necklace a hour ago. But making her next request was probably going to be the most terrifying thing Selina had ever done.

“Will you return it?” Selina asks, putting the pearl necklace on the table.

She couldn’t bear to do it herself. The very idea of walking into the house where Ivy had killed that scientist and acting like returning a stolen necklace was the same thing as bringing back the woman’s husband made Selina want to run and hide for the rest of her life. When she weighed the cost of returning the necklace herself against the terror that would accompany asking Bruce for such a personal and vulnerable favor, her fear of facing the woman whose life and necklace she had stolen was just ever so slightly more terrifying. She could trust Bruce to take her heart and not destroy it, but there was no way she would trust herself to return a necklace to a woman whose heart had been eviscerated while Selina took her pearls.

My Hips

Bruce claims he learned how to salsa when he was in Mexico. Selina thinks he’s lying but has no proof to back it up other than that a trip to Mexico does not fit into the timeline she’s working on forming of the past ten years of Bruce’s life since he skipped town. But, his salsa dancing was really good. Like, really, really good. It seemed insane that Bruce had left Gotham a decade ago unable to do much more than a basic waltz and returned a master of just about every style of dance they’ve encountered at galas thus far. Filing away a mental note to interrogate Bruce later about his new found dancing ability, Selina returned to focusing on the mission, searching the room for Penguin.

That is until Bruce moved his hands from her back and down to her hips and any hope she had of looking at anything other than Bruce’s eyes flew out the window.

My Body

Lying paralyzed in a hospital bed as she heard the sounds of Gotham falling to pieces around her was a nightmare so horrible Selina couldn’t even have imagined it. She still wakes up every couple of hours with a jolt and, sometimes, a scream from dreams that seem so real she expects Jeremiah to be the one grabbing her and not Bruce or Alfred or one of the nurses. It had been a week since everything had collapsed in on itself and her world had been torn apart by a bullet and the bombs that blew the bridges and she was only just now beginning to reach a point where she was willing to talk to Bruce. It was stupid to blame her new, useless body on him because he wasn’t the one who pulled the gun’s trigger. He hadn’t made her go to the manor that night. He hadn’t forced them to be friends. He hadn’t made her lie about seeing who killed his parents. But if she didn’t blame him for the bullet that might as well have ended her life, then the only person left in this hospital to blame would be herself. And, at the end of the day, it was better to believe she’d given up her body, her freedom, and her life for the boy who had spent the last 96 hours in a hospital chair next to her than to think about how all the choices that had led her to this moment were her own.

My Love

For a young woman whose entire appeal is that she slinks in and out of people’s lives like a cat with absolutely zero emotional connection to those she interacts with, Selina loves a surprisingly large number of people, places, and things. She loves to play with the cats who frequent her apartment. She loves the little Mexican bakery around the corner from Cornelia Street. She loves her collection of black leather jackets that has only continued to grow. She loves Gotham and punk music and greasy, cheap pizza and the way the sky turns pink as the sun sets and rises each day. But, and this is a fact she buries so deep down inside that it only has a chance to surface when she stays still for more than a handful of seconds, she loves Bruce Wayne at least as much as all of those things combined. She never really told him when he was in Gotham and she swears she’ll never tell him even if he comes back one day, but it’s a small fact she keeps tucked away and it makes her heart just a little bit more full than it was before.

Like a Bad Drug

Selina hadn’t done drugs before. It was a bit ridiculous considering she was 18 and had been living on the streets her whole life. Most kids with stories like hers got their first taste of drugs before they were 10, but Selina’s ability to pick pockets and get in and out of places undetected required her to be sober, so drugs had been firmly off the table. Other kids could be high and still get by, but if she was even the littlest bit not completely in her own head, any attempts she made to steal things would be a catastrophe.

Selina hadn’t done drugs before, but she also hadn’t been abandoned by Bruce Wayne without a good-bye beyond a small note before. Well, there’s a first time for everything, Selina thought as she snorted the white powder.

In a Haunted Club

Rumor has it that Bruce Wayne is in England. No one has any proof, but there are pictures of an heiress named Kayliegh wandering London with a guy dressed in all black who if you look at the picture from exactly the right angle and have no idea what Bruce looks like, could be the missing Wayne. But Selina actually knows what Bruce looks like, has memorized every line of his face and can still hear his laugh sometimes as she falls asleep. But the tabloids with the pictures were everywhere today and she’s tired of hearing his name whispered by Gothamites everywhere she goes.

So she heads to the Sirens and hopes the sound of the club will drown out the idea that maybe he had moved on and maybe he was in London and maybe she wasn’t part of his story anymore. The alcohol doesn’t help her shake the feeling that a ghostly Bruce Wayn is watching her from just outside of peripheral vision, but that’s not enough to dissuade her from taking another shot.

Our Songs

Once upon a time, Selina had tried to learn to play the ukulele. Someone had thrown the instrument in the trash when she was about seven and Selina had picked it out of the dumpster. It had been painted blue with a picture of a flower on it and she had plucked at the strings and dragged it along with her for a couple of weeks. In the end, it had been abandoned one day when she had to run from the police who were very intent on bringing her back to St. Maria’s. It had just been another one of her dreams that got discarded on a Gotham street, just like she had been.

A decade later she’s stuck in a hospital bed and the doctors are talking about how she needs to adjust to this new normal and that there are plenty of new skills she can learn that don’t require her to actually move much. Selina only half listens to them because the other half of her mind is occupied with trying to think of a reason to keep on going. Bruce brings her a ukulele the next day because he figures it’ll keep her mind off of the impending surgeries and that if she can at least learn one song maybe the doctors will stop hovering as much. They learn how to stumble through “Mary Had a Little Lamb” together and even though Selina doesn’t put any of her heart into the song, Bruce is enthusiastic enough for both of them.

Our Films

“You’re telling me you’ve never seen Star Wars?” Bruce is 15 and completely incredulous. Selina is curled into a ball on the couch, completely and utterly unperturbed by Bruce’s impending, Star Wars-induced breakdown.

“When was I supposed to have the time to sit down and watch a bunch of movies? It’s not like I have tons of downtime to spend watching Spock hit people with laser swords.” Selina gestures impatiently for the bowl of imported European chocolates by Bruce’s left hand while Bruce blinks in shock at his friend.

“Well, you have time now. I hope you’re comfortable because you’re not leaving here until you understand how wrong you are when you say that Star Wars is about Spock hitting people with laser swords.”

“Whatever. But if I’m going to be stuck here for eternity you better hand me that chocolate before I smother you with a pillow.”

Bruce hands her the candy and joins her on the couch as the opening crawl appears on the screen. What he doesn’t know is that Selina has a secret: She’s seen every second of Star Wars multiple times before, but she figured that a Star Wars marathon would be the ideal way for her to try every sweet in the Wayne manor. No one could say that Selina couldn’t play dumb when it suited her.

United We Stand

The Year the Bridges Blew always feels a bit like a dream when Selina looks back on it. She can’t quite pinpoint many details from the year and so much of it seems to fade when she thinks about it too hard. Granted, if it were up to most of the citizens of Gotham, that year would be erased from everyone’s mind so that they could all move forward without the looming fear that one day they will be trapped in their city again.

But there are some memories from that time that Selina wouldn’t erase. She likes to revisit the summer evening she spent one day with Bruce, lounging on a rooftop, watching some teens below trying to set off fireworks. Despite the kids' shouts, the claps of the fireworks, and the general noise that always seemed present in Gotham and hand only gotten louder since the bridges blew, the moment felt quiet. She had slipped her hand into his as a red firework had started and sputtered out and for a single, glorious evening she really felt that she had a teammate. Someone who would still be there the next morning and the morning after that and so on until they had no more mornings to wake up to. In that moment, she felt united with Bruce in a way she never had before. You’d have to offer her a fortune larger than the Waynes’ to get her to give up that memory.

Our Country, a Lawless Land

Gotham was Selina’s city. This fact was the only one she knew so well that it felt like it was ingrained in every muscle and sinew and bone and ligament in her body. She had been born here, had grown up here, had been abandoned here, had been killed by Jeremiah here and then brought back to life here. To try and separate Gotham from Selina would be like trying to separate a single thread from an intricate tapestry. It might be possible, but why would you even bother?

That’s why, no matter how hard she tries, Selina can’t understand why Bruce left, why he always kept leaving Gotham. They built their relationship on the sound of their feet running on Gotham’s street. They had laughed together on Gotham bridges. Had shouted and whispered declarations of love with Gotham’s skyline as their backdrop. Every single part of what made them them was entrenched in the city. And, somewhere in the back of her mind, Selina realized that if Bruce could leave Gotham, the city that had made him, then that meant he could leave her too.

Our Paper-Thin Plans

“I think I’d want a house with a window seat.”

“A window seat? Out of all the things a house could have, your request is for a window seat?”

“Yeah. I like them.”

“Do you spend a lot of time in the window seats back home?”

“Yeah, if you and Alfred aren’t bothering me that’s usually where I am.”

“How have I never noticed this? Alfred, did you know that Selina loves window seats? … Okay, how did everyone know this but me?”

“Maybe your powers of observation just aren’t as good as you think they are.”

“Fine. Whatever. I’ll make a note that when we rebuild the manor to add in more window seats.”

“You better or else I might have to find some other billionaire to hang out with because window seats are a deal breaker in this whole thing.”

My Time

Selina’s time is a valuable commodity. Every second she’s spending doing something is a second she could be casing a jewelry store or picking pockets downtown. But, sometimes even a young thief needs a night off. Selina’s plan is simple, she’ll feed her current cats- Isis and Coco- and then take a shower before eating some Chinese from the place across the street that always has just a bit too much food left over come closing time.

At least that was the plan before Bruce Wayne knocked on the door (He knocked. Like she paid rent for the place.) and asked if she was up to anything. Of course, when she planned on a quiet night, Bruce wanted her to keep him from dying on some fool’s quest. She only rolled her eyes once before grabbing her leather jacket and heading out the door. She’d always have time for him.

My Wine

Selina doesn’t usually drink wine. She’s had a variety of them, ranging in cost from a couple of bucks to more than a year’s worth of rent, and she honestly hasn’t liked any of them. But a couple of times a year since she’s turned 21, she gets a small invitation in the mail inviting her to a quiet dinner at the new Wayne manor. Alfred always pulls out a bottle of what he promises her is good wine and they usually finish it by the time dinner is pushed to the end of the table and desert is being savored. Sometimes the invitation is for a special date, like Christmas or Alfred’s birthday, but other times there is no rhyme or reason that Selina can discern for the dinner. This time the invitation comes and is signed by both Alfred and Bruce and a not small part of Selina is bitter that Bruce is trying to infringe on the bond that she and Alfred forged in, and because of, his absence. She doesn’t show up on the appointed date and instead hacks the Wayne bank account and makes a very generous donation to a local animal shelter in Bruce’s name. Alfred sends her a bottle of wine a few days after they were supposed to meet that he claims is spectacular. She can’t taste the difference between it and the box wine she bought one time.

My Spirit

Selina’s birthday is either December 1st or December 3rd. Maria says it’s the 1st, but all her official documents cite it as the 3rd. Selina knows it’s weird to not really know her birthday, but it’s not like she grew up with birthday parties so it never really was an issue. But then she accidentally reveals that she has two birthdays to Bruce when they’re 13 and suddenly these previously mostly meaningless days in December are arriving with more pomp and circumstance than she had ever anticipated.

They throw a party on the 1st with games and food and gifts at the manor. Alfred prepares all the fanciest foods and Selina is asked to wear a dress to the party. (She does, but she complains about it the whole time.) It’s a fun, if strange event, and Selina enjoys herself. But then the 3rd rolls around and she returns to her apartment exhausted from running all over town in the snow to find Bruce with an enormous pile of take out from at least half a dozen of her favorite restaurants. He’s brought a projector and some movies and pillows and blankets. They make a pillow fort before settling down with the food. Snuggled beneath a pile of blankets, with some old movie about a guy in a wheelchair spying on his neighbors from his window, Selina has a shining moment where she truly understands peace. For once her mind, her spirit, her body, her heart, every part of her, feels completely at peace. It’s the best birthday gift anyone could have given her.

My Trust

She doesn’t wear the ring on her finger for a multitude of reasons. It could get lost or she could scratch herself or it could get caught on something or it could be noticed by someone and then the whole world might know about the secret Selina had been carrying around for about two weeks. It isn’t that she is ashamed or embarrassed about the engagement, but she likes the idea that this particular moment is being shared only with the people she trusts to treat it with love and kindness. She knows that the world, that Gotham, will pry and pick at the happiness her engagement is giving her, but if she keeps the ring on a chain around her neck, close to her heart, then maybe she can keep this beautiful moment going just a bit longer.

A Thousand Cuts

The bells ring louder than she had expected but the crowd of people are even louder. Selina’s still not used to the public side of being connected with this new Bruce Wayne, but she loves the private part of him too much to be dissuaded by camera flashes and people shouting his name. As they race from the the entrance of the church (Martha and Thomas got married there, so Bruce felt getting married there was the closest he’d get to having his parents at his wedding) to the open car, she focuses on the rhythmic ringing of the bells, blocking out the shouts and questions and rice that is being thrown at her. And each ring seems to to call out to her:

Bong! Don’t give up on him.

Bong! He’s got you.

Bong! He may have cut you a thousand times…

Bong! But he’ll heal you a thousand and one.

[team-free-will-oneshots]

Time to Stop Running

Title: Time to Stop Running Request: Hi! I was wondering if you’d be willing to write a fluffy little oneshot where the reader, who is younger than the Winchesters, ends up living with them? More a researcher than a hunter. They get caught by a djinn and don’t want to wake up even knowing what’s happening because in the dream Dean’s their dad and Sam is their uncle, which is how they view the brothers in reality but they’ve never said. Maybe Cas is the one to rescue them and accidentally let’s the cat out the bag. Thanks! - anon Pairing: None ! Warnings: mostly fluff but with a healthy dose of angst. mentions of killing yourself BUT not in a self-harm way, just in a getting-out-of-the-djinn-world way with zero detail about the actual act. if you’re worried it could trigger you tho, play it safe and don’t read Word Count: 3,300

note; this request was so cute and i love it so much so thank u to the anon who requested this! hope u enjoy it! also just a note i wrote the reader as being around claire’s age in this!

Running.

Feet beating on the pavement, heart pounding in your ears, short, sharp gasps tearing from your throat as you struggled to breathe.

The crescent moon hung low in the sky, a dim spotlight throwing long shadows over the alley walls, casting just enough light to illuminate the fate you that couldn’t outrun. Not this time.

The brick wall seemed to spring up in front of you, but you couldn’t slow down. You slammed into the surface, hands scraping as you pushed yourself backwards, trembling knees giving out as you collapsed to the floor. You screamed until your throat was raw - pleading for help. From Dean, from Sam, from anyone. But the warehouse district was abandoned, had been for years. No one was coming to save you, and you didn’t have the strength to fight.

Your knees were damp, the puddles of stagnant rainwater soaking through your jeans as you panted and heaved, desperate to catch your breath. The air was cold, but your clothes clung to your skin with sweat. You could hear the footsteps approaching, see the feet of your enemy as they sauntered lazily towards you. They were in no rush - they had you trapped, and they knew it.

In a last-ditch effort to defend yourself, you clawed your way to your feet, fingers finding crevices in the brick wall to aid your effort. You were shaking like a leaf, heart hammering like a snare, and you vaguely mused that this is why you only researched, and left the actual hunting to Sam and Dean.

You wracked your brains as you desperately sought for an answer, a plan to worm your way out of this fate, but came up short. “A silver knife dipped in lamb’s blood,” you heard Dean’s voice tell you, the words echoing from a time that seemed a hundred years ago now, though only a few days had passed since your conversation. “But not much can survive its brains being bashed in, either.”

Well, the first option was out - Dean had taken the knife with him when he’d left a couple of days ago. That left option two - beat it until it stopped moving. You swallowed, eyes frantically darting over your surroundings, searching for something, anything you could use as a weapon. The djinn had disarmed you of your gun at least twenty blocks ago, and so you’d ran. Just like you always did. Running from your feelings, the demons inside your own head, memories that haunted you in your sleep... and now, from death.

But the djinn had merely laughed at your attempt to flee, not even bothering to chase you. It’d let you tire yourself out, following you until you were the brink of exhaustion, relishing in your powerlessness with a cruel smirk.

That was when you spotted the brick - the worn, rust coloured object was your only weapon, your last hope. You spared a glance at the djinn before lunging forward and snatching the brick in your unsteady hands, raising it threateningly above your head, mustering every last scrap of your energy as you prepared to swing.

The djinn only scoffed, it’s hand shooting to your throat as it easily dislodged the makeshift weapon from your hands. It clattered to the ground, and you could feel the heaving of your chest, the ragged breaths that fled your lips. You heard your heartbeat in your ears, frenzied and stuttering, as loud and as constant as the sound of your feet hitting the ground.

But your feet were hovering now, flailing desperately, as the djinn raised you easily above its head. You clutched at its hand around your throat as you tore at its fingers, struggling to break free from its steadfast grip. It only smirked, and the last thing you saw was your terrified face reflected in the glowing of its azure eyes before all else faded into darkness.

---

You bolted upright, tears in your eyes and hands fisting in your bedsheets. You could still feel the cold air, heavy with recent rain as it pressed against your skin. Still feel your heart in your throat, your shaking knees and trembling hands. But when you swung your legs over the edge of your bed, you stood to find them sure and steady.

That was when you realised that this was not your room.

It was large, decorated exactly to your taste, but it’s windows overlooked an unfamiliar suburban street, and the bookshelf and desk were adorned with photos of you, Dean, and Sam that you had no memory of taking.

“Dean?” you yelled, fear clutching at your chest as you sprinted from the room, finding yourself in an unfamiliar corridor. You found a staircase and followed it down to what appeared to be a living room. There were more photos of you here, dating back to when you were only a child. And… was that Dean holding you as a toddler? You squinted, struggling to make sense of the situation when a familiar voice dragged you from your thoughts.

“In here!” Dean called, and you breathed a sigh of relief, following his voice until it led you to a kitchen. Dean stood at the stove, pushing eggs around a frying pan.

“Dean, thank God!” you exclaimed. “What happened? Why weren’t you answering my calls?”

Dean shot you a puzzled look. “What are you talking about?” he asked, and suddenly something seemed to occur to him. “Another nightmare?” he asked. “Look, I’m telling you, that college would be a fool not to let you in, and if they don’t, it’s their los-”

“What? Since when am I going to college?” you demanded, laughing nervously. Dean raised his hands in surrender.

“Hey, you were the one who was so excited about it. I know it’s not for everyone, but I thought you wanted-”

“What? Dean, what the fuck is going on?” you demanded, and he shot you a stern look.

“You watch your mouth, Y/N Winchester!” he warned. “I don’t appreciate you using that language with me, and why are you calling me by my name all of a sudden?” He half laughed, tone dripping with confusion.

“What else would I call you?” you demanded, mind still reeling at the fact he’d called you a Winchester. His brow creased.

“Oh, gee, I dunno… maybe dad? Like you have the past… I dunno, your whole friggin’ life?”

Your jaw dropped. “You- you’re saying you’re my dad?” you breathed, and he nodded slowly, eyes wide.

“Well, yeah,” he said slowly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. Suddenly, an enlightened expression crossed his face. “Oh, I get it. I see what this is,” he said, and you sagged in relief.

“Oh thank god, I-”

“This is one of those challenge things you kids do, isn’t it? I saw one on Facebook the other day where kids message their parents ‘fuck’ and-”

“What? You have Facebook?” you demanded, making a face. Dean looked offended.

“Uh, yeah, how else would I have been in the PTA group chat all these years? I hate those little yellow things all over it though, give me the creeps,” he said, shuddering before turning back to his cooking.

“Y-you- the little yel- are you talking about minions?” you stammered, and Dean waved his hand nonchalantly.

“Yeah, yeah, those things. Anyway, get dressed, Uncle Sam’s coming over with Aunt Jess for brunch and they’ll be here any minu-”

“Brunch? You’re telling me we do brunch?”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, I know. But it was your Uncle Sam’s idea, and I know it’s been a while since you’ve seen hi-”

“Dean, stop. Just- stop. Please,” you said, voice shrinking as you wrapped your arms around yourself in fright. He saw the tears in your eyes and turned off the stove, walking over to you and resting a hand on your shoulder, face creased in parental concern.

“Hey. You okay?” he checked, and you shook your head.

“This- this isn’t real. You’re not my dad, I’ve only known you for a few years! I- I was a runaway, remember? After my family was killed by vampires? And- and you and Sam took me in and I helped you research on cases-”

Dean laughed humourlessly. “Very funny, Y/N…” he began, but fell silent when he saw you weren’t joking. “Are you feeling okay?” He pressed his hand to your forehead, frowning when your temperature seemed normal.

You exhaled shakily. “You- you and Sam were hunting a djinn, remember? You- you hadn’t been home for a few days, and you weren’t answering my calls, so I- I got worried something happened to you and headed out to the old warehouse district, and then- the djinn, it-” You froze as the penny finally dropped. “The djinn did this, didn’t it?” you exclaimed. “None of this is real. You’re not real, this is all in my head-”

“Y/N, what are you talking about? Djinns? That’s- how do you know about hunting? I haven’t hunted since- well, since your mother died.” Dean’s voice softened, and you collapsed back onto a barstool. Wow, the djinn had really gone all out - tragic backstory and all.

And now, you had a choice to make.

You knew how to get out - kill yourself, you wake up in the real world. Or…

You looked to Dean, who was looking at you with such fatherly love and concern, and realised this feeling of belonging was something you’d been seeking for years. You’d always seen Dean as a dad - not that you’d ever tell him so, of course. But now… here you were. It would be so easy to lean into this dream; live a long life, free of hunting, free of running... from monsters, from your past, from yourself.

You tried a smile. “Right,” you murmured. “I… I must’ve just had a nightmare. I’ll go get ready for brunch - as long as you promise to delete Facebook.”

Dean chuckled. “Deal,” he shot back, dismissing your conversation breezily. That solidified it, then - no real person would just ignore how crazy you’d been acting. Only a dream figure designed to keep you trapped here forever would act so cool.

But the more you forced yourself to dismiss the thoughts of your past life, the more distant they became. Your body, under the rule of the djinn venom, was all too eager to embrace this new life. By the time you were dressed, you’d almost totally forgotten the truth. As you finished doing your hair, you were interrupted by the doorbell ringing, followed by Dean’s voice calling you down.

“Coming, dad!” you called, giving yourself a once over before heading downstairs. Sam was walking into the room with Jess on his arm, and everyone’s faces lit up as they saw you.

“Hey, Y/N!” Sam greeted, holding a large envelope in his hand. “I found this on your driveway - looks like it’s for you,” he said. “It’s from your top college,” he said knowingly, shooting you a wink. You grabbed it in excitement, thrilled to find you’d not only secured a place in your top course, but you’d received a full scholarship.

“That’s amazing, kid!” Dean exclaimed when you told him, pulling you in for a hug as you laughed in disbelief at the news. His eyes met yours when you pulled back, and he gave you a warm smile. “Y/N, I’m so proud of you,” he told you earnestly, and you felt tears prick the corners of your eyes at his words.

“Thanks, dad,” you whispered.

The rest of the day passed quickly, with Sam staying well until evening, though Jess had left earlier to head to work. When Sam eventually followed suit, you helped Dean clean up in the kitchen, taking the plates he rinsed and stacking them in the dishwasher.

“I meant it earlier, Y/N,” he commented idly, and you glanced over at him, humming a questioning sound. “About being proud of you. Every day, I look at you and I’m so proud of the person you’ve grown up to be. You- you’re gonna be just fine,” he mumbled, swallowing thickly as he swiped at his eyes. You gave him a teasing smile.

“You’re not going all soft on me, are you?” you jibed, and he rolled his eyes as he chuckled.

“Shut up,” he shot back, but there was no malice in the playful banter. You stacked the last plate and closed the dishwasher, stifling a yawn.

“Alright, I’m dead on my feet - I’m off to bed,” you announced, and Dean nodded.

“‘Kay, night. Sweet dreams, kiddo,” he said, and you found yourself smiling at his words.

“Night,” you bid. As you plodded sleepily up the stairs, you froze when you thought you heard footsteps behind you. Freezing, you slowly turned, glancing around before shrugging to yourself as you headed up to your room.

“Y/N!” a voice shouted, though the sound was faint, distant. You frowned - you recognised that voice. You paused and listened keenly for a moment, before shrugging the sound off again as you went to brush your teeth.

That was when he appeared, running into your room, eyes frantic as he searched for you. “Y/N!” he sighed in relief as he saw you.

“Castiel?” The name rolled smoothly off your tongue, though you weren’t quite sure how you knew it.

“Y/N, this isn’t real - none of this is real. You need to wake up!” he said, handing you a silver dagger. An angel blade, your mind whispered. His words didn’t alarm you as much as they should have.

“This- what? What are you talking about?” you hissed. You had half a mind to call for help, but something told you this man wouldn’t hurt you. You stared at the silver blade in your hand, saw your frightened expression reflected in the polished metal. A gasp fled from your lips as you remembered the last time you’d seen yourself like this - reflected in the glowing blue eyes of-

“The djinn,” you breathed, and you saw Castiel visibly relax in relief.

“Yes. Come on, we don’t have much time - Sam and Dean have killed it, but you’re barely alive, Y/N. You need to wake up.”

“What? No! Why? This place- I’m happy here! I feel happier here than I’ve ever felt in real life!” you objected, and Cas looked at you like you’d grown an extra head.

“It’s not real, Y/N!” he insisted, and you shrugged.

“So? I’m happy here!”

“You’ll die!” he argued.

“Y/N? You okay?” Dean’s voice called, and you heard his heavy footsteps trod up the stairs and pad down the hallway. He knocked on your door, three sharp raps with the back of his knuckles. “Everything alright?”

“It’s fine, dad!” you called, and Cas raised his eyebrows.

“Dean’s your father here?” he asked. “That’s the wish the djinn granted for you in this world?” You ducked your head, running your fingers nervously through your hair.

“Well… yeah,” you mumbled, and Cas’s expression crumpled in sympathy.

“Y/N, you need to come home. Sam and Dean are worrying themselves sick, I’ve never seen them so upset before,” he told you. You blinked back tears.

“Cas… I… I can’t…”

“Y/N? Who’s in your room? I’m coming in!” Dean declared, the door swinging open as he charged into the room. Cas didn’t pay him a second glance.

“Y/N, please. You need to wake up. He isn’t real!” he insisted, and Dean grew angry.

“Aren’t you listening to them? They’re happy here!” Dean snapped at the angel. He turned to you. “Y/N, you’re happy here, aren’t you? You’re my kid - I love you, I’m proud of you. Don’t you want to keep that?” he persuaded, and you nodded frantically, but Cas stepped in front of him, blocking Dean from your sight. His blue eyes bore into yours.

“Y/N. He’s not real. But you know who is? The real Dean. He’s beside himself with worry - you know he’ll only blame himself if you don’t wake up,” he reminded you. “You can’t just run away from your family, even if you’ve deluded yourself into thinking you’d be happier here.” You clenched your jaw.

“Are you trying to guilt trip me?” you spat, and Castiel nodded.

“Is it working?”

You stood silently for a moment, before sighing. “I wish it wasn’t,” you murmured, but slowly, you raised the silver blade. You closed your eyes.

It was time to stop running.

---

“Y/N! Y/N, wake up, c’mon, please, wake up!”

You blinked as Dean’s voice slowly came into focus, moaning as you realised how weak you felt. Dean crushed you to his chest the moment your eyes fluttered open, hugging you so tightly you could hardly breathe.

“Oh, thank god,” he murmured, before pulling back in anger. “What the hell were you thinking, going after that thing on your own like that? Sam and I had it covered!” he snapped.

“You- you weren’t answering your phone,” you managed to choke out, your mouth dry and tongue rougher than sandpaper. You cleared your throat, wincing at the pain.

“I left the charger at the motel,” Dean replied weakly, and you managed a smile.

“Well, I’m glad you’re okay. No offense, though - you kinda look like shit.”

Dean rolled his eyes, looking to the roof as he blinked back tears. “Shut up,” he muttered. “Come on, let’s get you home. We’ll talk more about how stupid you were being when you’re feeling better,” he chided, and you chuckled.

“‘Kay,” you slurred tiredly, relaxing into his chest as he picked you up and took you back to the Impala.

---

“Don’t go too hard on them, Dean,” Cas told him once you were safe and sound, snug in your bed in the bunker. Dean’s jaw was tight.

“They could’ve died, and it would’ve been my fault. Why would they go after me? They’re just a kid, they can’t really have thought they could handle something even Sam and I couldn’t!”

“I think… Y/N sees you as a father figure,” Cas said slowly. “And I happen to remember your reaction when your father had gone on a hunting trip and hadn’t come home in a few days,” he said knowingly, and Dean felt himself soften.

“They- they see me as a father figure? Me?” he asked in disbelief, and Cas nodded.

“Yes,” he said firmly. “In their dream world, you were their father - it was the reason they didn’t want to leave. Though I’m not sure they’d be pleased I told you…”

Dean shook his head. “No, I-I’m glad you did,” he stammered, nodding to himself. “Thanks.”

The angel nodded, and once he’d left, Dean headed into your room. The bed creaked as he sat on it’s edge, and you stirred, blinking sluggishly as you glanced up at him. He smiled softly.

“Hey. How you feeling?”

“Okay,” you sighed. “Exhausted, mostly.”

“Yeah, well, Cas healed you- you just need to rest,” he said quietly. “Hey… look, I’m not happy that you put yourself in danger like that, especially not for me and Sam. But I know that must have been… well, terrifying for you, and… I just wanted to say that I’m proud of you. I probably don’t say that as often as I should, but… you’re a good kid. You’re gonna be just fine.”

A small, teary smile tugged the corner of your mouth at the familiar words. They felt even better when they came from the real person, not the ghost of him your mind had conjured up.

“Thanks, Dean,” you mumbled, and he smiled, eyes heavy with emotions he didn’t know how to voice.

“Get some sleep,” he urged, pulling the blankets up over you. You nodded, yawning.

“Night, Dean.”

“Sweet dreams, kiddo.”

__________

Forever tags: @babygirloreo @calaofnoldor @stealingheartsswift13 @lmpala97 @sebastianshoe @81mysteriouslyme  @castieliswatchingoverme

Dean tags: @polina-93

If you want to be added to any of my tag lists just let me know !!

[just-another-winchester]

What A Nightmare

An Endless Maiden Voyage

Pairing: Dean x y/n

Word Count: 2410

Summary: During a fight with a djinn you get sent into your dreams. Soon finding out Dean and Sam are stuck in your dream as well you have to find a way out of your dream before it becomes your worst nightmare.

Warnings: Angst, violence, suicide attempt (more jokingly to escape the dream) death

A/N:  So as I’ve stated before, this is going to be a mini-series about the Titanic and it’s one and only voyage. You guys have always been very kind and respectful, I simply ask that you continue to be throughout this story. Titanic is a very important subject to me. It’s a tragedy, whether it happened a week ago, a year ago, or a hundred years ago. Although I have done my research I will probably get a bit wrong, especially in the aspect of the djinn. So that’s all, thank you.

One huge thanks to my favorite Amanda for being awesome and helping with her mad Beta skills. @amanda-teaches

Most people are lucky enough that they never have to face the unnatural, the supernatural, anything that didn’t meet up with the ordinary world they lived in.

You, you were unfortunately not one of those people.

You struggled with monsters, with ghosts, with all sorts of creatures that really shouldn’t exist, but here you were, still fighting them like you were some action movie star that didn’t get to yell cut when life got hard.

This is what you were thinking about as you wandered an abandoned farmhouse in the middle of nowhere.

“How is this a farmhouse, the place is a damn mansion,” you muttered to yourself. Dean, walking beside you, held out his hand to insinuate he wanted you to stop. Sam was behind the both of you and stopped slowly when he saw Dean.

In this general area, a few kids had gone missing. Apparently, because the place was allegedly haunted, a few high schoolers thought it would be cool to take a look around. Unfortunately, they were wrong.

After finding no evidence of any deaths or haunting, you and the boys figured out it must have been something else. Your best guess, a djinn. So the lot of you went out, armed with a silver knife, dipped in lamb’s blood.

For a moment, all you could hear was a creak and maybe some water drips. As the moment went on, it felt like your heartbeat got louder, beginning to beat louder and louder, and louder.

Then, you felt a hand on your shoulder.

You turned, thinking it was Sam, but you came face to face with tattoos and a glowing hand.

“Dean!” you yelled, bending backward to dodge the djinn’s attempt to trap you.

One arm swung upwards in defense, the other, holding the knife, stabbed straight into the creature's belly.

The djinn stopped in its tracks, blood beginning to slowly spill out of its mouth as it fell to the ground.

Dean was by your side the instant you yelled but just turned to you with a smirk.

“You yell for me, but then you don’t need the help,” he commented.

You rolled your eyes at the man, looking around.

“Where’s Sammy?” the eldest Winchester questioned.

Sam popped into your mind.

He had been just behind you, then the djinn attacked.

“Shit,” you grumbled. “He was just behind me, the djinn might have gotten him.”

You barely got to finish the question before Dean began to walk back in the direction you’d been coming from,

“Sam!” He called, a hint of worry in his voice that made you smile. Dean was such a sweet big brother.

You followed in suit, hoping that Sam was alright, and it didn’t take long for you to find him.

You entered a larger room of the home, recognizing a lump on the floor as Sam instantly.

Dean hurried over to him as you joined them.

“He’s okay,” Dean sighed.

“Of course he is, he’s a Winchester. You guys are like cockroaches, you can’t be squished.” You gagged at the thought of a crunched cockroach.

Dean began to lift up his brother, wrapping one of Sam’s arms over his shoulder. “C’mon, we gotta get him outta here.”

You nodded, copying Dean’s movement in wrapping Sam’s other arm around your shoulders.

Before you could stand up, however, a sound echoed across the room. You released Sam’s arm gently, turning with your knife in hand and once again being met by a djinn.

You swung, reusing your movements from earlier with the first djinn, but this one was bigger, stronger. He caught you off guard, his glowing hand coming in contact with your forehead before you could even yell for help.

-------

Your eyes fluttered open, and you were met with the immediate sense to throw up.

You recalled what happened, the djinn, Sam, and you simply prayed that Dean had gotten his brother out of there.

Rubbing your eyes, you sat up from your place, peering around at your surroundings.

You were lying on a bed, or a cot really. The mattress was small and was just enough for you to fit. Looking up, you saw the bottom of a bunk, and, to your left, was a small couch.

In between you and the couch, on the other side, was a cabinet. You moved so that your legs were resting over the edge of the bunk and leaned over to inspect what you saw.

On the cabinet was a washbasin, above it a mirror and various toiletries.

What you saw was an older style, you recognized that, but from the way it looked, it was practically brand new.

Something in your mind clicked and, as you began putting two and two together, your eyes widened and your jaw dropped.

“Oh, crap no..” you muttered.

You hopped out of bed but tripped instantly, groaning as you turned over. By the fact that you felt something wrapped around your legs, you guessed a blanket had been over you and you simply hadn’t noticed to take it off.

Looking at yourself, you found something different than you expected.

Instead of a blanket, a skirt was wrapped tightly around your legs, a pinkish, peach colored skirt that had entangled you, and you quickly realized that your worst nightmare was coming true, and not your most wished dream.

Attached to your skirt was the rest of the dress, a short sleeved top with lace embroidered across the chest and a small rose perfectly placed in a delicate position right at the top of the dress.

You lifted your skirt to inspect your shoes, only to yet again find something you'd not been wearing before.

These weren’t your combat boots that you so deeply loved. These were a pair of white leather heels. Thankfully they weren’t high heels or anything, otherwise, you’d have had to go around barefoot.

You pushed yourself to stand and took a few steps to get yourself acquainted with the strange clothes before you finally were able to walk out the door.

Everything you passed just proved further and further that your suspicions were correct. You ran until you found a staircase and followed it upwards. Even though you were happy you knew your way around, you were still unhappy because that simply proved further this was exactly what you thought it was, and as you climbed the staircase, and turned the corner, stepping out into the sun, you were proved exactly right.

You were aboard the Titanic.

----

You had a few things in common with Sam: your love of books and research, your similar personalities, and you both also happened to have a strange obsession with somewhat macabre things.

Sam enjoyed the history of serial killers.

You, you could sit down and learn about shipwrecks for an eternity.

As many people would know, one of, if not the most famous shipwreck, was probably the RMS Titanic.

The Titanic was what got you fascinated by shipwrecks actually, all the mystery that shrouded its remains, all the questions that will go unanswered for probably the rest of forever, how well things are preserved at the bottom of the ocean, such as how with Britannic, the Titanic’s lesser-known sister ship, in the Kea channel where it sank, there were still untouched mines in the water near that wreck and others.

Many shipwrecks still had recognizable items that were from a time that we can only read about in history books, and that was what fascinated you.

Being aboard the Titanic, however, as fascinating as the ship was, was never something you’d have dreamed for. It was closer to a nightmare than anything you would ever wish for.

However, here you still were, standing on the ship that is infamous for crashing into an iceberg and killing 1500 people.

You judged that you were probably on the aft part of the ship, by the looks of things that was your best guess anyway, so you followed a set of stairs that led up, climbing onto the elevated stern deck.

You peered over the railing and got a view of what you guessed to be one of Titanic's stops, by guess its first stop probably, of Southampton. There were people littering the upper decks and standing at the railings, waving to whoever they were leaving down below.

In a way, you almost appreciated the sight. You knew this was a dream and was simply your interpretation from what you’d heard, but it didn’t take away from the awe of the sight.

In awe of the moment, you forgot about what was really happening. The djinn, the boys.

You turned away from the railing and thought to yourself.

You recalled the last time you dealt with a djinn when it had taken Dean. He told you he’d stabbed himself to get out.

Dying wakes you up.

You almost laughed as you looked at the stern, the Union Jack waving, the flap of its fabric loud and proud.

“Well, Rose looks like I’m gonna take a lesson or two from you.”

You walked to the very end, standing just where the character Rose, from the 1997 movie had when Jack pulled her back over. You leaned against the flagpole, then looked back toward the rest of the ship.

There were tons of people on the port, watching the ship. Surely someone would see you if you tried to jump over. You took a step back and sighed, wondering if maybe waiting until you set sail was the better choice.

Of course, part of you knew that was just an excuse to see the ship. Ever since you came to learn about ships and shipwrecks you lost any taste you may have had to be on a boat ever, but here, now, this was a dream, so it was more than likely nothing could go wrong.

You had to gauge how long you had, if the boys hadn’t gotten out then you would have to wake up, or else you were doomed.

Which simply begged the question, should you really wait around and try and enjoy the nightmare you were trapped in? Or just get it over with and get back to Sam and Dean?

That was no contest, even the slight chance that they didn’t get out, if they needed your help then you couldn’t wait around and risk it.

You stepped forward, peering over the side at the water below. You let out a sigh, hoping that no one was paying attention. At least you might not feel it, maybe you’d get lucky and the falling would wake you up.

Without a second thought, you began to climb over the railing, using the flagpole for stability.

The bright sunshine reflected off the water, your heart began to thump hard in your chest, you closed your eyes, and you loosened your hold on the railing once you’d finished climbing over.

Just before you could let go you heard a familiar voice yell out. “Hey!”

Before you could even turn around you felt a pair of arms grabbing you around your waist and yanking you back over the railing.

You grabbed hold of the arms that were securely around you and practically tried to bite whoever had ruined your plan.

The both of you fell to the ground, and you were released, but you grabbed one of the man's arms and twisted it around.

“Who the hell-” you began to ask, turning to face him. You released his arm and stepped back before letting out a groan. “Oh come on!” you yelled.

Dean stood before you, dressed in a navy blue sweatshirt that read White Star Line.

“What the hell is wrong with you!?” he demanded as he glared at you. “I just saved your ass!”

“Dammit, Dean, you scared me!” you growled

His face turned from irritation to shock to confusion.

“How do you know my name?” he demanded.

“How-” you began to repeat his question, your face twisted with confusion.

“Wait,” you stopped. “Do you know me?”

Dean shook his head. “God no, you’re a damn stranger. I just thought you needed help cause you were trying to fucking kill yourself!”

The realization began to dawn on you, your fingers running through your hair. “No no no no no no no. Shit!”

If Dean genuinely didn’t recall you… but he was here. Was he real? Stuck in your dream? Or was he just part of the dream. Dean had never been part of your dreams or nightmares before.

You weren’t quite sure if Dean was really there or not, but that just furthered your intent to get out of this nightmare and make sure the Winchester men were alright.

Dean shook his head and began to walk away, grumbling about your lack of sanity.

Once he’d turned around, you smirked and made a beeline for the railing yet again. But, before you could get there, you were tackled to the ground.

You let out a loud groan as you crashed against the deck.

“You really are nuts!” Dean said to you.

For a guy who thinks he’s from 1912, he talks strangely casual.

He is Dean.

Well shit.

“Alright alright,” you agreed. Dean was clearly not going to let you jump. If this was him, you had to do everything possible to wake him up.

Killing him wasn’t really an option, although there had been many times you really wanted to stab the man, you, unfortunately, loved him too much to do so.

Because you didn’t fully know what was going on, you were too afraid to make a risky move that could end this all very badly, so you had to figure out what you were going to do, and you had to figure it out quickly.

The ship had begun to move away from the port, and you could see that the journey had started.

If you were just taking off, then it must have been April 10th, which simply meant you had to figure out what Dean was doing here, why you were in this nightmare, and how to escape it before the end of the fourth day.

The Titanic set sail on its maiden voyage on the 10th but never made it to its destination of New York. Four days into the journey, on the night of April 14th, the Titanic would hit an iceberg and doom everyone on board.

Dream or not, you had to be off this ship and home before that happened, or else this really would become your living nightmare.

MY TAG LIST IS WIDE OPEN!!

Dream Team

@spn67-sister @queen-of-deans-booty @ria132love @winchestergeekfreak @maui137 @katymacsupernatural @jayneysimp @emoryhemsworth @just-another-busy-fangirl @jensensjaredsandmishaslover @mogaruke @kristendanwayne @cassieraider @squirrel-moose-winchester @hms-fangirl @heyitscam99  

Dean Team

@akshi8278 @polina-93 @aubreystilinski @-lovepeacenhope- @waywardbaby97 @missjenniferb @whimsicalrobots @rainflowermoonlibrary

Titanic Tags

@claitynroberts @atc74

[vxfrxmentum]

♡ / accepting / @altarfated

THERE WAS A SMALL SMILE ON THE FACE OF A DULL-EYED BOY, once full of life orbs no longer living, empty in a way that felt haunting to most, echoed by that same melancholic grin that was plastered to his face, a shattered heart in billions of pieces hidden within the cosmos, stars he could never reach burning brightly but untouchable, unknowing. Behind it was a crumbling soul, much like castles of old, walls no longer holding up, no longer defending what they were supposed to, and it showed in the uncertainty of his actions, in the flinch he reacted to loud noise with and the panic of being picked on by others.

He wondered what had hurt the other enough for him to say such words, not fuelled by malice, innocent, yet cutting all the same, for Izuku was aware he was a nobody, not even a once-somebody, not a will-be-anybody. He was a tried-too-hard, a hurt-too-much, a boy with a broken heart that could not be mended, starlight turned to ashes and a soul falling apart beneath the pressure of existence. A failure, a nothing, it was becoming increasingly obvious from the way Todoroki spoke as if he didn’t exist, looking at him yet staring right through him, as if he were no more than a malicious spirit he was attempting to glare into oblivion.

Perhaps that was all he was, a being that wanted nothing but pain for others deep down, no matter how he tried to hide those desires, for he wanted to see Kacchan cry in the same way Izuku had broken down all those times, to burn the notebooks of school work much like the other did to his hero notes. If he were more cruel, more vengeful, perhaps he’d have sold the information in those notebooks, sent Kacchan into the hero world like a lamb to the slaughter and laugh as he fell from grace, as the world scorched him like his quirk had Izuku.

❝What happened to someone like you to cause you to stare at others as if they were ghosts, Todoroki-kun? You look at me yet you speak as if i’m not here, as if I’m simply your imaginary friend and you wish for me to burst into flames, to fall into ashes and be reborn as nothing more than a memory of something that once was but shouldn’t have ever been. Why do you look at me with eyes full of rage when I truly understand your sadness?❞

He wondered what had hurt Todoroki this way, to be callous and cold towards his classmates, towards everyone., Had he been burned by the son or frozen by the moon? Perhaps he, too, had reached for stars only to come tumbling back down to earth, forced to face the reality of too-high expectations and too-ambitious dreams, broken by the realisation that no one believed in him, that no one ever would.

❝Is it that you don’t want to be understand, in the end, so you act as if those who can hold a candle to the flame are non-existent, if only for your own fragile peace of mind? Are you truly so desperate to be alone and wallow within your own thoughts that the presence of another is meaningless, nonsensical even, and so you refuse to process it? If so, Todoroki-kun, I feel sad for you.❞ 

Perhaps it was a mistake to ever open up his mouth, considering Todoroki likely hadn’t even been attempting to speak to him, even if Izuku had thought so at first, for the volume of chattering voices outside of their small area in the library, where others studied diligently and provided tutoring for struggling classmates, was rising. He was foolish to believe that the other had wanted anything to do with him at all and perhaps it was the fact he’d existed that was why the other seemed to want him to go away, perhaps he’d encroached on the other’s favourite spaces and deserved every ounce of distance that radiated off the other like heat on a summer’s day.

He didn’t understand Todoroki’s story, he wouldn’t pretend he did, but he recognised in two-tone eyes and cold voices the same emotions that he went through each day, simply a different coping mechanism, the kind Izuku longed to have but the world hadn’t managed to beat the mercy out of his soul, the kindness out of his heart, and he wished it would, if only because he was tired of feeling like drowning when he did nothing but gasp for air.

❝You’re lucky, don’t you see that? Everyone accepts you for who you are, for all you are, except yourself! Not everyone has that luxury, Todoroki-kun, not everyone has the possibility to matter!❞ He hadn’t meant to yell, not like this, with voice cracks and tears cascading down freckled cheeks, hands coming up to wipe them away but it did not stifle the flow and the shouting did not muffle his pitiful attempts not to sob. It never had, it never would, and Izuku was an idiot for thinking he could ever come off as anything more than a disappointment, unloved by all around him, regardless of what he did.

( we’re alike, you and i, he wishes to scream. we’re so alike. we both hurt. we both yearn for a feeling other than that, to be worth something, we’re so alike, can’t you see that? but those are the words he’ll never say, no matter how he weeps, because he knew todoroki wouldn’t ever believe him if he said he knew how it felt to have knives twisted in one’s heart until nothing was left. )

❝You’re lucky because you mean something, you have the potential to be someone, to be accepted by those around you!❞ 

Izuku didn’t have that, never would, because he was quirkless, failure, worthless, every insulted ever spoken pounding through his head, screaming through his ears, but he’d learned to tune out the crescendo of explosions and barking voices that had long since encapsulated his mind, a remnant of a past he wished he’d never lived. The idea of Izuku being accepted was impossible, like a memory of a future that could never be, a relic of a past that never was or the home he’d once loved, no longer could, lived in with the only one who had ever cared for him but he’d cast his own mother away as he grew if only to protect her from what he had become, from the reject he was, for he’d had two parents with two quirks and ended up with nothing.

( he was shameful, so shameful, bringing nothing but misfortune on those around him, worth nothing if he didn’t study hard enough to be at the top of the class. class president, top grades, none of that mattered if he had no self-worth because the real world wouldn’t accept someone like him, a quirkless wanted-to-be-but-never-could, and he was delusional to pretend that they ever would )

❝So tell me, Todoroki-kun, does pretending people don’t exist help you or are you crushed beneath the gravity of your loneliness? If you want to be alone, then go, cast people away, but stop looking at others with woeful eyes! Stop wishing for the same happiness you’ve rejected so casually simply because you’re afraid to have the knife of betrayal twisted in your heart by someone who could be a friend!❞

( stop hurting now, while you still can, before your pain devours all you are and you become another ghost roaming halls you cannot leave. )

                                         ❝We’re not so different, are we?❞

( if my heart shall be a garden where roses bloom and their thorns shall choke my lungs, constrict until i cannot breathe, then dandelions shall leave my mouth with every word i say... if my heart shall be a garden, will it take the pain away? he wanted to ask, so many times. am i so different from you all if i am but a stepping stone for all i could have loved? but no one ever answered, so his heart shall be a garden, watered by his tears. )

[lady-o-ren]

Just Between Lovers

Chapter One- Dreams 

Next Chapter here

 I felt it in my chest - a constricting thrash of erratic beating that stretched to my limbs in electric shocks. My hands fisting the cool sheets beneath me for stability as my hips lifted ever closer to the waves of heated pleasure rushing and pulsating between my thighs, driving my body to a desperate release.

 I laid sprawled open, my body boneless and breath a heavy quiver.

 The caress of heated breath on my thigh however was thick with want, and the nuzzling of a rough stubbled cheek dragging back and forth in affection was a gentle but persistent reminder that all was not over. A smile began to form and I reached towards the hazy figure below me, seeking to bring him closer…

 But my hand halted in crushing pressure.

                                               __________                                                                    

"Bloody damn." The moan burned my dry throat as the last fragments of my dream faded away, taking with it the promise of bliss and replaced with prickling pain.

I found my arm that had sought my phantom lover and screaming for release was pinned beneath another.

Frank.

We had met over a staggered stack of books in my Uncle Lamb's study near four years ago where his rather poor attempt at flirting consisted of babbling on about Jacobites while blushing at his own ineptitude to keep the fluster from his voice. I however thought him dear before our first hullo and we had been together ever since - that is until now.

I was in Edinburgh starting my residency while Frank stayed behind in Oxford, an already established professor, and we had been traveling back and forth these past months with the strain of distance felt by us both. We had thought we could manage and had mostly, but with only one solution to the problem that neither of us was willing to give, we decided by unspoken agreement to pretend there was no problem, maybe in hopes the other would give in, come home... However, the tension would usually dissipate when we laid next to one another like now - well maybe not just now. While Frank was a gentleman in everyway from his dress to etiquette, when he slept it became a battle to not be smothered alive.

With a grimace of pained irritation stinging my face I pushed Franks body just enough to pry my arm loose with no fear that he would wake,l since he slept like the dead.

Cradling my lifeless arm horribly numb and useless against my chest I began rubbing the feeling back into it - starting at my forearm then down to my hands mashed, stiff fingers and back again. My eyelids fluttering shut at the warming sensation of blood flowing back to my veins and my mind drifted to another hand, much larger then my own and began mimicking his motions. Fingers digging deep in my skin leaving bruises in their wake, moving in rhythm with his mouth that sought the depths of my flesh.

Just as my head tilted to it's side a loud snore from what should have been the object of my desire brought me back to reality.

"Jesus H. Christ, you are chasing a dream, Beauchamp." I whispered harshly to myself, rubbing my face in frustration to the point of seeing swirls of green and yellow stars behind my eyes.

With a groan I pushed my thick mass of tangled hair away as I reached over to my nightstand where my phone was kept. With blaring light that made my eyes nearly clench and teary, I read a blurry - 5: 30. Work would be beckoning me soon.

No point in going back to bed I turned to Frank. So peacefully content in his own dreamworld I could have throttled him and slept fit for another hour. Yet, he looked so charming with his chestnut hair tousled all about making him look younger then his years with a thin sweet mouth parted just enough to cause my ears annoyance. But that was easily remedied.

I leaned into Frank and kissed him along the shell of his ear that could always elicit a shiver with the hope that he would wake and help smother the flame stoked with such exquisite skill, but no such luck. He only mumbled and turned further away from me into the soft white pillows.

I hung my head with a defeated sigh. Strike two.

Willing myself to live without fulfillment for a day, I went to Frank's ear resisting the urge to twist it and whispered, "Sleep tight old chum."An endearment he hated but hearing my Uncle Lamb call him so in passing I could never resist the urge to tease him even in sleep.

As I swung my legs over the bed to the waiting embrace of coffee, I was hit with remembrance of the sway of those same limbs pressed into broad shoulders with hair a storm of waves shielding his face from me.

It was a shade of torrid red that had me quick to clench my thighs.

"Damn, the bastard." I couldn't help but smile at how pathetic a thrill it gave me to know his color of hair. To know anything about him, really. For it wasn't the first time he haunted my dreams.

A/N: 

*To get the feeling of the story listen to:   

Dream Tonite by Alvvays   

Apocalypse by Cigarettes After Sex

*Title is from a korean drama I haven’t seen but it just fit and I suck at naming things.

Something I wrote awhile ago, lost the files to and ended up writing Sorcha instead. It’s nothing massively diferent but it’s my one and only present day/modern fics that I have (I prefer to daydream in yester years that never existed or the 40′s/50′s- those clothes!). It’s just something completely opposite to help writers block. I wrote the prologue for Sorcha while writing Bad Luck Follows and it helped so hopefully it does here.

Lastly, the opening scene is...something I don’t really write and first person of a character I find difficult to write, but I’m excited (intimidated) to finally start a story with Claire instead of Jamie. Thanks for reading!

[aceofwhump]

Mike Warren Fanfic Rec List

Alright everyone!! Here it is! My fanfiction rec list for Mike Warren!! There’s not a lot of fanfiction out there so pickings are kinda slim (we should all change that. Just saying.) But I hope you enjoy what I’ve found!

Warning 1: A lot of these are incomplete. It sucks but they’re good so I’m adding them anyway.

Warning 2: Some are Pike (Paige and Mike) and no I don’t ship them (cause she is a bitch) but I wanted to read Mike whump and if the Pike wasn’t a huge deal in the fic I read it anyway.

----------------------------------------------------

Saving Grace by HopefulShipper, RosieColes95  Summary: Abby finds Mike's FBI badge along with his gun that fateful night in S1 and he comes clean about his job. As their relationship deepens can Mike protect her from getting pulled into his undercover world? Cowritten with RosieColes95.

Moving On by kimmyiewrites (arosetosomeone) Summary: Mike Warren has gone back to D.C. to try and move on from all that had happened in Graceland. With a new case and a new partner he just might be able to do just that or will Graceland's memories come back to haunt him?Post Series Finale!

The Silver Lining is in the Stuffed Animal by cancerthecrabbo Summary: When Bello spots him and attacks him in prison, Mike is a little worse for wear. With his stitches pulled out, Charlie takes him to the hospital before they go back to Graceland. Mike, in all his painkiller-induced loopiness, is adorable. The Graceland family takes advantage of the situation to get some blackmail.

what is a half-blind wolf (but a lamb missing an eye?) by cancerthecrabbo Summary: "Mike expects Bello to get between the two of them, perhaps elect to interrogate him, which might leave him some room to stay undercover. Instead, he takes a step back and gives Eddie a slow nod. He hands Eddie the gun." An alternate ending to the episode Pizza Box in which Bello decides to put his trust in Eddie, which means Eddie can dispose of Mike as he wishes. The tactical team waiting nearby gets to them before Eddie can kill Mike but not before he makes the saying an eye for an eye quite literal.

i dream with my eyes open by sonofahurricane Summary: When Eddie attacks Mike, Mike walks away but doesn't get off easily.AU for 1x04, Pizza Box.

Lightshow by busigt_81 Summary: Mike loves running, it clears his head and helps him think about whats going on in his life and he needs it now more than ever.

Anchor by VampirePam Summary: When Mike crashes hard after his first reversal, Briggs is there to pick up the pieces. Missing scene from the pilot.

And Not Just Play a Part by yattayay Summary: He comes out to them one night on the beach, with his head in Charlie’s lap and the fire warming his toes.

The Ever Building Lie by donutsweeper Summary: Odin Rossi had become a part of Paul Briggs, one that was getting harder and harder to hide.Spoilers for episode 1x08 "Bag Man."

Poison by AnthemInMyTveit (SoWrongItsLottie) Summary: “I’m Poison, Mike!” Briggs shouts, spinning his head round to face the younger Agent.Paul Briggs knows that he’s a mess; he has been ever since the incident down in Mexico with Jangles, he’s not going to deny it. Although he never thought for a single second that he would ever let Agent Mike Warren, Mr Boy Scout himself, in on his most darkest secret. When Mike takes a turn for the worse following Bello’s assault, Briggs makes it his mission to get Agent Warren out of Graceland and to DC, where he belongs. But can he really go through with his plan and say goodbye to the person who has had his back since day one?

What Didn't Happen by altschmerzes Summary: “You really think I was dead?” That’s the question he asks instead of his actual question, ‘just how upset were you and how upset are you still?’ Ultimately, the first question answers the second, if what Mike’s face does is any indication.“Yeah.” The word is clipped, followed by a short clear of his throat. “I really did.”--After Mike finds out Johnny is alive, and after Briggs leaves the evidence room, the two of them get a chance to talk, and Mike gets to process a loss that hadn't actually happened.

Come Together by owenharpersgirl Summary: After Bello attacks Mike in the prison, the entire house comes to together to look after him.

Panic by petersnotkingyet Summary: Bates wakes up in the middle of the night and finds Mike having a panic attack. Bromance ensues.

Three in the Morning by IveGotRedHair Summary: Mike's not feeling well and Paige tries to make it better, he might be the new guy but Graceland is family.

It's Just Sauce After All by: Rosebud5 Summary: Based on the "Pizza Box" episode, Mike is left with the suddenly daunting task of cleaning the dishes after sauce night. Just when he thinks he might reach his breaking point, he's joined by somebody who will help take the pain away and clean away all the red to leave a beautiful, pure white. Sometimes, all it takes is a gentle hand to guide you back to the ground.

Those Blue Eyes by: Rosebud5 Summary: When Mike is stabbed and in critical condition, the Graceland family realizes just how much their dorky Levi means to each of them. Takes place during the "Smoke Alarm" episode, with some Mike/Paige and a few hints of Johnny/Charlie.

Life at Graceland by: Misfits-of-Graceland Summary: A series of one-shots focusing on Mike mostly and some are just kind of random.

Under the Cover of Violence by: GracelandFan Summary: Mike has to go undercover as a victim of domestic violence. Briggs has to play the abuser. All is going well until one nosy cop decides to help Mike out of his situation.

Burning in the Dark by: msjgatsby Summary: Mike fails. He needs Paige's forgiveness.

Reveal Those Baby Blues by: Suitslover14 Summary: At least this time he didn't have to call Charlie and Paige and Jakes, telling them that Mike had been stabbed and he had left him to chase after some nightmare in his past. At least this time Mike had a hell of a better chance of surviving. That is if he could just reveal those baby blues.

The Greatest Novel Ever Written by msjgatsby Summary: Paige takes the first shift after Mike's out of the tub. (PIKE outtake from 3x08)

Not So Happy Birthday by: WhumpageLover Summary: It's Mike's birthday, but the day doesn't turn out so happy.

Matters of the Heart by: purplepanda242 Summary: How do you cope when everything goes wrong?

Desperation by: H.E. Mahk Summary: Post season 3.  Picks up right at the end of "No Old Tigers".  Everyone in the house is trying to figure out where to go from here and Mike, especially, is struggling with the stress and guilt of it all.  Will he seek help or fall back into old habits? Warnings: drug use.

Dark by: Miss DiNozzo Summary: Tags to 1x04, Pizza Box. Mike's not doing well.

Mike Whump by: TaliaFox Summary: Basically, a series of one-shots about hurt!Mike. Involved will be shooting, stabbing, kidnapping, etc. Mainly will be Mike and Paul, but others will be included. NOT SLASH.

Search & Rescue By: S.A.N.e-but-inS.A.N.e Summary: When Paige asks Mike to help her on one of her cases, it quickly goes from a simple takedown to a life-threatening situation. Even injured, Mike will stop at nothing to rescue Paige with or without the help of the other residents of the Graceland house.

Mike's Mystery by: WhumpageLover Summary: Mike comes home, beaten and covered in blood, after being gone for three days. He doesn't want to talk about what happened, so it's up to the gang to find out what happened to their Levi.

Sick Mike Oneshots by: Miss DiNozzo Summary: As a huge sickfic fan, I've really wanted to see more sick!Mike. So naturally I wrote a million stories about it.

Stagger by: somewhereinthedreams Summary: Filling in the gap of why Mike thought he and Paige were okay after Bello attacked him in prison. Consider this a deleted scene set during Season 1: Episode 10, "King's Castle."

Come Together by: OwenHarpersGirl Summary: After Bello attacks Mike in the prison, the entire house comes to together to look after him.

[gabzep]

Betrayal (5)

Thanks @amazinglovers747 for reminding this was still here.  I wasn't sure how to work the reunion so I kinda ignored it for a bit. Hope you guys like it.

The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face by Roberta Flack

Part 4

He wanted to head out for the lake early this morning but his mom told him he had to at least work the morning shift, especially if he was planning on being gone for a few days.  He should be able to make it there by noon.  His mom was also on board for him to get Katniss back but that’s probably because the Bakery’s profits had gone down since they stopped selling the meat pies.  Plus he thinks his parents feel guilt for forcing him to marry Delly.

He’s not sure if disturbing her at the lake is a good idea.  Should he just wait for her to return, talk to her then? What if she doesn’t want him anymore, regardless of what he has to say?  He shakes himself out of his negative thoughts.  No he’s doing this.  He needs to stop being a coward, stop letting fear control him.  He’s going out there and fight for her, for them and their future.

He goes through he’s backpack one last time.  Making sure he didn’t forget anything and placing the last items inside.  Which happen to be Katniss’s favorite foods, a bag of cheese buns, a thermos of hot chocolate and two cans of Lamb Stew which he had traded Purnia this morning for several loaves of fresh bread.  Remembering his sketch book and pencils he leaves his bag on the counter and hurries upstairs.  When he gets back he finds Rye putting something inside.

“What are you doing?” He asks Rye

“Nothing, just throwing in a note for Katniss from Madge” he says with a smirk on him face.  He doesn’t have time to question him any further.  He grabs is backpack, shoves his sketchbook and pencils in, zips it up, swings over he’s shoulder and heads on out the doors.  He hears Rye wishing him luck.  Good, he’s going to need it.

------------------------------------

When he crawls under the fence he is reminded of the first time Katniss had taken him into the woods.  It was on his 17th birthday and he was feeling a little hurt.  His family never did anything for their birthdays but this time they didn’t acknowledge it at all, not even his dad.

After his morning shift Katniss is waiting for him at the back door, she greets him with a ‘happy birthday’ and a soft smile, he pauses to study her pretty face.  She has huge beautiful gray eyes, long black lashes, tiny delicate nose, full pink lips and all his.  He still has to pinch himself to make sure he’s not dreaming.  She gives him a quick kiss and they headed out to the wood. 

The moment he was on the other side of the fence, it was like a whole different world.  Instead of all the black coal dust, there’s green all around him with a familiar smell of pine and damp earth.  He was so in awe that she practically had to drag him to the nearby stream where she had set up a birthday picnic. 

They ate grilled fish, biscuits, strawberries and blackberries.  Once they had their fill she took him for a hike and showed him all her favorite spots which included a meadow full of blooming wildflowers, yellow, white, red, blue and lavender, he sees so much color, it’s blinding.  As she climbed a tree to pick some apples, he wandered around and found a berry bush.  He had collected about a handful when he heard Katniss shout ‘Peeta! No!’ and hit him in the back with an apple, effectively startling him into dropping the berries.  She rushed them back to the stream.  Made him wash his hands over and over making sure he didn’t get any berry juice on them.  She goes on about how they were ‘poisonous nightlock berries, dead in a minute, you scared me half to death’.

“It’s alright Katniss, no one really needs me” he said before he could stop himself.  He knows he shouldn’t feel sorry for himself, especially since he’s had a wonderful birthday with Katniss.  But he’s family forgetting his birthday really got to him.

“I do, I need you” she tells him.  She takes him by the hand, leads him to the picnic blanket, pushes him down and proceeds to shows him, just how much he means to her.  

When they walk back to the bakery, he had the biggest grin on his face; they had never gone that far before.  He’s feeling happy and loved by the girl walking next to him.  Pushing open the bakery door there are shouts of ‘Surprise’ and ‘Happy Birthday, Peeta’.   Even Katniss’s mom and sister were there plus a few of their friends.  He was shocked.  Looking down at Katniss, she reaches up gently kisses his lips and whispers ‘you’ll always be needed Peeta’.  He’s hoping that’s still true. 

-----------------------------

As he gets closer to the lake he hears her singing and like everything else around him he stops to listen.  Her sultry smooth voice is absolutely beautiful and it helps to soothe his battered heart.

And the first time ever I kissed your mouth I felt the earth move in my hand Like the trembling heart of a captive bird That was there at my command my love That was there at my command my love And the first time ever I lay with you I felt your heart so close to mine And I knew our joy would fill the earth And last till the end of time my love And it would last till the end of time my love The first time ever I saw your face Your face, your face, your face

He didn’t know how long he had been standing there; the haunting melody had completely captivated his mind. He shook his head to clear away the haze, forcing himself to focus and continue walking.  She was singing a different song now and it was just as enchanting.  As he approaches the thicket ahead that leads to the cabin she stops singing.  She must hear him coming.  She did like to remind him of how loud he was, asking him if he was stomping his feet on purpose.

His legs shake with ever step; his hearts beating faster making its way from his chest to his throat. He walks through the thicket and she’s there.  Oh god, he hadn’t seen her in so long, she takes his breath away.  They stand there taking each other in, neither one wanting to break the spell that has taken a hold of them.  He recognizes the sadness and longing in her eyes.

It’s too much; all these months of trying to keep himself together have finally taken a toll on him.  He can’t move, can’t speak, can’t do anything and its taking all his strength to keep him from falling to his knees. He tries to make himself say something before her walls come up.  If he could just get passed the lump that has closed off his throat but he only manages to choke out “Katniss”.

She hears him whisper her name and sees the pleading in his eyes.  She takes slow tentative steps towards him and with a shaky hand stretches out and tenderly touches his face.  The feel of her touch is his undoing.  His hands reach her; pulling her close to him and takes her down with him as he crumbles to the ground on his knees, burying his face in her neck and burst into tears. 

She feels her own tears falling down her face as she hugs him.  He’s babbling as he sobs into her neck.  She can make out a few words ‘drugged him’ ‘Thom’s baby’ ‘never touched her’.  She’ll get the full story later.  She coos and hums as she rocks him, like she does for Prim after a nightmare.

When his sobs turn to sniffles she begins to loosen her hold, causing him to tighten his grip on her. Because holder her felt so impossibly good he didn’t want to let go.  Then her hand caresses his back as she whispers reassuring words into his ear.  He has always been her weakness and right at this very moment with him in her arms again she doesn’t care.

Hesitant to let her go he clings to her, as he makes it back to his feet.  As he pulls away he looks down at her, giving her a sheepish smile, feeling embarrassed that he had fallen apart like that.  She returns it with slightly amused smile of her own.  They walk to the lake to wash up and he splashes the cool water on his face.  This was not how he had imagined it would go but he’s all too happy that he didn’t end up with an arrow in his eye.  They know that they need to talk but they sit at the edge of the lake in companionable silence enjoy being in each other company.

“Have you had lunch yet” he asks.  She shakes her head.  He retrieves his backpack where he had dropped it and they go into the cabin where he heats up the lamb stew.  She moans when she takes the first bite of the cheese bun, she hasn’t had them since before the reaping and she almost finishes all the hot chocolate by herself.  When they finished up, she grabs a blanket and they headed out to enjoy the rest of the late afternoon sun.  He had stalled as long as he could so he starts to talk.

“I’m not sure how much you where able to understand earlier” he rubs the back of his neck; face turning beat red, remembering his break down “but um…the baby isn’t mine, he uh…is Thom’s son.”

“So she had the baby already?” doing a mental calculation she knows the timing is off.

“Yeah, that’s the thing she was already pregnant before the reaping.  I still don’t completely understand what motivated Delly to try and pass him off as mine, he was born with all seam features and later told us he was Thom’s.  I think not wanting to move into the seam was one of the reasons.”  He waits for a bit to let it sink in.  Hopefully she’ll be able to believe what he’s going to say next.  Taking a deep breath he pushes forward.

“Katniss” he reaches out taking her hand. “She also said that we didn’t do anything that night” her lips begin to quiver at the memory, tears pooling in her gray eyes.  As his voice begins to shake he has to stop swallow a few times before he continues “Delly told me she put something in my drinks; by the 3rd one I blacked out, all she really needed was for it to look like we had slept together knowing I wouldn’t remember.”

He continues telling her about being forced to marry, refusing to toast, rejecting the assigned housing, sleeping in a cot in the shoe shop among the shoes instead of in her room.

She’s actually surprised that Delly didn’t abort the baby like every other merchant girl that finds herself pregnant by a boy from the seam or seam girl by a merchant.  But how is drugging someone, making him believe he’s the father, forcing him to marry her knowing it’s all a lie and then not giving the real father the opportunity to get to know his baby, make Delly any better.  Thom is a good person and he’d want to be there for his baby.

She gets to her feet, pacing back and forth along the shore.  She feels a smoldering, all consuming rage boiling within her.  All these months of pain, struggling to drag her way out of the fog of sadness that losing Peeta had caused.  The never ending sleepless nights she’d spent felling miserable and alone.  Having to fight the constant desire to go looking for Peeta knowing he belonged to another.  And Peeta want about him?  They were childhood friends.  How can she possibly justify taking advantage of his friendship and trusting nature?  Oh she can wait to get her hands on her. This is not going to end well for Delly.

He watches her pace, seeing the storm of emotions playing out on her face and it terrifies him. Maybe she doesn’t believe him, will this be the last day he’ll spend with her. He needs to keep trying, he’ll beg if has to. 

“Please Katniss, I didn’t cheat, I swear it.” The plea she hears in his voice forces her to calm the fire that was raging in her blood and turns to look at him; she can see the look of concern across his face.  Delly took what was most precious and turned Peeta into a piece in her own personal selfish game.  She’ll deal with her when they get home.  Right now she needs to take care of Peeta.

She goes to him and he takes her hands, drawing strength from them. “Even after I was forced to marry, I promise, I never touched her. Please, believe me.” He chokes out.

She sees the pain in Peeta’s beautiful blue eyes and knows he isn’t lying.  “Okay” she nods. “I believe, you” she reassure him.  His eyes go wide and his face brightens with hope.

“Oh god, Katniss thank you.” He’s beaming with happiness; he grabs her and pulls her onto his lap. “There’s no life for me without you, I’ve been so unhappy.” He burrows his face into her neck and his lips graze it lovingly, just the way he knows she likes it.  It sends a shiver down she spine causing her to stifle a moan.  If he keeps this up she’ll probably agree to anything.  “I love you, Katniss, you’re my whole life.  Do you think…” he swallows hard trying to get the rest out. Hoping he’s not pushing his luck “you can give us another chance?” he asks “I put in for an annulment already.” he adds quickly. “We can take it as slow as you want.” he finishes, silently waiting for her answer please say yes.

She knew the answer the minute he crossed the thicket but she’s going to make him sweat a little, especially since he’s playing dirty.  She wiggles slowly on his lap, letting her hip slightly rub up against him.  She hears his breath hitch; it takes all she has to keep a straight face.

“I don’t know Peeta, I’ve embraced the single life” she muses “It’ll take a lot to convince me to tie myself down again.” She moves her hips one more time and she can feel a hardness that wasn’t there a moment ago.  He tightens his grip on her hips to prevent her from moving again.  She has to hold back a giggle.

“What can I do to persuade you to give us another shot?” his voice comes out rough and husky making her want to squirm some more but he has a firm grip.  He bends his head down and begins to nibble on her earlobe knowing this is another one of her weak points and he can feel her shudder.  She whimpers as he pulls away.  “Is that a yes, Katniss” and he takes her earlobe in his mouth again and sucks on it. 

She lets out a breathy “yes”.  With a move acquired from his years of wrestling, he has her on her back his hips flushed against hers and he rolls into her.  “Tell me, Katniss” he rolls his hips again “tell me you’ll take me back” he whispers in her ear.

“Yes, Peeta” she moans out, feeling him push up against her aching center once more “I’ll take you back” she grabs him by the neck and pull him down for a kiss.  This kiss was familiar yet new, filled with shared hunger and longing over these wasted months apart. 

When they finally come up for air he asks “You love me, real or not real.”

She tells him “real” and pulls him back down for another searing kiss.

[medusinestories]

Hi Medusine! If you’re still up for the DVD commentary (and if you don’t mind that I cheated and it’s actually closer to 600), I’d love to read your commentary on the part of Impossible Tasks that starts with “As the last notes died in Silver’s throat” and ends with “Or you’ll never be a true love of mine,” near the end. I know you posted that a while ago, so if you no longer have time for it or don’t have much to say about this piece, no worries! :)

Oh wow, okay! I’ve never done this and tbh I don’t listen to many DVD commentaries, but let’s try! :D (sorry it’s late, Christmas prep delays)

And it’s long, so most of it goes under a read-more!

Impossible Tasks - DVD Commentary

Okay so just to situate the action, this story takes place in Season 3, while Flint & co are sailing to fetch Jack and the treasure in Nassau, and before Silver kills Dufresne.

As the last notes died in Silver’s throat, the harmony still buzzing within him, he waited for Flint to start the next verse. His stomach dropped when silence fell in the room again. Silver opened his eyes. Flint had straightened slightly on his seat, and put his quill down. Those were the only signs that the song hadn’t been a dream.

Until this point, Silver had been in a sort of daze, singing in harmony with Flint without really thinking about it. They were both caught sort of off-guard while they were half-dozing, which allowed them to be more in sync because they weren’t holding back. Silver was enjoying himself, and feels a little disappointed that the moment is over.

“I didn’t know you could sing,” Silver said quietly.

And yes he’s pretty much in awe of every new thing he finds out about Flint. S3 is a time when they’re discovering a lot about themselves and each other, and for Silver especially it’s about going past whatever preconceived notions he had about Flint.

Flint shrugged. “No better or worse than most sailors.”

Silver had heard most sailors sing and he disagreed heartily with that statement, but he let it slide. 

Flint definitely sings better than your average sailor. Have you ever heard Toby sing? He’s not bad at all. In my headcanon, Flint learned a lot of things from his Irish grandfather, including singing (though this song isn’t Irish).

“That wasn’t a sea shanty, though,” he said instead.

“No, it wasn’t.”

It was a love song. Only now did Silver realise exactly what they’d been singing. He played the song back in his mind, making sense of it now that Flint had filled the gaps in the lyrics.

And this is where the plot thickens for Silver. This song had been haunting him for a while, he had no idea why, and only now that Flint has provided the rest of the lyrics does he realise that a love song has been running through his mind since he’s been in the Maroon camp with Flint.

“An impossible love, then,” Silver murmured to himself.

“Mm?”

He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. “The song. It’s about never being worthy of someone’s love. There is no land between the sea and the sand. Lambs don’t have horns, and you can’t sow a field with a single peppercorn.”

So yeah, Scarborough Fair is exactly about that. Its lyrics can be sung as a duet between a man asking his beloved to sew an impossible shirt for him, and a woman asking her beloved to harvest an impossible plot of land for her. I chose that song for this prompt because it was both the perfect theme and also it’s likely it existed in this time period (though possibly with a different melody/lyrics to what we know now).

Silver is only realising now that it’s not just a love song that’s been running through his mind, but on where the song’s protagonist has to do something which is absolutely impossible, in order to convince the other of his love. Basically, the other’s expectations are so high that he’ll never be worthy. Which is pretty familiar for Silver from someone as demanding as Flint (or Madi, for that matter).

Flint turned around slowly. Silver braced himself for a sombre glare, cutting words, perhaps even some snapped order to shut up about songs. But there were no traces of that on his face. Instead there was a gleam in his eye that Silver had never seen before.

“You were the one humming it, you know,” Flint said with a hint of a smile.

The observation crashed onto Silver like a wave, robbing him of air, flattening him to the sand.

Flint hasn’t missed the significance of Silver singing this song either. He’s a big reader, he analyses text and subtext, and here he’s figured out that if Silver’s thinking about that, he might have it on his mind. And this is scary for Silver. He’s revealed himself without wanting to and it’s a shock for him. It’s like Flint knows his mind before he even does.

“Just the sober and grave part,” he said defensively, but now that he looked into Flint’s face, Silver realised just why those words had popped into his head. He thought about Flint too often for his own good, these days.

“And the true love part,” Flint pointed out, his tone casual but his face quite earnest.

So of course, a scared Silver tries to weasel his way out of what he considers to be a too revealing situation, but somehow manages to make it worse. Sober and grave are pretty much the description of Flint’s face (and, quite often, Madi’s) so he pretty much walked straight into that one. Flint can’t help needling him a little further - at this point I think he’s sort of testing the waters to see where this is going, if there’s any actual significance to Silver singing the song or not. And given Silver’s defensive reaction, he probably has all the answers he needs.

A lil note here about the lyrics I chose. The verse a lot of people know nowadays is “parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme”, but those are the 19th century lyrics and could be a corruption of older lyrics. I thought that “sober and grave” were absolutely perfect in this story, so I opted for those.

“Well, it rhymes,” was the best retort Silver could find. Cold sweat was beading at his forehead, and god, he hoped he wasn’t blushing under Flint’s terrible gaze. Those eyes were always trying to bore down into places Silver never wanted anyone to see.

Silver is still grasping at straws, trying to make out like the song is nothing. Chances are he’s a bit sweaty and a bit blushy and Flint can see it, which is why he’s quite kind to him in the following section.

“It’s an assonance, rather than a rhyme, but fair point,” Flint said. He smiled a little, and Silver couldn’t for the life of him figure out the look on his face, except that it was gentle and terrifying all at once.

This is probably my favourite line in the whole fic, because although these two idiots are drowning in the subtext of their conversation, Flint is still A Nerd and can’t resist correcting Silver about the difference between rhyme (where the vowel and consonant sounds are identical, such as “time” and “rhyme”) and assonance (where only the vowel sounds are identical). Which nobody but nerds cares about, but Flint can’t help flaunting his knowledge (and obvs neither can I XD).

“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll doze for a while longer,” Silver said, shifting on the bench so that he faced the window rather than Flint. It was either that or trying to high-tail it out of the cabin, and he wasn’t sure his sore leg would carry him.

Flint gave a small nod, and turned back to his desk. Silver relaxed when he heard the scratch of Flint’s quill on the paper. He felt like someone who’d just been licked by a whirlwind and barely resisted being drawn in.

At this point Silver feels very vulnerable. He’s revealed something to Flint that he wasn’t entirely aware of himself, and he sees Flint’s questions like something akin to interrogation, even though Flint was actually really gentle about it. The conversation is making him more and more ill-at-ease, he’s not ready to confront whichever feelings he might have for Flint. So he escapes into sleep.

Just as he was drifting off again, Flint’s soft voice rose in the room. Silver made no sound, listening as his heart burst into a flutter, barely daring to breathe.

“If you say that you can’t, then I shall reply, Sober and grave grow merry in time, Oh, Let me know that at least you will try, Or you’ll never be a true love of mine.”

The ending to the song, which isn’t always that well-known, is one of acceptance. It doesn’t matter that the lover can’t actually complete the impossible tasks, so long as he accepts to try.

Flint is sending a message to Silver here. It’s an answer to Silver’s comment about this love being impossible. As long as Silver is his ally, as long as he tries, Flint will accept him, it’ll be good enough for him. This could be seen as him accepting Silver, giving him a way into his heart. But it could also be seen as a sort of threat: if Silver doesn’t try to do the impossible, he’ll never gain Flint’s love. The story ends with the ball firmly in Silver’s court, and Silver quite aware of it - and, of course, terrified.