#and 2 i know that he'd proven himself to saw and what not

[wrencatte]

the more I think about this coruscant crew mission fic the more excited i get.

[sunfish5149]

After rewatching round 6 for the nth time I just realized Till Win is reflected in Ivan's blood and OH. MY BMFUCCKIGBGOOOODDDD I HATE THEM I HATE THEM O HATE TJEM they could never make me hate you ivan.

Till standing next to Ivan while his body is still cooling feels awfully a lot like how a person would mourn at their loved one's grave, but I think that there's a lot more going on inside Till's head, and this just saddens me. I would crumble personally if I was him, because to me, Ivan's death also feels like a slap to the face I guess? Because until now his crush on Mizi allowed him to be selfish, to believe that once she was gone, he would be left all alone. He gave up his will to live, accepted defeat without further struggle, because he idolized and idealized Mizi to a point where his whole life depended on her existence. Perhaps he does have a crush on Mizi, but I fully believe that it partly stems from the love and adoration he saw Mizi offer to Sua, almost like "what if I could have that too?". He could not bear to part with the love and salvation he saw within Mizi, to the point where he gave away his freedom just to be near her, just for the chance that maybe he'd finally know what it feels like to be wanted, to be loved. He selfishly cut away at all the bad parts in this picture that he did not want to see, the worthless parts, the painful ones, the suffering he has endured at the hands of his captors, and ended up cutting away at the people that might've cared for him, that still do, until nothing but Mizi remained, who he foolishly believed to be able to offer him what he so desperately wanted. He made himself believe that he was alone, up until he truly, truly was. Until when can a man doggedly chase after one person until the death of what I dare call " the closest thing to family he has ever had" drop like flies around him? Round 6 offers us an answer.

I believe that part of the reason why he stood there as Ivan bled out is him processing that someone actually cared about him, loved the parts of Till that he saw to be loveless. It also feels like a wake-up call, the cut up picture that he has constructed his life around has finally been proven as the lie it is. He can no longer be selfish enough to close his eyes on reality, on his obsessive idealization for someone who will never, who cannot save him, on the fact that Mizi already loves somebody else so dearly, because the love he was searching for in someone, to be returned, was right next to him all along.

Too bad he only noticed Ivan when he was bleeding out at his feet. This is the closest thing to salvation Till will ever get from someone, to love so dearly one would give away their life without hesitation, to throw away their freedom, to not cut away at the corners of this picture, but to see it and love it and do everything to preserve it. Should Till look at such a picture, he would find the pieces of paper he has cut of himself which he believed to be loveless, reflected back at him in that puddle of blood. (I wrote this part fully relying on the muscle memory of my keyboard because my tears were deeply obstructing my vision)

This sacrifice will either ruin Till or give him motivation to live and the tenacity to fight back and free himself from the prison he has willingly walked in, and to finally accept that Mizi is a lesbiab and a ferocious grieving woman kisser. oh my god.

Edit: I JUST REALIZED MIZI ALSO IDOLIZES SUA THE SAME WAY TILL DOES WITH MIZI I HATE THEM I HATE TJEM J HATWHENM

Edit 2: this rant is lowkey outdated because first of all, I feel like I insulted Till's love for Mizi. Just as Ivan loved Till for his tenacity and fighting spirit, and whatever else he saw in that wet cat of a man, so did Till love Mizi, for her innocent happiness and love that poured out of her. She was the only one out of them who was blissfully unaware to the pain and suffering of the humans, and the shit the aliens put the rest through, the fact that Till was attracted to her partly because of that makes me feel miserable. I do wonder what he will think, should he survive and see just how much Mizi has changed, how she has grown to fight for what she wants to protect.

I also feel that I have underestimated Till's relation to Ivan, he truly did care for him, Ivan was just too cryptic to express himself

[roosterforme]

How You Play the Game Part 2 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: When Bradley doesn't hear from you after the first game, he thinks that's it. But you got his heart pounding and made him smile, and he wants to see you again. The realization that maybe something that perfect should be left as a one night stand hits him hard, but he wants to know if there could be more.

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, angst and smut (18+)

Length: 5600 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! How You Play the Game masterlist. Banner by @thedroneranger

Bradley was laying in bed on Saturday morning with the New York times app open on his phone, scrolling to find your article. When his eyes settled on your name below the title, he tapped on it. The app took him to your full biography and a picture of you in front of Wrigley Field. 

You even looked beautiful in your stock photo image. He was tempted to save it to his photo gallery, but instead he skimmed your bio. You'd lived all over the country and played every sport imaginable as a child. You had graduated first in your class from Syracuse University, and you were undefeated at sports trivia.

The smile on his lips grew as he read the article that you must have submitted before your deadline last night. Your writing style was fun and entertaining, and you had even mentioned the comment he made about the catcher for the Angels. Bradley groaned and tossed his phone aside. He wanted to see you again.

But as he got out of bed and headed for his bathroom, he reminded himself that last night had one night stand written all over it. You were in California for work. You both said that hooking up like that wasn't something you normally did. He was sure you just did it for a bit of fun. Bradley was an idiot for catching feelings after a few hours with you, but it felt like he already knew you. Talking to you in person felt like reading your articles, because your writing matched your personality so well. Witty, intelligent, funny and charming.

"Chill the fuck out," Bradley told himself in the bathroom mirror. "It's done."

Then he spent the day trying to think about anything that wasn't sports related. He even took a ten mile run up along the beach to kill some time. And when Nat asked him if he was going to the Hard Deck, he decided that would help. 

But everyone there was wearing Padres gear and talking about that game one victory. And Bradley swallowed hard when he saw that Shannon was working behind the bar. He hadn't thought about her much recently, and she definitely hadn't crossed his mind at all when he'd been with you. But nevertheless, Bradley smiled when she greeted him.

"Hey, Rooster," she said with that grin that he was so used to. And she poured him a beer before he even asked for one. "You think you'll stick around for last call?" 

He watched her hand as she slid the beer across the bartop. "I'll let you know?" he asked, barely able to meet her eyes. 

"Sounds good. I'll start a tab for you."

He just nodded and turned to find the other aviators. Sleeping with Shannon tonight might help Bradley get you off his mind. But did he want to? He kind of liked the way warm thoughts of your voice and your smile kept bubbling to the surface. He could hear you asking him if he'd write back to a text from you. Honestly, he had been low key hoping you'd contact him today, and then he could have proven that he'd write back immediately, just like he promised. 

But he'd heard nothing. No text. No call. You hadn't done anything with his phone number. 

"What's your problem?" Nat asked, pinching his arm until he snapped out of it. "I asked you three times if you wanted to play pool with me."

"I'm not in the mood," he groaned, rubbing his arm as the TV screen caught his attention. They were playing World Series highlights and talking about tomorrow night's game. 

"Why are you pouting?"

He rolled his eyes. "Nat, I'm not pouting."

"You are. Is this because Bagman is flirting with Shannon?"

Bradley glanced over his shoulder and saw that Nat was correct. Jake was leaning on the bar, trying his hardest to get Shannon to smile. "Nah. I told you, that's just casual. Doesn't mean anything." He sipped his beer.

"Well whatever is bothering you, either tell me about it or get over it, because I want to beat Javy and Reuben at pool for once."

Bradley closed his eyes and told her, "I met someone at the game last night."

"No!" she gasped. "Tell me everything."

After he hesitated for a beat, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped on your name in the NYT app before handing it to her. He watched Nat as she skimmed the screen and examined your photo.

"Oh! You met her? Oh, shit....you hooked up with her!"

"Yeah," he grunted, glad that his best friend didn't need much help to figure out exactly what was going on with him. She never did. 

"You like her! Why can I so easily picture you happily married to a sports writer? You could have six kids, and each one would play a different sport. One would play softball, one would be a kickass hockey player, one would play soccer, you'd probably have a ballerina-"

"Nat," he said, cutting her off with a laugh. "I'm not going to see her again. I gave her my number, but I haven't heard from her." He turned back to the bar to find that Shannon was alone again. Maybe it wouldn't hurt if he stayed until last call.

"Bradley. She's probably covering game two! You could go back to Petco Park tomorrow."

"Yeah," he grunted. "She's definitely covering game two. She told me she was. Right after I gave her my number which she hasn't used. It was just a hookup, Nat."

"I'll buy you a ticket," she said, fishing out her own phone. "An early Christmas present."

"Don't you dare. The resale price is up to almost a thousand bucks for the nosebleed seats."

She sighed and said, "Fine. But you should still think about going."

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

After you spent most of your weekend in your hotel room doing research and writing, you decided to take a few hours off on Sunday afternoon. And it was during this time, when you went for a walk through Balboa Park, that you let yourself accept the fact that you'd been working like a maniac all weekend to try to keep your mind off of Bradley.  

Your hotel room smelled like his cologne or aftershave or maybe his laundry detergent. It was nice. Kind of comforting. You wanted to lay in bed with him until you smelled like it, too. But on Saturday morning, when you had thrown away the rogue condom wrapper, you decided it was better to throw away his phone number, too. You tried to rip that sheet out of your notebook since you no longer needed those stats, but you couldn't do it. Instead it was tucked away with your other work items, and you hoped you wouldn't cave and contact him.

After you took a shower, you grabbed your bag and your media pass and headed out early so you would have time to get some food when you got there. You liked that the ballparks usually served up local treats, and you'd get there in time to actually enjoy some fish tacos or a poke bowl tonight. You even thought about grabbing a local beer and drinking it on the main concourse before heading up to the box. You decided to go up and set down your computer and then find the beer cart.

But when you approached the narrow stairs that would take you up to the press box, you froze.

"Ace."

He was standing there, arms crossed and leaning against the wall, an earnest look on his handsome face.

"Bradley," you gasped as your heart thudded with excitement. "What are you doing here? Did you win another contest?"

"No," he said, shaking his head slowly. "I bought a ticket."

You knew the tickets were reselling at a premium price, and as he pushed away from the wall and dropped his arms to his sides, you asked, "Really? You're that much of a Padres fan?"

He shrugged and kind of shook his head, but your breath caught in your throat when he said, "You never texted me, Ace. I haven't stopped thinking about you for a single second, but you didn't text or call me."

He was close enough now that you could smell him, and you almost whimpered as your eyes fluttered closed. "You really wanted me to use your number?" you asked, meeting his eyes once again.

"Of course. That's why I wrote it down," he said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "Shit, I shouldn't have come here to see you." He was blushing profusely and looking at the floor. "You wanted that to be a one time thing, didn't you?" he asked, glancing up at your eyes with a slight grimace on his face. 

Well now you weren't so sure. You thought he had just written his number down as a tactic. It wouldn't have been the first time you had a guy see how far he could get you to go while making you feel like you had some sort of safety net. Making you think he was really into you. But maybe Bradley actually was?  

"Bradley, I-"

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "In an effort to not completely ruin the perfection of Friday night in my mind, I'm gonna go."

You watched him turn, and he made it about ten steps before you ran to him, reaching for his bicep. "Bradley, wait." When he stopped, you bumped into him, but he steadied you. You swallowed hard. He was so attractive, and you'd be lying if you said you hadn't thought about him all weekend. Inviting him back to your hotel room again had been a fun fantasy you'd indulged in since late Friday night. "Do you want to sit with me again? In the box?"

He looked surprised now. "Yeah."

"Okay." You linked your fingers with his and led him back to the stairs. He still looked a little tentative as you added, "Let's go."

When you used your card to open the door, you made it halfway up the stairs before you paused and turned to look at him. He was one step below you, and your height just about matched up with his. He still looked a little surprised, but there was a soft smile on his lips now, and you wrapped your fingers a little tighter around his.

"To be clear, did you buy a one thousand dollar ticket so you could stand at the bottom of these stairs and try to see me again tonight?"

"Yes," he said clearly and without hesitation. You shook your fingers free from his and wrapped both of your hands around the back of his neck before leaning in to kiss him. Your nose brushed along the side of his as you felt the prickle of his mustache against your skin. And then his hands were on your waist as he welcomed you into his arms. He parted his lips for you as you dragged your fingers up into his hair. Then he broke the kiss long enough to rasp, "I like you, Ace."

You kissed his lips once more before running your lips along his mustache. He squeezed your waist a little tighter as the door opened behind him. When you saw that it was Raya, another sports writer, you took Bradley by the hand again and led him all the way into the box.

"Don't get into any trouble today," you whispered, pushing him down into the same stool he had occupied on Friday night. "I got you in with my pass."

"I'll be so good," he promised, looking up at you with eyes far too innocent for the rest of his smirking face. And somehow you doubted it.

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

Bradley couldn't keep his hands off you as you worked. He kept finding ways to trace little circles along your back. The pace of game two seemed to be a lot faster as the Angels got into a better groove against the Padres, and you were frantically keeping your stats as you typed away. 

"You want something else to eat?" he asked you between innings as you scribbled out some notes that he supposed must have made sense to you.

"Yes, please," you said, turning to smile at him. You watched Bradley stand, and he headed to the table lined with food. You seemed surprised that he had been sincere when he said he wanted you to text him. Yeah, he'd been joking around a little bit when he wrote his number down in your notebook, but he was kind of crushed when he hadn't heard from you. 

When Bradley turned to take the food back to that little spot you and he were sharing in the last row, he saw the reporter in front of you turn around and start giving you a hard time.

"You gonna bring your boyfriend to each game, New York?"

Bradley wanted to punch this asshole in the face, because who even made comments like that? But instead he watched you sigh dramatically and say, "At least I can get laid, Quincy. You're such a hater. Now turn around, I'm busy."

But Bradley did shoot Quincy a glare for good measure, and he didn't take his eyes off him until he had turned around. "More food," Bradley told you, setting the plate down where you could reach it without it being in your way. Then he settled onto his stool and draped his arm across the back of yours while you picked at the food. 

You kissed his cheek and whispered, "Thanks," just as the Padres hit a home run. Bradley desperately wanted to cheer, but nobody cheered in the press box, apparently. So he sat quietly while you updated your stat sheet and ate a taco. 

"Which team do you cheer for, Ace?" he asked, and you looked up at him with wide eyes. "You know, when you're not working and allowed to cheer."

Your lips parted in silence before you pressed them together, and then you said, "I never tell anyone my favorite teams."

Bradley examined your face for a beat. "You want to tell me, don't you?"

"Oh my god," you moaned, head tipped back. "Yeah, I actually do."

As Bradley shook from the laughter he was trying to hold in, you leaned in close to him. "You can tell me," he said, grinning. "I'll keep your secret."

You let your palm come to rest on his abs before sliding it along to his waist as you pressed your lips to his ear. "You can't tell anyone. Ever."

The feel of your lips on him, about to divulge something so important to your career had him pulling you closer. You laughed softly as your lips bumped his ear, and Bradley stifled a moan. 

"I won't say a word about it," he promised.

"My favorite team is the Toronto Blue Jays."

That was about to become Bradley's favorite team, too. Maybe he could go to a game with you when you were allowed to cheer. 

"Do you know what their mascot is named?" you asked as you eased yourself back into your seat. When he shook his head, you picked up your pencil and wrote in the margin of your stat sheet.

Ace.

Bradley laughed again. You had him smiling or laughing nonstop right now, and he couldn't believe it was already the eighth inning. It was getting late in the game now, but you were still writing. 

Do you want to come back to my hotel with me again?

And then he realized that this was the first time he'd thought about fucking you all day. 

Bradley leaned in close and kissed your neck a few times before he said, "Only if you save my number in your phone." Because as much as he'd been thinking yesterday about how good it felt to have sex with you, he wanted to hear from you when it wasn't a game day. He wanted to keep talking to you.

During the break at the end of the inning, you pulled your phone out and made a show of flipping to the previous page in your notebook and entering his phone number into your contacts list. Then you turned your phone screen away from him and typed something out, and he just waited to feel his phone vibrate in his pocket. When he did, he looked at his messages and saw that you had sent him a photo of you with the Toronto Blue Jays mascot. And you captioned it with: Be honest, which Ace do you think is cuter?

He typed out to you, I'm not sure if you knew this, but I'm wildly attracted to blue feathers.

When you looked at your phone again, your laughter was loud enough to have Quincy turning around and earning another glare from Bradley. And just as the ninth inning started, you texted Bradley one more time. I hope you replaced your wallet condom, Boy Scout Bradley. 

Truthfully, he had not. Getting lucky hadn't been his primary thought when he was just wanting to see you again. He muttered, "We're gonna need more than one, Ace."

And as your hand came to rest on his thigh, you tapped your lips with your pencil eraser. "I saw them for sale in the hotel lobby."

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

You couldn't remember feeling this way ever before. At least not with someone you barely knew. Bradley had your bag on his shoulder and he was practically carrying you across the parking lot as you laughed. You liked him a lot. He came back to see you again today. He was so funny and sweet, and you should have texted him on Saturday. 

"You seem very eager," you whispered against his cheek as you kissed him at the crosswalk. You were running your hands all over his shoulders and dipping your hands inside his Padres jersey. 

He picked you up to carry you across the street with the crowd of other pedestrians. "I'm hoping you'll show me your blue feathers tonight," he rasped, making you laugh even more. 

"I knew you liked the other Ace better!"

He kissed your neck, and once he had you inside the hotel lobby, he said, "No, you're my favorite."

"Condoms," you whispered, pointing toward the small convenience shop next to the front desk. Bradley set you down and grabbed up all ten double packs of condoms and dumped them in front of the young guy who was working at the front desk.

"Is that all you needed, sir?"

Bradley pulled out his credit card and handed it to him, looking at you while he said, "Well no, that's not all I need." His gaze was openly needy as he looked at your face, lingering on your lips. You felt warm all over, and when Bradley had all twenty condoms in his hands again, you hooked your fingers though the belt loop of his jeans and pulled him toward the elevators. 

"Let's go, Boy Scout."

Bradley groaned as the elevator door opened and you pulled him inside. He stood before you with your computer bag, so many packs of condoms and an erection that you could plainly see behind his zipper. You giggled and ran your thumbnail up and down his zipper as you said, "You're adorable."

He swallowed hard as you led him out on the top floor and down the corridor toward your room. "Ace? Baby?"

"Yeah?" you asked, unlocking the door as he stood behind you and let you feel him pressed to your lower back.

"Maybe you should finish writing your article first? I don't want you to get too close to your deadline again."

You opened the door and backed into the room, pulling him in with you. "No," you whispered before you kissed him hard. "I want you right now."

You grabbed one of the double packs of condoms from his hands, and he let the rest of them fall to the floor. The smile that you and he shared had your tummy doing somersaults as he gently set down your computer bag. You continued to back up slowly to the bed as he followed you. When you toed off your shoes, you watched him pause to pull his off as well. And then you were holding up the condoms and walking backwards across the bed on your knees until you reached the middle. 

Bradley was frozen, just staring at you with a crooked smile on his face and his hands on his zipper. "I'm waiting," you whispered. And then you weren't waiting anymore at all, because Bradley was on top of you, wrapping his arms around you as his weight pushed you down into the bedding.

You moaned into his kisses as you ran your fingers through his hair. He already felt, smelled and sounded familiar to you. He tugged on your shirt until he was kissing you through your bra.

"You don't taste like beer today," he murmured against your skin, teasing you with his mustache. 

"No, you managed not to spill," you replied, pulling your own shirt off as he unhooked your bra. His mouth was all over your breasts once he tossed your bra on the floor, and you were arching your back up against him. "You feel good."

He groaned into your skin while you felt him grind against your core through way too much fabric. "Ace." His hands were cupping your breasts as he let his lips drift down your belly until he was kissing along the top of your jeans. You unbuttoned and unzipped your pants and let him pull them down your legs. And then he was still fully clothed, giving you head just like two nights ago.

He was good at it, too. But when you started to touch your own breasts, he got distracted, lips grazing your clit as he watched you. When he lazily brought the pad of his thumb up along your slit and started teasing you, the sounds you made were so needy. You thought he could probably get you off like this if you wanted him to. 

But you sat up and made quick work of his jersey buttons while he slipped his index finger inside you. "Bradley," you moaned softly as he kissed your neck and finger fucked you. He just seemed to want to make you feel good, and your hands stalled as you pushed his jersey down off both of his shoulders. Your palms came to rest on his warm biceps, and you could feel his arm muscles working as he fingered you. 

"Tell me what you want, Ace," he grunted, stroking your clit with his thumb. He'd said that on Friday as well. 

"I want you naked and inside me."

He let you undress him then, and you took his cock in both of your hands. You watched him roll onto his back as you teased him with your fingers, running your nails down along his thighs. The veins in his neck were strained, and his cheeks were flushed as his eyes darted from your face down to your hands and back up. He was glorious. Huge everywhere. Tan and muscular and perfect. So hard and eager to please. 

When you straddled his hips and planted your hands on his shoulders, he pulled you to him, kissing your lips until you were laying flat on him. His length was gliding through your soaked pussy, and you moaned at the feel of him rubbing slowly against your clit. You mumbled his name, but he just kissed your lips harder, wrapping those big hands around your hips. 

With each little movement of your hips grinding against him, you were closer to fucking him, so you gasped, "Condom." 

"Mmhmm," he hummed, one big hand at the middle of your back while he reached blindly around the bedding in search of the small package. His lips were still soft and perfect on yours, unhurried as he handed you the condoms. You pressed your forehead to his as you fumbled trying to open one of them, and then you were sitting up between his legs, rolling it down his length, ready to go.

You guided yourself down around his cock, and he felt incredible, just like before. "Oh god," you whined softly, taking every inch of him while he grasped your thighs hard. 

"So pretty," he whispered, watching you fucking him. Soon you were riding him fast and rough, bracing your hands on his abs. You couldn't even talk or formulate words as you whimpered, because he was hitting that sweet spot inside you. With every movement you were getting closer, and Bradley looked like he was struggling to keep it together. 

You took his right hand, and brought it up to your mouth, sucking on his index and middle fingers to get them wet. "Baby, it feels too good," he groaned, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut. Then you guided his hand down to your clit, and you started cumming almost instantly. You held onto his wrist, rubbing your clit against his fingers with each stroke of your pussy along his cock.

Loud, incoherent noises filled the room as you came, riding him without finesse, head tipped back. And then Bradley was sitting up, right arm wrapped around your waist while he braced himself with his left palm on the bed. He whispered praise against your skin, pausing to kiss you as he thrust his hips up to fuck you as you came down from your high. "You're so hot. So good."

He sucked on your neck before his movements became jerky, and then he was chanting Ace! as he came too. He collapsed back against the bed with you held tightly to his chest, and you ran your fingers along his sweaty neck and up to stroke his jaw.

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

Bradley had nearly fallen asleep with your warm body draped over his and his soft cock still buried inside you. And then your phone alarm went off, and you were instantly scrambling to find your jeans amongst the pile of clothing on the floor.

"Shit," you muttered, glancing at him as you silenced your phone and checked the time. "I need to finish writing and submit my piece."

Bradley nodded and rolled onto his side and reached for a tissue to take care of the used condom. The last thing he wanted to do was go home now, but you had work to do, and he needed to be on base in the morning. He stood as you scooped his jersey up off the floor, but instead of handing it to him, you slipped it on. It fit you like a cute, little dress. 

"My article is almost done," you murmured, retrieving your bag from near the door where he had set it down earlier. He smiled as you stepped around all the other packs of condoms. "I just need to add in my stats and proofread everything."

"Okay," he whispered, unwilling to break the spell that he felt like he was under when he was in your presence. "I can head out." He started to reach for his undershirt and boxer briefs, figuring you could just keep his jersey if you wanted to wear it. 

But Bradley found himself wanting to ask if he could see you again. You saved his phone number this time, and while you were going up to Los Angeles for game three, he was hoping you'd be back in San Diego again. He was almost pissed now that the Padres were up two games to none in the World Series, because the more games that these two teams played, the longer you'd be in California. And LA was a hell of a lot closer to San Diego than New York City was.

As he held his clothes in his hand, you bit your lip and looked at him while your computer booted up. "You can stay. If you want?"

He froze, trying to process what you meant. "Stay?"

"Yeah," you whispered, taking him by the hand. "While I write."

He instantly dropped everything back to the floor as you pulled him to the desk chair. He sat down and then you sat on his naked thigh, entering your impressively long password and pulling up your mostly completed article. You flipped through your notebook to your stats sheet, and Bradley let his hand come to rest on your leg. 

"You wanna help me?" you asked, typing away. "Tell me when Soto was on third."

Bradley skimmed the sheet and found the information. "Bottom of the sixth inning. Right before Grisham hit a double." He leaned in and kissed your neck as you murmured thanks. 

"And when did Hill replace Darvish?"

Bradley read your sloppy notes and smiled. "Halfway through the seventh inning."

"Perfect," you whispered, and Bradley held you quietly as you scrolled to the top of your article and read it out loud. Your voice was captivating, and you somehow made the game he had seen in person even more interesting. He chuckled at the part where you mentioned how the Angels' coach had tripped coming out of the bullpen, and you smiled at him over your shoulder before you finished reading. 

"Damn, Ace," he muttered as you saved it one last time and logged in to submit the article. "That was brilliant." Bradley was getting hard again. Some sort of combination of what you said and how you said it turned him on. 

You closed your computer and laughed softly, nudging his erection with your knee as you turned in his arms. You glanced down at his cock, standing at attention for you, and Bradley could feel himself blushing. "Oh," you gasped, running your fingernails along his length as you grinned. "Eager again."

Bradley groaned and let his head tip back as you kissed his neck. "I think I'm always going to be eager for you. Talking about sports and wearing my Padres jersey are certainly helping."

Your laughter was his undoing as your lips met his warm cheek, and then Bradley watched your face as your pussy cradled his cock so that he was gently throbbing against your clit. "How many more condoms do we have?" you asked, fingers in his chest hair. 

"Nineteen," he replied, voice deep and raspy with need. 

"I'll be right back," you promised, kissing his lips before you stood and grabbed the unused condom from the bed. His jersey was open, offering him a peek here and there of your tits and belly as you moved. Then you were rolling this condom into place and straddling his hips on the chair.

Bradley pulled the jersey open wider so he could watch you sink around his cock. You felt like perfection, and the way your body looked as you took him was making him dizzy.

"You know," you sighed as he bottomed out inside you, "if the Angels start a different pitcher for game three, it could really throw off the Padres plans."

"Yeah?" he asked, stroking the soft skin of your waist as you rolled your hips. "Tell me more."

"Mmm, well, they've been following the same plan the whole season, right?" you asked, your lips grazing his as you spoke. 

"Yeah, they have," Bradley agreed, already ridiculously close as you fed him this brand of dirty talk.

"I think they should try something new and start Hermans instead," you whined, kissing him hard as you rode him.

"Are you trying to turn me on right now, Ace?"

"Yeah," you gasped as you fucked him harder. "Is it working?"

"You know it is, Baby," he groaned, grinding his hips up to meet yours. "Fuck, you already know how to make me wild."

Then you were gasping out pitching stats, your voice breaking as you rode him so well. Bradley was barely keeping it together, and then your fingers were in his hair, tugging at the roots. He knew what to do now; he licked his fingers and brought them to your tight clit, and your eyes went wide. 

"Yes!" you gasped, seemingly surprised that he had you cumming almost instantly. And the sight of your tits bouncing in his face was the last thing he saw before he sucked on your nipples and came hard.

His face was buried in the crook of your neck as his breathing evened out. He was trying to focus on your words, because they sounded very important. "If the Padres sweep the Angels, then I won't be back in San Diego. But if they go to a game six scenario, maybe we can see each other again?"

Yes, your words were very, very important. He wanted you to come back to San Diego, but he was determined to see you even if you didn't. "I could come up to LA. Get a ticket for game three. If you want."

You pulled away from him, and then Bradley was looking up into your surprised eyes. "Yeah?" you asked softly. 

"Sure, Ace," he mumbled, running his knuckles along the soft valley between your breasts. "I'd love to. But it's up to you."

Your voice was soft. "Okay."

Then Bradley kissed your lips and said what was on his mind. "We should keep doing this. Me and you. Until the World Series ends. Until you have to leave California."

He could feel your pussy squeeze his soft cock as you started kissing him and running your fingers through his hair. And a few minutes later, he had you in your hotel room bed, snuggling up with your back pressed to the front of his body as you both fell asleep. 

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

Bradley is out there dropping a cool grand just to try to verify if that was actually a one night stand or not. Thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32

PART 3

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[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[10:14 pm]

(cw: reader is a little delusional or lovesick tbh)

a/n: muahahaha I've been wanting to write some angst

You were fairly certain Johnny Seo was your soulmate. You were also fairly certain that whoever was writing your love story was making it a slow burn, childhood best friends to lovers, with humor and fluff. You'd known it since you were 14 years old and he was the gangly, wannabe emo, with a voice that cracked more than someone's back at the chiropractor. Though you were positive you had actually been in love with him since you were 7, when he helped you build your brand new Lego set, but you were too young to realize. The only problem, well among many other problems, was that Johnny hadn't yet figured that out.

This was proven by your years and years of pining and his general aloofness. And well, he was currently on a date. A date he'd been gushing about all week to you. You who painted on a smile and wished him all the best while inside you were screaming and praying for his date to leave him hanging. Then, he would come over and seek comfort in your embrace and while you had his favorite movie playing he would realize that you were the one for him. How could he have been so stupid for so many years?! Yeah- it was something you'd thought about a lot.

You were busy chewing on your thumb nail, you had almost bitten it down to the skin while you waited for Johnny to call and invite himself over for you to mend his hurting heart.

A call never came, instead there was a knock on your door 2 hours after the date started. You cautiously walked to the door and breathed out a nervous breath when you saw that it was Johnny. Johnny leaning forward and back on the balls of his feet. That could mean anything!

You pulled the door open with a smile, "Hey, Johnny. Are you okay? I wasn't expecting you!" Lie, you were. That's why you had your cute lounge wear on and not your high school PE shirt and grungy shorts.

He waltzed past you, plopping right onto the couch, "God, that was a great date. I mean it. I like it's been a while since I connected with someone like that."

"W-what?"

"Yeah, I mean we have all the same interests. We laughed the whole time and the conversation flowed so easily. Is it stupid to say I might be falling in love after the first date?" Johnny looked at you with raised brows and a smile.

Your mouth open and closed, you willed your brain to send the signals to your vocal cords- speak! But nothing came out. Instead the signals got mixed and your eyes were filling with tears.

Johnny's eyes went from humor to concern, he stood immediately pulling you into his embrace which only made you cry harder. "Hey, hey, hey, what happened? If this is about you being single again, the right person will come around like they did for me," he cooed softly.

And if you weren't in love with him, his words would have made you laugh, but you are in love with him. Instead you just cried harder and tried to pull away from him.

"I just know that the perfect guy is out there for you. I know it. You'll find him when you least expect it and he'll just fit with you like a missing puzzle piece. Seriously, he's going to be great," Johnny reassured while rubbing a warm hand up and down your back.

A missing puzzle piece, a perfect fit. But you and Johnny were the perfect fit. You fit perfectly in his arms, against his side, hugging him. Who could possibly be a better fit than you? Who could be a better match than you? Who could be a better match for you when Johnny was always right there?

You pulled away, wiping your tears on the sleeve of your shirt. "I just started feeling so sick. I'm gonna go to bed. Lock the door behind you please?"

Johnny eyed you warily, choosing not to press, "yeah, of course. I'll text you tomorrow alright?"

Your heart skipped a beat, of course he'd want to talk to you tomorrow, "yeah, hopefully I'll feel better."

And hopefully by then he'd realize his date wasn't that great.

[ivystoryweaver]

The Only One

Episode 5

prev | Fic Masterlist | My Masterlist | next

Summary: Date number 2 brings you closer to Poe

Pairing: Poe Dameron x female original character. Fic is written in second person, but the female "you" has a name (It reads basically the same as any other xreader)

Word Count: 1.7k

Content: fluff, no warnings really, Elia is just too hard on herself, not beta'd

PREVIOUSLY on "The Only One"...

"I know you, Ells," he said softly, tenderly smiling as you actually looked up at him

"Give me a chance? I'm not so bad after date number four." He winked and you burst out laughing.

There was something so comforting about the way you were always so consistently...you.

Poe once again met you in the hangar for date number 2, smiling to himself as he approached you.

"Poe!" You excitedly called, bouncing on your toes as you tugged at your backpack straps. Twin buns, unlaced boots - same as always.

"Hey, you made it," Poe grinned, pausing before he gave into the urge to greet you with a hug or a kiss on the cheek. Still working on that personal space thing. "Perrha said you had to work late."

"Got done just in time," you confessed.

"Come on," he offered, extending his hand. He respected your boundaries, but if he wanted to date you for real, he had to know exactly where those boundaries were.

You chewed on your lip in concentration, a cute wrinkle appearing between your eyebrows. Slowly loosening your clutch on your backpack strap, you reached out to accept his hand.

His face glowed with warmth and adoration as he wrapped his fingers around yours. "This okay?"

"I think it feels safe right now," you honestly replied, and Poe thought it might be the best description he'd ever heard for holding someone's hand.

"I like when you do that," he playfully smirked over at you, leading you out of the hangar with his hand wrapped securely around yours.

"Do what?"

"Tell me the truth. No games. It's rare," he explained.

You felt him squeeze your joined hands and it made something inside you bloom to life. Poe Dameron wanted to hold your hand. Why, you would never know, but you held on for dear life, resting your cheek against his arm as you walked - the warmth of his skin seeping through his sleeve.

"I know I'm different," you slowly answered. "But you are too. When I'm with you, I feel like there's nothing wrong with me."

Poe stopped short, jarring you out of your semi snuggle. "Elia, there is nothing wrong with you."

Your gaze dropped to your boots as you shifted uncomfortably. "Don't stare at me," you mumbled.

"Sorry," he softly returned, reaching for your hand again. "Come on."

The two of you walked toward your destination in silence - the only change when Poe slid his fingers through yours.

"I can't help staring at you sometimes," he confessed, his thumb caressing yours gently. "Don't get too upset with me, okay?"

"I'm not upset," you defended, bristling as you were so prone to do.

"Be patient with me, Ells," he pleaded. "You're really pretty and it's hard for me to look away sometimes."

A tingling sensation rippled through your body at that confession. Your instinct was to deflect, deny and assume he was mocking you, but Poe had proven his sincerity enough that his actions were starting to override your brain's hard wiring.

You couldn't think of anything to say. Poe Dameron had rendered you speechless. What a gift.

There was also the the fact that he was simply mistaken. Maybe he liked your hair, or you face, for whatever reason. You felt certain you were average looking. But if he ever saw the rest of you, he would never say you were pretty ever again, because you weren't.

There was nothing wrong with not being human - plenty of Resistance fighters weren't. You weren't so shallow as to be solely wrapped up in looking a little different. No, it was a much deeper and darker history than that.

Your lineage was stained with darkness, oppression and aggression. And a source of power having everything to do with what you covered on your back. You simply could not allow yourself to follow in the footsteps of your ancestors. It's why you worked so hard to keep yourself closed off from the powerful energy flow and why you could never let your body full develop.

So you said nothing.

Poe would probably think you didn't like him back if you kept acting...well, like yourself. Lost in your head, and in self-loathing. Maybe you should try harder.

But this thing between you - could it ever go anywhere? Poe probably wanted a normal relationship. Someone he could gaze at - someone he could take to bed. You could never. It's not that you had never, but this was Poe. Not with him. So what was the point in trying?

Still...you weren't foolish enough to let someone like Poe slip away so easily.

"Here we are," he announced, seeming to have forgotten that you never responded to his compliment, even to contradict it.

"What's this?" You questioned, unable to discern anything about the type of establishment you'd wandered to. You'd walked here pretty quickly, so it was fairly close to base.

"This is just where I stashed some supplies," Poe confessed. It was some kind of storage shed. No wonder it looked so unremarkable. Pretty soon, his arms were full of supplies and the two of you started walking again.

"Didn't want to go too far tonight, since I have a solo mission in the morning," he explained. "I made us a picnic."

"How did you get all this food?" You asked Poe, once the two of you settled on a blanket in the safest part of the nearby jungle. "This is more than we usually eat in three days."

"I've been saving up," he shrugged. "Called in some favors. I thought a nice meal would feel good for a change. I think I got all the foods you like - the ones you're always eating."

Your heart burned with affection at the odd little gathering of foods your very picky tastebuds preferred, with the textures that didn't make you gag.

"I do love these, and I'm starving, thank you." Happy to stuff your face with your favorite foods, you reveled in the moments you didn't feel the need to speak. Of course this left you mind free to wander...and worry.

The blanket you shared with Poe was just to sit on, right? And nothing else. Even if you had a human body and had hopes to be with Poe in that way, the second date would still be too soon for you.

Probably best to start a conversation.

"Solo mission, huh?" You began. "What's that about?"

Poe swallowed his bite and slowly nodded. "It's, uh...actually, it's classified. I would tell you if I could."

"Oh." Something important then. "Is it dangerous? Why do you have to go alone?"

"Can't talk about it right now, but...maybe when I get back. I probably wasn't supposed to tell you there even was a mission, but..." He trailed off, reaching for his beverage.

"But what?"

Moonlight reflected in his bright, brown eyes as they found your gaze. "I didn't want you to worry."

A fizzy warmth stirred in the center of you. "I won't worry," you bluntly returned. "You're the best pilot in the Resistance. I've never seen anyone better on missions. Or in training. It should be you going."

The corners of Poe's mouth curled in amusement.

"I will miss you though," you sweetly added. "I hope you come back soon."

A satisfied smile warmed his handsome face. "I'll miss you too. We'll do this again when I get back...okay?" Dark eyebrows shot up hopefully.

"Okay," you agreed.

The rest of your date turned into more of a hangout. Poe tried to ask you a few questions about your past but you were pretty clear in letting him know you weren't going to talk about it. You asked him some more questions about his childhood on Yavin 4 and it brought you to the topic of his favorite little buddy - his orange and white droid BB-8.

"He's been on Castilon for months. I miss him like crazy."

"He must be special if you miss him so much," you commented.

"I think so. Can't wait for you to meet him. I'm picking him up on my way to my mission."

You adored watching Poe as he talked, especially about something important to him. His eyes lit up, his mouth looked so kissable and he always gestured animatedly with his hands.

If only you were normal, you might actually have a real chance with Poe. Maybe someday you could tell him the truth about yourself - your body, your species, your past...

Maybe when the war was over.

Poe walked you back to base, holding your hand. Even though you knew you couldn't be the kind of girlfriend he deserved, you wanted to tell him something before he left on his classified mission. A way for him to understand how important he was becoming to you.

"Thank you for tonight - for our picnic," you told him as you neared base. "I love being with you, Poe. I...I hope you come back soon, and you're safe out there. I'll miss you."

"I love being with you too," he sweetly replied, squeezing your fingers while reaching for your other hand. He gently caressed your fingers, gazing down into your eyes, really wishing he could give you an end-of-date kiss. Or at least a goodbye kiss.

He stared a little too long, however, and the two of you ended up sharing a nervous laugh. "Was this okay tonight? Holding your hands?"

"Yeah, it's okay."

"Good...good," he nodded, exhaling in a rush, his lips curling in a sexy smile. "Really wanna kiss you though." His tongue swiped over his bottom lip as he shifted toward you smoothly.

"Oh," you swallowed, eyes wide and blinking. "Um, I - "

"Or maybe a hug? If that feels safer..." He was trying to offer you a less intimate alternative, but you physically withdrew, folding your arms over your chest. Being held by him was a bad idea. Not until you could explain your...back.

Chewing on your lip in a mild panic, you spontaneously leaned forward, spreading your palms over the solid warmth of his chest and pressing your mouth to his.

Stunned, Poe barely had time to register the feel of your sweet lips before you withdrew, rocking on your heels before yanking hard on your frayed backpack straps.

"Goodnight, Poe," you blurted, already turning to rush away. "Be safe."

Planting his boots firmly to keep from going after you, he tried to say goodbye, but he was Poe Dameron. He had to say something.

"Ells!" He called after you, "You kissed me."

"Bye, Poe!" You repeated, scurrying toward base.

Laughter bubbled up and erupted from his chest as he said goodbye back to you.

He let you go. For now.

next

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[scarfacemarston]

saw your post saying that you want ideas for Fenris, so here's my 5 cents;

You know the romance ending for Fenris? Whenever I see it and I hear Varric say "a hero was born" for some reason that makes me think that it is giving us the idea that Fenris has become a dad, soooooo, any thoughts on Fenris as a dad?

Have a good day/night

Hey! I LOVE that idea. Seriously, that is so heartwarming to think of. It's been months since I've written hc and I've never written for Fenris before, but I hope you like it! I have bonus hc's from the crew below the cut. Background: Despite being together for over several years since Act 3 and the fact that they might as well have been married, Varric and crew still found themselves surprised to hear that Fenris and Hawke were pregnant/adopting. "Broody with a Broody Jr on the way? I knew it'd happen at some point; you owe me 50 coppers, Rivani."

If pregnant - Hawke was initially worried Fenris would leave them because of their first night together, but he had proven himself loyal to a fault numerous times, the thought thankfully disrupted quickly.

Fenris is the worrying warrior until after the baby is born, or if adopting, til they bring them home.  His mind is always going a mile a minute risk calculation and problem-solving for things that haven't yet happened. Hawke has to get him to snap out of it. He's extremely attentive partially because he tries to think about any possible situation and discomfort and how to avoid it. If Hawke is pregnant, he's ready, whether through ginger tea, soothing balms, hot towels, massages, craving outings, you name it.

It's not original, but the baby would definitely be named Bethany, Leandra, or Malcolm if it's a son. With adoption, he feels a little more in control. (I love the idea of Fenris having a daughter, so that's what I'm using her. Feel free to hc differently!)

The baby loves his voice. Adores it. She perks up whenever Fenris speaks, even if it's the quietest of murmurs or humming. Fenris would talk to the baby if his partner is pregnant, calming her down, especially if she starts kicking.  

He doesn't mind getting up in the middle of the night to take care of her. He's lived on such little sleep before, but this was something worth it. He sometimes likes the quiet to reflect on his new life and gaze at the miracle in his arms.

Fenris has to be reminded to put her down sometimes so Hawke can hold her ---then Hawke has to be reminded to put down the baby so they can get work done.

Definitely lots of story time together and time spent reading books together. 

He wants his child to be curious about the world and not be afraid to question why things are the way they are. He encourages her to ask difficult questions, even if it's something he doesn't always want to answer. He will try to answer in an age-appropriate manner anyhow.

Incredibly protective. He never thought he'd have a family, and now he has someone who depends on him more than anything. He is never far from her; if he can't chase after them, she's in a playpen where he can keep watch. However, he also tells himself that falling and making mistakes is okay. Scratched knees or messes are to be expected. Fenris becomes very good at toeing the line between being protective and allowing her to pick herself up and figure out solutions "by herself." (Of course, he'll still be there to kiss it better or give her a boost.)

He and Hawke agree that they'd rather gift her love and time than gifts.

Somehow, Fenris has ended up with an extra Malbari, 2 cats, and a goat as pets.

He teaches her a lot of skills, Lots of nature excursions, and teaches her things like navigation, plant identification, starting a fire, and helping her learn a language. 

He and Hawke agree to teach her self-defense once she's old enough. He's a firm & thorough but patient teacher.

He and Hawke believe she should do whatever she pleases with her body. Does she want long-flowing hair? He'll show off his braiding skills. Does she want chopped hair like FemHawke? Done. 

If she turns out to be a mage, Fenris would accept it. He would know that was a possibility whether she was biologically theirs - because of Hawke's mage line or, if adopted, that it is a randomized gene. He would be lying if he didn't think their lives would be easier if she wasn't a mage - but that is because he is worried for her and the current politics - not so much because of his past treatment of mages. It would take him a little time to process it, but he would love her just the same……….he only hopes that Hawke or one of their friends can help with the magic because turning the floor into an ice rink or the smell of burnt hair can only be tolerated for so long.

Bonus:

The Hawke crew isn't always around, but I like to hear them stay in touch and visit. Maybe they still travel together. I hated the idea of them breaking up.

Varric has most definitely written a few adventures with her in mind - one being a talking animal version of Hawke's adventures. Another about griffons and another about malbari adventurers.

Merrill brings the sweetest gifts and loves telling stories and taking her foraging. Flower crowns are a must.

Isabela develops a liking for stuffed plushies. It started with a stuffed parrot, and before they knew it, the bed was crowded with stuff like Malbari, parrots, griffon, cats, and whatever she could find. Isabela also gives her her first pirate sword. Baby Hawke loves her jewelry.

Aveline - mage or not - offers to train her in combat. Of course, Hawke laughs and says, "She's a baby. I think she's fine for now." She'd offer to babysit - Hawke having a child really has her curious about starting her own family with Donnic when they can find the time. Donnic makes her a set of cards so she can "play" diamondback with them.

Anders offers medical care if he is around and also offers to tutor her in magic - but I think we all know what Fenris' thoughts on that would be. Still, Fenris would begrudgingly be thankful for any care he provided.

[meowww-ffxiv]

Not that he'd ever acknowledge it (too scary?) But Liios had a gaggle of fanatical fans in Gridania, mostly wealthy women, who would have stalked and harassed him with their "affections" if Tataru didn't run counterintelligence the MOMENT she found out.

Estinien, unfortunately, had run into some of these people before. He was in Gridania minding his own business when Hoary Boulder and another B-list ex-Scion snagged him like. Estinien!!! Someone is having untoward thoughts about your man!!!

And Estinien said, "Liios is his own man."

The way these ex-Scions exchanged a knowing look between them at his words irritated him a little, but he put it out of mind.

"Besides, thoughts do no harm," Estinien continued. "So long as they stay firmly inside their owner's head...which I don't suppose they have, if you two have heard something about this."

"More like her purse," B-list ex-Scion 2 whispered conspiratorially. "She bought a strand of Liios's hair for thirteen million gils. We overheard the exasperated porters talking about it at Buscaroon's Druther."

Estinien's first thought was this woman could be practicing dark arts and she was trying to curse his man-- Liios. Who was his own man. His second thought was about what Tataru told him about certain people's obsession with the Warrior of Light. His third thought had already flown out of his mouth before he could finish thinking it: "Where is this woman?"

Hoary Boulder and B-list ex-Scion were THRILLED that they had proven that Estinien did care. They were quick to supply him with the details, and he had to wonder how long exactly they had been investigating this. But he took them at their words for now because he got his priorities straight, and in true dragoon fashion, broke into the manor in question and looked for himself.

He found an entire large room in her manor filled with trinkets and baubles that Liios might have touched, and many things that did once belong to him. There were dented shoulderpads and arm-braces upon which were engraved the familiar, knot-like patterns Liios carefully embossed into his metal equipment.

Portraits and sketches of him, on the walls in frames or simply pinned with red pins. And several stacks of perfumed letters...

The entire place sent a chill down Estinien's spine. Who the fuck even managed to get their hands on things Liios discarded? Few as those things were, even, given how good Liios was at recycling damaged or outdated equipment?

Anyway. There might have been a small explosion.

Estinien and Tataru tracked down the nasty little bastard who'd been selling those things to the crazy fanatics at a premium, and who could he be but the scraps buyer Liios usually dealt with.

But it turned out that Liios already knew what he was doing and didn't mind. He seemed blissfully unaware of how insane some people were about the idea of him. And Estinien didn't have the vocabulary to tell Liios how this was Bad.

The intensity of his own agitation gave Estinien a "huh" moment, actually. In his travels, he had definitely heard about these types of collectors before. Fury smite the things Estinien had heard were done to Raubahn-related memorabilia when he was still the "Bull of Ala Mhigo".

But this was different. This was about Liios. Someone who Estinien--

Someone who--

...

Liios would've sneezed at those perfumed letters, that was for sure. He also preferred to speak directly with someone and spend a whole night catching up with them rather than receiving words by such proxy. Estinien could see, in his mind's eye, the way Liios would smile awkwardly if he ever saw that room himself. The way he always did when he wasn't sure what to do with a compliment that in truth had crossed some severe boundary with him. He was never very good at rejecting "goodwill", in any of its forms.

And...Liios despised seeing likenesses of himself. He was always delighted to see Ptolemy, but his own face? He turned the mirrors away in his and Estinien's quarters in Razd-at-Han. He brushed his hair without one. And Estinien was the one who applied the kohl for Liios, every morning that they were together. He'd have freaked if he saw all those drawings of himself everywhere.

Estinien truly wanted to burn that room down again. But he settled for the reports of arson around Gridania following that night and the fifty-some million gils the woman apparently spent on mercenaries and soothsayers, trying to find the culprit. And Liios himself, who smiled brightly and with great relief whenever he returned after a long day to see Estinien already waiting in their (unofficially) shared apartment.

[carbo-ships]

Vampire AU: Ghouls' Night Out - Part 2

Follow-up to this: Ghouls' Night Out

Ardis stood with her hands clasped tightly against her chest as Aether turned on the tap. Water rushed into the bath tub. He held his fingers under the flow to ensure it was warming up, then glanced over his shoulder at her as he shook the droplets from his hand. "Do you need help undressing, tesorina?" he asked her genuinely.

That only made her shyer. "N-No, I, um, I can handle it."

He politely averted his eyes, busying himself with finding some soap and a wash cloth. She took a deep breath and made herself undress. It was the first time she noticed the state of her clothes. Her bloodied shirt was in tatters and offered little resistance when she pulled it off. Her trousers were stiff with mud, but thankfully weren't too difficult to remove once she'd kicked off her dirty boots and socks.

Now came the hard part – mentally, at least. She was left in her undergarments now. This was already more of her than Aether had ever seen. In fact, she didn't think he'd ever even seen her in a pair of shorts.

Aether glanced over his shoulder and found her silently fighting an internal war. He let out a sympathetic sigh. "Cara," he cooed, "come on. It's okay."

"I– I know, I just–" she stuttered, avoiding his gaze, "I'm embarrassed."

He set down the supplies and approached her to take her hands in his. "What's wrong?" he asked softly, gently rubbing the backs of her hands with his thumbs. "You can trust me, Ardis. You know that."

He was right. If that evening had proven anything, it was that Ardis trusted Aether completely – or at least enough to hunt her through the woods, pin her to the leaf-carpetted ground, bite her neck, and drink her blood. Aether helping her bathe should have felt much less intimate than the experience the two of them had just shared. "I know," Ardis sighed. "You're right. I'll do it."

"Here, give me a hug first," he insisted, opening his arms to her. She quickly accepted his offer, wrapping her arms around his thick torso and resting her head against his chest. He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. "You know I wouldn't ask you to do this if it weren't important," he murmured. "I was a little bit rough with you. You need to have all your injuries properly cleaned, and it wouldn't be safe for me to leave you on your own while you're in this state."

She nodded against him, but he could tell she was still nervous. Perhaps there was a way around this. It didn't necessarily need to be him who did the bathing. "If it's just because of the..." He cleared his throat. "Feelings I have for you, I'm sure Papa would be more than willing to do it instead. Would that make you more comfortable?"

She shook her head. "No, it's that... Well, no one's ever seen me... um..."

Aether felt his face flush. "Oh." No one? No one? He knew that shouldn't surprise him as much as it did. The sight of his bare chest had rendered her speechless during her first week at the church. Of course no one had ever seen her naked.

"If someone has to, I..." she mumbled. "I want it to be you."

Oh. It took all of Aether's self-control to stay calm. He cleared his throat. "I... I see. Alright. Shall we?"

Ardis nodded slightly and Aether released her. He stepped back to give her some space, turning around to shut off the water. He could feel his heart starting to pound in his chest. He hadn't been particularly nervous about this until now. His thoughts had been so focused on getting her clean and patched up that he hadn't fully considered what it would entail. How intimate it would be.

"Okay," came Ardis's quiet voice a few moments later. Aether steeled his nerves and turned around. His face immediately felt hot. Good heavens. No, he mustn't stare, no matter how much he liked what he saw. He did his best to keep his eyes locked on hers as he closed the distance between them. She looked up at him nervously as he rested his hands on her bare shoulders and gently kissed her forehead.

"Is it alright if I examine you properly now?" Aether asked quietly. When she got her consent, he let his eyes scan every inch of her body. He fought to keep his thoughts pure. He was looking for injuries, he reminded himself as he walked around her. "You have a few scratches on your back," he mumbled. He wasn't sure if they'd been caused by the rough forest floor, or his nails. "All minor, though," he assured her. "They'll heal on their own."

His eyes drifted to the claw marks on her sides and hips. Those were definitely his fault. The lines were red and slightly raised, but he hadn't broken the skin, much to his relief. He hadn't gotten too carried away. "Nothing major, aside from what I did to your neck," he said.

She looked somewhat relieved, but not enough to override how embarrassed she was. "T-That's good."

"I'm going to pick you up and set you in the tub now," he murmured. "Okay?"

"Okay..."

Aether stooped low and swept the angel into his arms. He could feel her trembling slightly as he walked to the bathtub. She felt so small. He unsuccessfully attempted to clear his head once again as he gently lowered her into the hot water. As soon as she was settled, he wasted no time in cleaning her tiny body with a soapy washcloth. He carefully dragged it across the various scratches, washing away the dirt and sweat. Heavy silence hung in the room, both of their minds racing. "I'm sorry about your shirt," he eventually said awkwardly to break the tension.

"It's alright," Ardis assured him. "Swiss warned me to wear one I wasn't attached to." At best, he'd said, it would get a bit of blood on it. Worst case scenario, it would be ripped to shreds. "How, um, how is Petrichor?" she asked, shifting the focus away from herself.

Aether laughed gently. "A bit loopy from blood loss, but I'm sure Pet's pleased about that. You know how the three of them are. Pet took quite a few more bites than you did, but they're also a bit sturdier than you are. They'll be just fine. How about you? How are you feeling now? Other than embarrassed, I mean."

"I..." Her attempt to change the topic had proven unsuccessful. "I'm tired, but nothing really hurts."

"Good," Aether said. "You'll probably be a little sore in the morning when the effects have worn off, but you know I'll take care of you." He pressed a ginger kiss to her forehead that only made her blush more. This didn't go unnoticed. "You know you have absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about, don't you? You did me a favor because you love me, that's all."

She nodded, but she didn't look fully convinced.

"Are you worried about what your superiors will think when they see the mark on your neck?" he guessed.

"No, I, uh... I got their permission," Ardis said. "They know."

That surprised Aether a bit. He was under the impression that she had joined the event without their knowledge. He could hardly believe they'd allowed her to participate. However, he supposed he shouldn't be shocked that she'd asked for their permission. She was an angel, after all. Sneaking around wasn't in her nature. "Well, one less thing to worry about," he murmured as he gently wiped down the marks on her hips. "You're by no means obligated to do it again next year, if it was too much," he assured her. "I know it was painful, and intimate, and probably a bit frightening at times–"

"I liked it," she interrupted him quickly. "I just... I'll just need some time to calm down, and..."

"I see." He offered her a gentle smile, catching on. He'd heard of this before – individuals feeling a bit low after a particularly intense emotional and physical experience. Granted, the original context was a little... different, and likely one Ardis was not familiar with, but the principles were the same. He'd gotten awfully rough with her, and that had been a first for them. She'd almost certainly never been in such a vulnerable, submissive position before. Even though she'd fully consented, and certainly enjoyed herself, he could tell things felt a bit different now. His words echoed in his mind once again. Submit to me. Right. He had to address this. "You know you're not just a meal to me, don't you, Ardis?" he asked softly, carefully taking her chin in his hand to make her look up at him.

She gave him a little nod, a tiny grin sneaking back onto her lips.

"I know my tongue got away from me in the woods, but I'm just as much yours as you are mine," Aether assured her. "You mean the world to me, cara, and I love you more than anything."

Her cheeks turned an even darker shade of pink, but this time it was not out of shame. "I love you, too."

"And as soon as we're done here, we'll head to bed and I'll hold you until all of those thoughts stop swirling in your head. Alright?"

She gave him a proper smile. "Okay."

[lec743]

Darksiders Fanfic Concept Thing with Samael (2)

Samael stewed on his throne as he reflected on his interactions with the human woman. She was infuriating in a way that is amusing at the best of times and blood boiling at the worst of times. Any attempts at niceties is spat back at his face with fearful hostility and she has proven to be quite the contortionist and escape artist. He has to figure out if she is somehow convincing one of his guards to let her out. So, he switches out the people who bring her food and he has personally inspected her cell and reinforced it with his magics. He has even thought about putting up spy spells in her room, but decided against it. This is his castle; where's the fun in figuring her out if he has to spy on her for it.

Speaking of which, it's probably time he went and checked on her. He could send someone else to check on her for him, but if he did that then he won't get a conversation. Unless she's been caught, she's not very talkative, and he'd rather save those conversations for himself.

The giant demon walked leisurely through his castle. The workers parting around him, bowing as they moved. The guards stood at attention as he passed them. The mighty wings on his back looking like a regal cape and the large, spiral horns on his head, the crown that he forever bares. A spectacular image of royalty, someone to fear and submit to. Yet, despite the human woman's obvious fear, she refuses to submit. A curious trait, one that would certainly get her killed if the circumstances didn't benefit Samael to keep the human healthy.

He turned down a corridor that holds his collection of dangerous artifacts and tombs of ancient knowledge that only he is allowed to witness. Then he saw her. She was trying to tug open an exceptionally dangerous door. With a few quick steps, he made it over to her and slammed his clawed hand against the cracked door. His slamming hand making a loud boom echo in the hall as he glowered down at her.

She had opted to not make a new leg for herself as she hopped on one foot while holding a broom in her hands for balance. She looked forward as her form trembled. Then she slowly looked up at him, a weak scowl meeting his fiery glare.

"I am starting to wonder if you have a death wish."

"I do wish to see Death. I miss him," she stated.

"The Four Horsemen will come for you soon. They just have to puzzle out that I took you." Samael leaned down to grab her, but she ran from him. Slipping from his fingers twice before he had her secured in his soft but firm grasp.

She huffed at him as her tiny hands gripped at his forefinger as he walked back to her gilded cage. After a moment of silence, she asked him a question.

"Why do you say I have a death wish?"

"I tell you plainly that you are safer in your room and yet you refuse to stay in it."

She waved away his answer and shook her head. "No. No. Earlier. At the door. Was that room dangerous somehow?"

"Very." Samael waited. He wanted to see if she would indulge her curiosity.

"Okay... How so? What's so dangerous about that room?"

The demon smirked for just a moment, before he composed himself. "It holds an artifact that can annihilate almost any creature."

"Why aren't you using it? Seems like a great tool you'd want to use." She said as an insult.

"I have. The cost of it's use is much too great."

"And yet the door was unlocked."

"An oversight and an underestimation on my part. Everyone here knows not to go into my private quarters."

"Ah... Except for me..."

"Now that you know, do you plan on using it on me?" Samael teased.

She rolled her eyes. "I want to escape you. Not kill you. Besides, I'd probably die just trying to get close to it."

Samael raised an eyebrow ridge at that. He could hear the truth of her words. He finds it odd that she doesn't wish him harm despite her hostility. The rest of the walk to her cell was quiet. He placed her down on her bed once he entered her room.

"Should I expect you to escape again today?"

She sighed. "No. I'm tired. I think I'll go to sleep once you leave." She grabbed a satin pillow and hugged it to her chest.

The large demon did think she looked exhausted. He could see it on her face quite clearly.

"Very well, Human. Your food will be on the table when you wake." Samael went to leave when the human woman sighed loudly.

"Can you please stop calling me "human" as if it's my name. I'm Alex."

He chuckled quietly, thinking introductions are long overdue. "And I am the Demon Prince of Hell Samael."

She nodded at him before flopping on her side into the bed.

As Samael left and locked the door behind him, he couldn't help but feel odd. He's used to people groveling more at the sound of his name. Or there will be people who are ready to attack him on sight if for some reason they do not recognize his face. She didn't even blink at his title. The large demon chalked it up to her being tired and/or ignorant as to what his name means.

*A few days later*

Sometimes Hell is full of surprises. This particular surprise being an unknown, but fairly strong demon, raiding his castle to try and dethrone him. Samael's guards were able to take on the few followers the unknown demon had but left the apposing demon to the Prince of Hell. It is the demon's right to challenge him, even if it is a stupid idea. Unfortunately, Alex had decided to escape her room once again. And the demon had her in his grasp.

"A human?!" the unknown demon scoffed as he stood before the Prince, "I thought your pretty little Lilith was the one who enjoyed having pets."

Alex was wild-eyed and was tugging at the hand that was wrapped tightly around her waist and chest. Her mouth was open like she was gasping for breath.

Samael didn't bother to grace him with a response. Only readying himself for the battle. He had to be quick if he was going to prevent minimal damages.

"You want to take down Samael," Alex gasps out quickly to the demon, "I know how. He has this weapon that will take him out in one go."

The unknown demon looked down at the human in his grasp with malicious interest. Samael kept the snarl on his face, but he was intrigued as well to an extent. Was she really going to do it?

"Do you now?" The unknown demon probed.

"Yes. I hate him. I want him gone. You are strong enough to handle the weapon." She then pointed towards it. "It's that way!"

The unknown demon looked to her, then to the Prince, then towards where she was pointing. Then the unknown demon made a mad dash towards the weapon. Samael followed close behind. The demon Prince was mad about the situation, not because he was being challenged, but because he was wrong about what he thought he knew about Alex. He didn't think she had it in her to do this, thought that is a mistake he won't make again.

The unknown demon was quicker than Samael and had made it to his private quarters, lead faithfully but Alex. Samael watched as the unknown demon kicked through the dangerous doorway and disappear into the room. Samael followed him in, using his wings to protect himself from the weapon's energy. Through his wings he could see the unknown demon laying dead on the ground. He didn't see Alex's body at first. Then after a few seconds, he saw the hand the demon was previously holding her in start to move around against the floor.

Samael quickly moved and picked up the human woman and shielded her with his hands and wings. Once he was outside the room he closed the door behind him and held her out so that he could see her. He glared at her with a gaze so fiery that he could rival the weapon's power.

Alex laid in the palms of his hands, laying on her back. Her arms and face were burnt and her hair was still smoldering from being on fire, but it seems that she used the unknown demon's body to shield herself.

"How often do you get guests like this," she asked him casually. Then she started to whine about how her ribs hurt.

"Not often, but it happens. Most are not so stupid as that demon to take me on so blatantly... How does it feel to fail so miserably?"

"Yah. Luring him to that death machine wasn't my smartest on the fly move, but at least I was right about him not being strong enough to handle it. Ugh..." She covered her face with her hands.

Samael's eyebrow ridges rose at that as he started to move towards his room to care for her wounds. "A risky plan indeed. I was convinced you meant it."

Alex sighed. "I would be lying if I didn't want to retaliate like that. To feel big and powerful in some way against you, just to spite you... But it's in my best interest to not dethrone you."

The Demon Prince of Hell allowed himself to chuckled aloud. "How thoughtful. And how did you come to this conclusion?"

"Look at how you hold me."

He paused as he did look at her. Alex was still laying comfortably in the cup of his hands. His clawed fingers helping her to stay safe, like the railing on a balcony.

"You are Samael. The Demon Prince of Hell. The Great Deceiver. The Dark Prince. I do not trust you and I do not know you. What I do know is that you don't have to hold me as gently as you do. Even if you hold me like this because you are wary of The Horsemen's retaliation, you still don't have to hold me like this. And yet, here we are."

She held eye contact with him. Her words were honest in a way that felt very undressing for the Demon Prince.

Samael continued his walking. "Let us take care of your wounds."

[lindszeppelin]

There is this girl who is on Twitter and tumblr im pretty sure her name is Molly but her and her anons have talked about K and Austin getting married soon and saying that they live together when I’m pretty sure 1. Austin is not getting married or settling down anytime soon and 2. I saw multiple people make posts about how she still lives with her mom. There’s nothing wrong with living with you’re parents fyi I live with mine but like they got that information from what some paparazzi photos I’m not trying to hate on them but like babes they aren’t getting married anytime soon. (Watch an article come out tomorrow saying that there engaged) I would cry lol anyways just wanted to dump.

babe engagement rumors already tried to happen by her team because they're filthy leeches trying to hold onto Austin with a vice grip, and they got shut down in 2 seconds by HIS PR team. they are not engaged, and she for sure as hell ain't pregnant lol. and they also don't live together. that's been proven to be so. you're right

i'll just briefly reiterate that austin would never marry a woman too quickly, and he would never marry a woman he wasn't 100% certain he'd stay with her forever due to his parents divorce. Knowing how badly it impacted his childhood, he would never dare to repeat that all over again for himself. If the man didn't propose to V after 9 years he for sure as hell ain't doing it now.

[casspurrjoybell-29]

Healing Ties - Chapter 50 - Part 2

*Warning Adult Content*

Libby sat down cross legged next to Fanner, smoothing her dress out so that it lay properly over her knees.

"Take energy from me. I won't be fighting in any wars."

"Oh, um, I don't know..."

"I know I look like a little girl but I promise you, I'm not one. I'll be fine."

"Okay..."

Despite Libby's reassurance, Fanner was still so, so careful as he began pulling energy out of her, at least until he realised she was correct.

There was no danger of him accidentally taking too much energy.

She had plenty.

Fanner put one hand on Libby's arm and the other on Cookie's back, shut his eyes and let energy flow through him.

There was no clear stopping point.

If he'd been keeping the energy within himself, he would have reached the limits of his ability to contain it fairly quickly but Cookie was like a bottomless pit.

What he had given her would surely not be enough to achieve what they were asking of Kit but hopefully it would be enough to test the theory.

As soon as Fanner took his hand off of Cookie, she rolled onto her back and stretched out like a cat basking in a sunbeam.

"Do you think you can put that to use?"

Fanner asked Kit.

"Let's see," Kit said and when they next spoke the resonance of their voice was deep and echoing.

"Come here."

For a moment Fanner was just confused but then he heard it.

A sound almost like a vicious wind beating at the leaves of a tree, getting louder, getting closer.

It was the light that Fanner saw first, balls glowing in countless different colours and lighting up the trees as they flew by on tiny wings.

They settled on the porch, in nearby trees, in the folds of Libby's dress.

"Pixies," Libby said. "They heard you call them here."

"Do you think you can do it, then?" Yore asked Kit.

"Depends what you're asking. Do I think we can project ourselves into the heads of an entire army given enough energy? Maybe."

"And if that's not what I'm asking?"

Kit dipped his head to direct their attention and Fanner turned to see Noel in human form, old but not so frail, looking out over the front of the porch.

"They're coming," Noel said. "They'll be here in a day, maybe two."

"You don't think this will work," Libby said.

"I stood in a room full of men and we all watched as one of us killed and butchered a couple of teenagers. It takes more than you can imagine for people to not only change their way of thinking, but to then risk everything to make a stand."

"There's an alternative," Kit said. "We could make them turn their weapons on one another. Have an entire army execute itself."

"Those humans, when we were captured," Fanner said. "That was you, wasn't it? That was why they killed one another?"

Kit nodded.

"It's not really our style anymore but we're willing to make another an exception."

"Let's make that plan B," Libby suggested. "Noel, I do agree with you. It's not easy to change anybody's mind about anything, and this is a very big thing. But we still have to try. I know you lost your faith in people back when you still were one but a person holds within them the potential to be so many things, both beautiful and ugly. If we can reach them, if we can help them understand, it will change everything."

Noel fluttered his fingers in front of one of the pixies, not quite touching it.

"Well, I'd love to be proven wrong."

"I know it's tempting to be cynical. We were all born into a world where things could have so easily just been fine if everyone tried to be just a little kinder, just a little more understanding and accepting. If we couldn't figure things out back then, what chance do we stand now? I think this can be different because nobody's under the illusion that everything will be okay anymore. We're all desperate for solutions, and I hope the humans will have seen enough of the world by the time they get here to realise that an army won't provide any."

Noel turned towards her, the barest hint of a smile on his face.

"Maybe I am too cynical. Maybe what this world needs is someone who's still willing to try."

He shrugged and with a sigh, he disappeared.

"He's right, you know," Kit said. "I'll show those humans what we went through, but it won't be enough. I'm not sure if anything will be, but if you want any chance at all, you'll need more. Find us some stories to tell."

"I'll do that," Libby promised. "One more thing, Kit. I may not be able to see into your mind but you can't slip things into mine without me noticing like you can with everyone else. You could have just asked."

"Most people don't have to ask. They can just take it for granted that people will know what their pronouns are. Besides, it's really hard to pretend to be above the concerns of the living if I have to admit I still care about things like that."

"Oh," Yore said. "We've just been calling you 'they' without even really questioning it, haven't we?"

Kit shot him a look that had an edge to it.

"Well, don't start now."

"We won't," Fanner promised.

Kit waved away the concern.

"Cookie doesn't have a gender in the same way that a rock doesn't have a gender. You can use whichever name and whichever pronouns you want. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to get back to catching up with Noel."

"How will we find you when we need you?" Fanner asked.

"We'll be here and if we weren't, well. You might not always be able to find us, but we can always find you when we want to."

"Thank you, Kit," Fanner said. "You're a good friend."

"And a week ago I considered myself dead. What has the world come to, hmm?"

Kit offered Fanner the hint of a smile to show that they were joking, turned, and faded away as they walked back towards Cookie and Noel.

Libby pulled up the sides of her dress and spun them from side to side.

"Well, it looks like I'm going to have to go and dig up the darkest stories lurking within people's heads. Let's go join the beach party."

[dom-nautica]

15. The album MSR which triggered her to spread the allegations has lyrics which paint Shelby in a negative light. Such as "i stand out of reach of your fists/we could beat me up together" suggesting Shelby was physically violent in the relationship.

16. The album MSR also have lyrics suggesting Shelby was a dismissive partner "you kiss me like it was your job" which opposes her super caring partner image she tried catering.

17. During the relationship Wilbur visibly deteriorates both physically and mentally. His weight drops rapidly, he's seen with wounds on his face and arms, he speaks about taking his life. While during all of this Shelby is in peak both physical and mental healthy. Repeatedly posting positively about her partner and exposing both her arms and legs that have no scars. She is so happy, she even is pressuring him to marry her.

18. The main issue with the relationship which both Wilbur and Shelby spoke about was commitment. Shelby in her first stream speaks MORE about Wilbur not seeking out marriage and kids then she does the abuse. Wilbur through the songs is convincing himself that marriage is ok and that it wont make him miserable. He feels trapped and just as the album titled suggest he feels like hes drowning in the relationship.

19. Shelbys friends are not reliable narrators. When Freddy released his statement that one of Ranboos and Aimsey close friends sexually abused him - they stayed quiet and defended the abuser. They to this day didn't publicly call out their friend who SA'd Freddy. Only after numerous fans pointing out their double faced behavior did Ainsley off handedly said "oh yeah i showed my support for him in private..." They would defend their friend even if they were the abuser.

20. Shelby had been "training" her fans to hate her ex. Before her allegations video she kept going to her friends podcasts and saying stuff like "My ex didn't compliment me for 2 months, that's borderline abusive" "Is it normal that my boyfriend doesn't want to take me on dates, he'd rather sit at his pc?" her podcast friends would chime in and call it abusive. teaching the audience to hate her ex.

21. Nihachu not even two months before the allegations was asked "what person doesnt get enough recognition?" She answered it by none stop praising Wilbur for being the kindest and most creative of the people she knows. Her doing a 180 out of nowhere is strange. Most fans noticed this. My guess Shelby asked her and the rest of her spineless friends to defend her.

22. Jackmanifold who had known Will since soothouse literally counters Shelbys statement. Shelby stated that he bit her in public and that she was screaming for him to let go. She said there are witnesses, but when asked who they are - nobody stood forward. Not even her friend group admitted they saw her scream in pain, they just repeated support the victims. I repeat, they didn't support a victim like Freddy all because he accused their friend. They saw nothing and are guiltripping people into believing Shelby EVEN THOUGH she has done this "i was abused" tactic with multiple of her exes. She used it on Parker - was proven false. She already is proven multiple times by fans that she's changing her story with Will.

The fact that the public still defense this obviously manipulative person is disgusting. The only reason they defend her is because she's a women that cried first.

Hey people my name is Ambrosia I go by angel it is my more preferred name I'm here to represent Wilbur in the situation considering that his community has dug into the situation and has found a lot lets start with me asking you a question. If you walk into a court most of the time the victim has pictures and a statement and the abuser doesn't have much on this hand she would walk in with a statement and no proof and he has pictures and a statement on his own who would win?.

Now for the next I will number the stuff I have found from providers on Twitter or YouTube

1. I have noticed that in her case she says he bit her hard enough to the point it was bleeding but if you go and look at pictures of bite marks like that it leaves bruises and dents in skin that would be covered by a bandage but in her streams even with her exposing clothes we didn't see anything and if she did use makeup it wouldn't have worked well because of the bite dents

2.there have been many surfacing pictures on the Internet of him with marks on his own skin we are still unsure if it was from her or not

3.there is audio on ashs stream in the background of her getting mad and yelling at Wilbur for his keys

4.in the situation she does call herself the "ace Jesus" which really offends many people and a lot dont like it

5.she has complained about him not paying for her cats when her cats are her responsibility and should be taken care of by her and not him

6.it would be understandable for her to feel distant because they did have a long distance relationship so she shouldn't be complaining about it

7.his reply on Twitter was a statement on his side the only time he apologized was if he had hurt her feelings he never said anything about him actually doing it and in the statement she says and I quote "she said it was consensual" meaning it was completely fine with her

8.she supports the girl who said that George assaulted her which wasn't true but she didn't support Freddy in anyway which is concerning

9.many people who he was friends with did not only stop being friends but lost contact with him (he never got to meet Tallulah)

10.he was doxxed at his childhood home in the UK which put not only him in danger but also his family and she did nothing

11.when many kids ages 11-15 died due to her supporters and community all she had to say was "I need proof" when their parent personality went on their Twitter and said "my child had committed" but she still didn't care

12.kids are being doxed or threatened on a daily basis

13.during their relationship he was struggling with depression because of technos death that would be the reason for the slobbish behavior and messy room

14.she complained about him not buying her a plain ticket to see him when we his obviously busy but after that she bought a lot of new stuff and dyed her hair again meaning she did have money unlike what she stated to him

This is only what I have found or what has been provided for many other people

[elaineonline]

COFFEE SHOP | Getou Suguru

CHAPTER ONE

prologue

yandere!getou

SUMMARY: You believed he was just a sweet guy who gave you "on the house" coffees every time you walked into the shop and finally developed feelings for you. Until you met the actual Getou Suguru, that is.

warnings this chapter- yandere, murder (implied), fluff (ish?), slight strong language, possessiveness

tags :) ~ @dirtytae

NOTE: gosh i saw the movie yesterday and he looked soo hot! :D

DAY 2

Confused. Getou's coworkers were so perplexed by the scene in front of them that they were also, almost afraid to look at it.

Getou is usually known in the shop as the emotionless one who never speaks, regular customers and coworkers are accustomed to this. Sure, he was frightening, but what they are witnessing now is even more so.

When Getou first entered the shop, he seemed to be accompanied by a ray of sunshine. He's so obviously joyful that it lights up the entire shop, frightening the people around him.

Getou still didn't say anything to them, and he still doesn't care about his coworkers or the people in his immediate vicinity. He's only cared about you, and you alone, for the previous 48 hours.

When he got rid of someone who felt like his first adversary and was also out to get you, it's almost as if a big weight was lifted off his shoulders, and Getou has been the happiest he's ever been. Even happier that his position was transferred to the cash register.

Though at the moment, he almost wishes he could just slaughter all the other customers as a way of speeding up the process for the most important person, which is you, of course.

He stood in front of the cash register with a broad grin on his face, wearing his uniform apron. New customers and those who didn't come as often were almost relieved to have him accept their order. Some women and men convince themselves that they need to return more frequently merely to be in his company.

Getou's coworkers were aware of this, and they would cast their gaze over to him throughout the day, pondering a slew of things. Usually, they could tell how much he despised his job just by looking at him when he arrived at work. So they understood that it had to be someone in his personal life, not his new position, who had to make him this happy.

It was getting close to the conclusion of the day, and Getou was growing irritated. He had a feeling you'd return, and he'd had it since yesterday that he'd see you today.

He was eventually proven correct. You walked in an hour before closing causing the door to create a ringing noise. It's almost as if the world around him has become motionless, and you are the only one who moves.

As you stepped in, Getou watched your every move until he detected a figure following closely behind you.

That figure was a man, a man who was slightly taller than you and looking at your figure.

Getou's smile faded fast, and he began to clench and slightly grit his teeth in response to what he saw in front of him.

He couldn't help himself from continuing to put on his happy face for you. His scowl wouldn't go away, and his murder ideas in his imagination also wouldn't go away at the moment.

Because he was too preoccupied with the man behind you, he didn't even know you were standing in front of him.

“Sir?” You raise your eyes to the long black-haired man in front of you, who was clearly oblivious to you and instead focused on your study date just behind you.

You were in a rush because the shop was closing in an hour, and your date's plan was to study here for the remaining time the shop was open before taking you home. He didn't give a damn about studying; all he cared about was you.

Getou shifted his gaze from you to the man, then back to you. Mentally scolding himself for not knowing you were standing right in front of him and possibly not making a good first impression.

Getou's eyes soften when they lock on you. When you make eye contact with him, you notice that his eyes alone speak a thousand words.

This wasn't your typical flirting with eyes, eye contact from many men on a daily basis. This was something different, but you couldn't put your finger on what he was implying.

Getou, on the other hand, knew exactly what he was attempting to say to you with just his eyes, he was simply claiming you as his. Slowly letting his possessive side take over.

Getou's frown vanishes, and he resumes his customary grin from earlier in the day.

"What can I get for you today?" Getou felt almost honored, even though he'd been mentally dating you for the previous three days. When he asked brightly, you smiled back. Giving him a smile that almost made his legs turn into jell-O.

You give him your order, which is the identical one you gave the previous cashier a couple of days ago.

That made Getou a little upset. He wanted you to order something new for him so you wouldn't be reminded of the obnoxious cashier he had to eliminate.

He, on the other hand, let it go. Because it's you.

You see that the receipt is already printed out after you place your order, even though you haven't paid yet. It perplexed you a little, and Getou smirked at your obvious perplexity. He thought it was cute.

"How much do I owe?" You inquired, your gaze falling back on the smirking man in front of you.

He raises his hand dismissively and says, "It's on the house," before lowering his hand and keeping his attention fixed on you.

Getou coworkers all stop what they're doing and stare when he says it. He had to be insane, they all thought. He may lose his job as a result of this.

“Getou!” Getou looks to his left and sees his female coworker, whose name he doesn't recognize and who he doesn't care about. He just cares about knowing your name, which he already knew because it was on your order a few days earlier.

“Yes?” Getou inquires, a little unhappy that someone has diverted his attention away from you.

“You can’t do that! You'd lose your job." His coworker says this as she stands in front of him, staring at him as if he's stupid.

Getou sighs and raises his hand, gripping the order-taking screen with one hand. He shifts his body slightly towards her, giving her the creepiest glare she's ever seen in her life. Her entire body stiffens as she appears to be shaken up.

"It's on the house if I say her order is on the house." Getou maintains his death stare while also flashing her a grin. She swiftly nods at his response before racing back to make your drink, making him look completely insane.

Getou sighs and shuts his eyes before returning his attention to you.

He puts his nice expression back on his face before moving his eyes down at your hand to see a ten dollar bill handed out towards him; you didn't want to take the drink for free if it was going to jeopardize his job.

Meanwhile, your study date was disturbed by what he had just witnessed and questioned how you could have been so unconcerned.

Getou used one of his large palms to seize your money-filled hand and force it back towards your body. Motioning for you to return it back to yourself.

Something tells you not to try to offer it to him again, so you nod and say "Thanks." before going out of line and over to the counter where finished drinks are generally kept, also where you can watch the lady create it and wait for it to finish.

Getou stood there watching you for a moment, oblivious to who you were with, until he noticed him standing in front of him out of the corner of his eye.

"C-Could I have a free drink as well?" Getou frowns as the man gives him a hesitant smile while closing his eyes.

When the man noticed Getou wasn't saying anything, he opened his eyes to be greeted by the most terrifying death scare he'd ever experienced. That one look conveyed a million words and scared the man enough that he didn't even order.

"Hey, we'll meet next time," the man says as he turns his attention to you.

The man sprints out of the shop before you can even turn around, and you hear the same bell from the entrance as when you initially entered.

There won’t be a next time. Getou thinks.

You furrow your brows in bewilderment, wondering whether it was something you did, and shake your head at the prospect of having to study alone. Not that you cared as much while being an excellent study buddy, the guy could be a bit obnoxious at times. But he'd guilt-trip you into spending a lot of time studying with him, and he'd bring up moments when he'd done something good for you so you'd have to hang out with him in return. And you were nice enough to do so.

Getou kept his frown on as he observed you appeared stressed, something he had detected when you originally walked in. Getou wanted to address whatever the matter was immediately, so you have more of your joyous arrival like you did two days ago.

Fast forward to you seated in one of the shop's firm, all-brown seats, halfway through your drink. You contemplate how stressful school has been, you may regret choosing one of the most difficult majors. But you also knew I'd be worthwhile in the long term.

Because of the light screeching in the ground, the chair in front of you is suddenly pulled out, and you glance up to find the same man who gave you the free drink.

You smiled at him as you greet him with a "Hi." He offered you a comforting smile as he sat and used his arms and hands as a head rest on top of the table.

"Are you okay?" I couldn't help but notice how stressed you seemed." In Getou translation he actually meant, "Do I have to kill anyone?" Though he already knew he had someone to kill now that he's off. But you obviously don’t know that’s what he meant.

"School Is beating me up, and that guy who ran out of here was my study partner." You clarify as you're holding your drink in both hands and maintaining eye contact with him. Which is something you’re great at.

"Well, I'm pretty smart, so I'll take his place." Getou says bluntly now, resting his head on one of his hands.

You begin to notice his features and blush slightly, a lot of guys had showed interest in you on a daily basis, but he had to be one of the most attractive of them all.

"Biochemistry is quite hard," you add, frowning somewhat.

Getou would be willing to learn for you, and he would go to great lengths to make you happy. He'd also go to any length to ensure that no other man is in your presence, because he adores and cares for you.

His name, however, is all you know about him.

“I’m sure I could handle it.”

You giggle a little at how hard he's trying, and you think it's adorable. You knew he wouldn't be able to assist you because it's clear he has no knowledge of the issue. You didn't want to stress him out just because he thought you were pretty or something.

“It’s fine, I could always study on my own.” He nods as you give him a grin, him knowing that was better than being around anyone else. Though He wasn't going to let you go that easily, either.

“What university do you attend?” Getou inquires, his tone interested but serious, he just wants to be sure. He'll want to know who you generally hang out with.

You tell him what institution you attend to, and Getou already knows you're wealthy based on your response.

And he isn't lying when he says you're wealthy. That's where you're from, and you've had everything delivered to you on a silver platter your entire life. You see other college students and how they're hurting financially as a result of it, so being wealthy Is something you weren't complaining about at all. As a result, you're grateful every day.

Gorgeous. Smart. Kind and rich.

Getou assumed you had men flocking to your feet on a daily basis as a result of this, and he predicted that this would be a major issue in your guy's relationship. He has no trouble getting rid of each and every one of them.

You two continue to converse till the shop closes, a few minutes before it closes.

You rant as you tell him that you've never had any real guy friends, meaning that they'd all betray you and actually want to be with you in the end.

Getou assures you that he will always be there for you if you need him, and he hands you his phone so you can put your number in it.

You go for it because you get a really good feeling from him and he seems like a great guy to hang out with. And you should always believe your instincts.

Little did you realize, this is just the start of a chain reaction of good and mostly negative events happening all at once.

[dongiovannaswife]

lethal blow

Shuumatsu no valkyrie self ship piece! I'm not sure I got Poseidon's character completely right, but I enjoyed writing this <3

CW: major character death (descriptions of blood and injuries). Canon divergent (cofcofFixItcofcof).

Part 2.

Poseidon was angry. Proof of that were the waves that crashed against the shores restlessly, the pouring rain and the seaquakes that kept causing misfortune to humans —his darkened eyes added to it.

The reason was simple and yet, it caused discomfort and doubts to cross his mind: his brother, Hades, had asked about his relationship with a certain someone.

‘Are you, you know, something? Dating, maybe?’

His question was not the thing bothering him, it wasn't even his curiosity —it was the fact that he did not know the answer: firstly, he didn't even know what was her to him.

Sitting there, lost in his thoughts, clarity starts to come slowly. Even if it meant the seas would turn violent and restless.

The goddess in question was none other than the goddess of wisdom and knowledge. Someone he had known all his life. She was his age, from the same pantheon, with a confusing past. According to his brother, no one was sure where she came from: one day she showed up. From then on, he has memories with her.

He knew he used perfection as an excuse —perfect this, perfect that, but he knew deep down that gods had human traits: better yet, humans had a god's traits; jealousy, ambition, anger, happiness. After all, they had been created in a god's image. He used perfection as an excuse to do whatever he so pleased.

This he knew —and still, if he had to consider someone the perfect goddess, setting his own hypocrisy aside, then that would be her.

The goddess of wisdom and knowledge had proven she could read him, understand him and still, be able to hold a conversation with him actively participating. She could stand up and prove why she was the one carrying that title; a warrior and a delicate flower at once.

There were times when he saw her interacting with other gods: sometimes the mere image caused his gut to hurt and his eyes to almost roll, his blood to boil and his hand to grip at his trident until the pouring rain alerted the rest of the gods of something changing his mood. Only then she'd come back and ask what was wrong. Calmly, he'd reply it was nothing. And the rain would stop, the seas would calm down. He'd remain calm.

Other times, when she was busy tending her responsibilities and their ways had to part for a long time, he'd find himself calling out her name, thinking she was there; he'd find himself stealing a glance aside just in case she appeared suddenly, sometimes he'd feel strange without her presence.

Wind blows, rain starts to pour down again —harder, much harder than before. The wind screams as it does. It comes with a sudden realization; one that brings more confusion.

There has been… the need to wrap an arm around her. Sometimes, when she's talking about something a human of her choice did, he's felt the need to praise her for it. Other times he's worried when she's away for too long.

It's affection, he thinks, changing his posture: spreading his legs and leaning his cheek into his hand, that rests on the armrest. The rain slows down, but the wind keeps screaming as it collides into structures and even when it flows around free, almost like a lost soul screaming in the middle of the night.

And he also notes that it's not the same kind of affection he's felt for his brother —contrary to popular belief, he did have feelings; though he always made sure to keep them locked. Gaining a reaction from him was either well-deserved or a mere product of insolence.

Taking a deep breath in, Poseidon holds it in, feeling his thorax expand and his muscles tense under the pressure inspiration inflicts; and then, as his muscles relax and he lets the air leave his system, a moment of silence and calm allows for another moment of lucidity.

It's what they call love.

Tensing, he notices the rain and the wind swirling outside: and, taking another breath in, both stop, leaving back silence.

He's not a fan of talking a lot —besides, what exactly could he do to let her know? Was he interested in letting her know? Was he willing to be this vulnerable?

The silence outside brings an answer.

Yes, he is. She's smart, if he doesn't let her know, she'll guess sooner or later. She's capable of discerning his behavior, to confront and call him out without earning his wrath. He's listened to her advice: he's let her know, in his way, how valuable it is. She's as calm as she is wise and will find out whatever he decides to hide.

Huffing, his eyes roam through the empty throne room and a whisper leaves his lips, carried through his gruff tone, “Goddess of wisdom and knowledge…”

Sinking down into his throne, Poseidon looks up into the ceiling, mumbling: “How may I court you, Helena?”

He thinks about it for a second, considering his options as his eyes roam around the room, trying to find anything to stare at while he thinks.

The reflection of light into steel catches his attention and, looking back at his side, where his trident stands tall and menacing, his eyes rank around it: from the sharp prongs to the details carved on it.

An idea pops in —a different way to let her know his newfound feelings and thoughts: one that only gods could think of and, leaning back, calmer now, Poseidon relaxes, allowing himself to rest and leave the rest for the next day.

Proteus did not know why, but earlier, when he received orders from his lord, he could tell Poseidon was… Relaxed. Something uncommon and interesting.

But he did acknowledge his position and title —he would never question his lord.

Now, coming into the goddess's home, Proteus could tell why his lord was so comfortable in her presence.

Serenity. Her palace was warm, calm and soothing — and someone was always playing soft melodies. It came naturally to her, and from what he could tell, her belongings spoke up after her.

Guided into the library by the butler, he's frozen upon the sight of the goddess of wisdom and knowledge, which lands on him through small, kind eyes that shine red under the light coming from the window.

The door closes behind him, almost muting the music; and she moves to leave the book in her hands aside.

“Good morning, Proteus. Is there something you need?”

Nodding, he makes sure to stand straight, bowing his head softly —ashamed of his sudden unprofessionalism.

“Lady Helena, Lord Poseidon requests your presence.”

She hums, tilting her head to the side. Standing up, she walks up to him slowly and, as she stands before him, Proteus does not fail to notice the way her eyes look under direct sunlight —a dark shade of green.

“Is he okay?”

He freezes —not because it took him off guard, but… He does not know the answer. Lying is not an option either.

“Lady Helena, I can't… I can't tell.” looking down, there's an ounce of shame in his features: one that goes away the second she speaks up.

“It's okay. Let's go.”

Looking back through wide eyes, he watches her leave the book back in its place in the bookshelf. As they leave her palace, she makes sure everyone is tending to their duties, making some reminders to those who need them.

No one knew what was going on between the two deities —the god of the seas kept his life completely private and the goddess of wisdom and knowledge was pretty reserved on what she desired to share. Though all gods desired to know, seeing their closeness, no one dared to speculate anything.

Unless of course of someone: Aphrodite had said she knew what it was but that she would rather watch it unfold. To her misfortune, her words had reached Hades' and now, he had visited Lord Poseidon a couple days ago. Proteus did not know what they had talked about, but ever since that, he could tell his Lord seemed displeased.

Looking back at her as they stand before Poseidon's palace doors, he wonders if she'll be able to understand him the same way she always does.

“Welcome, Lady Helena.” opening the wide doors, Proteus steps aside, extending an arm out as if showing the way. “Lord Poseidon is in the training room, please follow me.”

She hums, intertwining her hands behind her back and following him through the long halls until a gray door comes in sight.

Proteus stops there, opening the door and stepping aside so she walks in first. He follows after her, standing a few meters before Poseidon.

The god in question keeps his back turned to them; trident in hand and multiple wooden heads from the test dummies lying around the floor: before his arm raises up and strikes again, Proteus speaks up:

“Lord Poseidon, Lady Helena is here.”

Hand dropping aside, Poseidon hums and the sound reverberates through the wide room. “Good.”

With a bow, Proteus rushes out, closing the doors behind him.

Taking a step forward, Helena calls for him, “Sei, what's going on?”

Sei. It was a nickname she used often, when they were alone. It had been a mere occurrence that had stuck with her through the time: at first it did bother him, until it became normal.

Poseidon turns to her fully; his expression calm, actually showing something she can't quite tell, but admire.

His eyes roam through her briefly; taking note of her white dress that shows her shoulders and pools around her ankles, the way her brown curls reach below her waist; her porcelain like skin and the pink dusting her cheeks when she notices his sight.

Poseidon has never been the type to ask for things —and so he says: “Watch this.”

Turning around, his grip on the trident hardens and, lifting his arm, a grunt leaves his lips as the trident cuts through the neck of the fake body. The sheer strength of the impact causes a reverberation through the trident.

Watching the wooden head roll around his feet, Poseidon stays silent, choosing to keep his back turned while she reacts.

A light chuckle comes from her. Circling him, her hand reaches out to his; and Poseidon watches as she takes the trident from him, holding it with the same skill as him and, in one swift movement, it ends up sinking in the floor beside them.

Looking back into his eyes, Helena asks, a knowing look thrown his way. “It's a nice move: lethal and desperate if you ever find yourself at risk. What will you call it?”

His lips twitch up into an attempt of a smile —leaning slightly against her, he takes his time to reply. “It'll have your name.”

Arching an eyebrow, her playful smile grows, “Excuse me?”

His hand rises and before it gets close to her, he stops, taking a moment to take off his glove; even if said accessory kept his fingers nude and free for movement, Poseidon wished for his whole hand to touch her.

Discarding the glove aside, where his trident lays firmly planted into the floor, his hand finally reaches out completely, cupping her face. At first gently and then, when she leans into his touch and nuzzles against his hand, his thumb and middle fingers grip at her cheeks until she grins.

The second she looks into his eyes and smiles he's lost, finding it hard to do anything but stare, having to force himself to speak up. “You already knew, didn't you?”

She nods, closing her eyes briefly. “I did. But I wanted you to get out of your comfort zone.”

Standing on her tiptoes, she barely gets closer to him: huffing, her hand shoots up, fingers hooking around his necklace and pulling. He gives in easily, following her until his face is before hers and she's grinning. Her lips land on his cheeks, leaving a kiss on each side —and then, right as she throws an arm around his neck, she presses her lips against his. It's brief but sweet; different from anything he's ever felt before. It's awkward but he likes it.

Her whisper takes his breath away, “I'm in love with you too, Sei.”

Wrapping an arm around her waist, he pulls her flush against his body, mumbling his answer. “Stop calling me that, woman.”

Helena chuckles, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning her head against his chest, “Of course, Lord Poseidon.”

The lethal blow he had just shown her was nothing more than an explanation and confession; he was trying to say she had blown off his mind, cornered him until he saw himself unable to escape any further. If the attack carried her name, then that was exactly his way of confessing. It was brute, desperate, raw and sudden: but so was he, who carried the sea's traits: calm, dangerous, silent but mysterious and capricious.

Many, many years later, when humanity seemed condemned and the Ragnarok started, Poseidon found himself cornered. It was a direct consequence to his own ego and hypocrisy that the human, Kojiro Sasaki, had made it this far: cutting his arm off, his now only arm shoot up, taking the trident, gripping at it harshly.

Eyes roaming through the crowd in a desperate way, he could spot her watching the match besides his younger brother; her eyes screamed fear.

And it fueled him.

‘Helena’ it's a whisper carried through the wind; it sends chills down the spines of those listening.

Gods and humans shudder, he grunts; firmly holding the remains of his trident, his arm shoots down.

The prongs cut through skin, muscle, bone, cartilage, muscle and lastly, skin: it's a macabre symphony that resounds through the arena. It bathes him in blood and has both humans and gods freezing in their seats.

Kojiro Sasaki's head rolls aside —his headless body follows after. As both collide, the arena sinks in silence and he breathes harshly: his head spins and he can't ignore the pain coursing through his body: there's blood in his eyes and he cannot see.

Stealing a glance back, he watches her move, rushing to meet him: and so he takes the severed head, turning until the valkyrie behind it all looks at him in the eye.

“Loser.” throwing the head up into her direction, he turns around just in time to see her come out through the god's gate, rushing to him.

As her arm sneaks around his waist and he finds himself leaning into her for support, she mumbles a low, “I told you that would help.”

[caranfindel]

Fic: A life in hoodies

gen-ish | about 1900 words | pg for language | characters: sam winchester, dean winchester, jessica moore, pamela barnes | synopsis: fifteen years of sam winchester's life told through an inventory of his hoodies; or, this is what happens when a technical writer takes a stab at fanfic (hoodie identification and timeline courtesy of hell's half acre on live journal)

. . .

H.01: Grey fleur-de-lis hoodie

Figure 1:

Description: Light grey full-zip hooded sweatshirt with darker grey fleur-de-lis design on left chest, size XL, brand unknown

Provenance: Purchased by girlfriend at Macy's in Palo Alto in February, 2005 (see Note 1). Lost sometime around July, 2006 (see Note 2)

Note 1:

Please come with me, she said. I've just got to pick up some perfume for my mom's birthday. It will literally take ten minutes. Sam left his jacket in the car. He knew Macy's wasn't exactly Rodeo Drive, but it still wasn't somewhere he felt comfortable wearing his ratty canvas jacket. Jess steered him inside, wandering through displays of linens and cookware, wondering aloud if she was on the right floor. They ended up in menswear, where she stopped in front of a mannequin wearing the grey hoodie. Ooooh, she said. I like that. She yanked one off a hanger and held it up against Sam's chest. Try it on? For me? Sam shrugged it on over his t-shirt, shamefully grateful for a little warmth in the chilly mall. You look so good in that, she said. Would you do me a favor? If I buy it, would you wear it for me? We can call it an early birthday present.

It wasn't the type of clothing he'd normally buy for himself. It was a little more decorative, meant for a more fashion-forward type of guy. The type of guy Jessica wanted him to be, maybe? Okay. He could be that guy. He could do that, for her. She grinned, bundled the hoodie in her arms, and marched to the perfume counter. She paid for both items together so he never saw how much it cost, and ripped off the tag with perfect white teeth while waiting for the clerk to giftwrap her mother's perfume.

Sam Winchester had never bought his mother a birthday present; he had never been dressed by a girlfriend. He saw his new life, his new safe (not normal, safe) life seductively stretching out in front of him, a life where he was a citizen and someday maybe a lawyer and a husband and a father, and he had to hold his breath for fear that it would all blow away.

Note 2:

Sam wore the grey hoodie when he kissed Jess goodbye that night, and it was one of the few things he took with him when he drove away from Palo Alto for the last time. He didn't bother going through whatever belongings survived the fire. There wasn't anything to go back for; the only thing in the apartment that had ever mattered was gone. The hoodie was lost somewhere around the time of the car crash that should have killed his brother. He didn't mourn its loss. He wasn't ever going to be that guy after all.

—

H.02: Charcoal Hoodie

Figure 2:

Description: Charcoal grey full-zip hooded sweatshirt, size XL, brand unknown

Provenance: Purchased at Tractor Supply near Ogden, Utah in November, 2005 (see Note 3). Destroyed in Minnesota in February, 2007 (see Note 4).

Note 3:

Sam was dozing fitfully — just like he'd slept fitfully the night before — when Dean pulled into the Tractor Supply parking lot. You need a heavier coat, he said. That jacket's not warm enough for the mountains. Once inside, Dean peeled off to pick up some other supplies while Sam wandered the aisles, eventually picking up a dark grey hoodie. Dean frowned. No, man; I know you haven't done this in a while, but think camping. Think Colorado. Think cold.

Dean steered him toward a Carhartt jacket (see J.01, Tan Hooded Carhartt Jacket), but Sam didn't put the hoodie back. The Carhartt jacket was perfectly fine, but it was warm and heavy. Too warm and heavy for California. He wouldn't need it when he went back and restarted his life someday.

Note 4:

Weeks later, Sam charged downstairs to the basement of the abandoned house where he'd left Dean fighting a rawhead. The air still reeked of mold and rot and damp but there was something else, something like ozone and burned flesh, and then he saw his brother, limp in a pool of water, eyes closed, mouth slack, dead Taser still in his hand, and in a flash he knew what had happened and he ran, fell to his knees, (no Dean no, ohgod, ohgod), felt for a pulse (goddammit Dean, don't you fucking die on me, I can't do this again, don't you fucking do this to me), took a deep breath and tried again and it was there, a bare flutter under his fingertips, again and again and again, thank God.

He dragged Dean up the stairs, stretched him out in the back seat of the Impala, dug the charcoal hoodie out of his duffel and spread it over his shivering brother and drove him to the hospital. It stayed wrapped around Dean's shoulders when Sam half-carried him into the ER, and ended up in the plastic bag of clothing and personal effects stuffed into the tiny closet of the hospital room Dean was expected to die in. He was wearing it when he showed up at the hotel, frail and faded, no longer Sam's larger-than-life brother.

It was shredded by a black dog a year or so later and Sam never missed it, had never been comfortable with it again, couldn't look at it without seeing it wrapped around Dean, pale and fragile and dying.

—

H.03 Brown hoodie A

Figure 3:

Description: Chocolate brown full-zip hooded sweatshirt, size L, brand unknown

Provenance: Purchased at a Salvation Army in Lincoln, Nebraska in early 2005 (originally purchased by Dean Winchester, see note 5). Discarded sometime in early 2007 (see note 6).

Note 5:

Sam found the hoodie shoved in the farthest corner of the Impala's trunk. He put it on because everything he owned was stained, either because he fell asleep still clutching a styrofoam cup of coffee or because he got doused in someone-or-something's bodily fluids. Dean refused to stop long enough to do laundry, saying everything they owned was clean enough. He laughed at Sam and said got kinda spoiled, did ya, as he pulled on his own dirty shirt and yes, maybe Sam did get spoiled at Stanford. If being used to jeans that didn't stand up on their own, socks that covered your entire foot, clothes that weren't literally spattered with monster guts or your brother's blood, a wardrobe that was old and threadbare and pretty far from high fashion but at least got laundered on a regular basis, shirts that smelled like detergent and not gunpowder, socks that were stored in a disorganized pile in a hamper in your bedroom because they didn't have to be rolled into neat compact balls to fit in the duffle you lived out of, a jacket that smelled like your girlfriend's perfume instead of the smoke of a salt-and-burn because she borrowed it the last time the two of you went to the beach… if being used to all of that meant Sam got spoiled? Then yes, sure, he got fucking spoiled.

It doesn't even fit you, Dean said, eyeing Sam with a frown, as if suddenly realizing how much bigger his real-life brother was than the brother in his head. And he was right. It was too small, too short for Sam's long torso, bought by Dean for his own use because it looked like a color that would hide bloodstains well, but never worn because he didn't actually like hoodies in the first place.

Note 6:

I’m fine, Sam said, pushing Dean’s hand away. Go on, drive. We need to get out of here. Dean frowned, but he knew as well as Sam did that they needed to get away from the graveyard before they were spotted. And no, technically Sam wasn’t exactly fine. Technically, his entire right side was numb, he was nauseated and woozy, he was freezing, and his ears were ringing. But that meant fine enough according to Winchester standards.

When they got to the hotel, Sam reached for the door handle and was hit by a wave of pain. Suddenly his right side was on fire. He gasped and curled in on himself, clutching at his side. Eventually Dean came around and opened the passenger door. Dude? You good? Sam didn’t have to say no, I’m not. Dean took one look at him and reached for his arm. Come on, man. I gotcha. He pulled Sam out of the car and then patted at his right side as Sam wrenched away with a moan. Sam? You’re bleeding. Like, a lot. Dean was right, the color hid bloodstains well. Neither of them had noticed it was shredded along the right side and saturated with blood. Dean tore it into strips and used it as wound packing.

—

H.04 Brown hoodie B

Figure 4:

Description: Brown full-zip hooded sweatshirt, size XL, brand unknown

Provenance: Purchased at a St. Vincent De Paul Thrift Store in Greensburg, Pennsylvania (see note 7) in 2007. Discarded sometime in the spring of 2009 (see note 8).

Note 7:

Another hoodie? Dean asked, eyeing the small pile of purchases on the counter. Sam didn’t respond, but raised his eyebrows to say yeah, and? Dean shrugged. Just, you know, they don’t seem to last very long. And the pockets aren’t good for holding… stuff. Sam knew stuff meant weapons, and while Dean would never put it in so many words, the meaning was clear: You need practical clothes. Pockets that zip or button to keep weapons secure. Heavy fabric that serves as a layer of protection. Stiff fabric that doesn’t reveal the contours of whatever you’re hiding underneath it. You’re not a college student any more. You’re never going to be one again. Stop dressing like one. Sam didn’t put the hoodie back, but he only wore it a few times, and it was the last one he ever wore while hunting.

Note 8:

Sam leaned close to Pamela to hear her whispered last words. I know what you did to that demon, Sam. I can feel what's inside of you. If you think you have good intentions, think again. When he pulled back, her blood had soaked through the front of his hoodie, leaving a dark spot that never completely washed out. Sam left the hoodie in a laundromat somewhere in Wyoming, unable to ignore its accusing stare.

—

H.05 Light grey hoodie

Figure 5:

Description: Light heathered grey full-zip hooded sweatshirt, size XL, brand unknown

Provenance: Purchased at a Wal-Mart in Hays, Kansas in 2013 (originally purchased by Dean Winchester, see note 9). Current status unknown (see note 10).

Note 9:

The first time Dean wore the grey hoodie to take the dog for a walk, Sam's gut clenched into a tight little knot. He hadn't seen it since Dean's bout of healthy living, his attempt to master the Mark of Cain by exercising and eating healthy and quieting his mind. Any relic from that time in their lives brought back memories. Bad ones. For a moment Sam couldn't see anything but images of his brother's black eyes, of Charlie's pyre, of kneeling on the floor of a Mexican restaurant waiting for the bite of the scythe. Stop it, he told himself, pressing a thumbnail into his scarred palm. It's over. We're fine. Everything is fine.

Note 10:

Sam found it in the chaos of Dean's room, draped over his desk chair. It smelled a little like the dog, a little like deodorant soap, a little like bacon. Mostly it smelled like Dean. It was one of the few things Sam took with him when he drove away from the bunker for the last time.

[its-captain-sir]

have u ever thought about what it would have been like if ahsoka had run into cody post!order 66.........ahsoka having to fight someone she considered her brother after they r corrupted beyond recognition...........2!

OH OK MAKE ME CRY RIGHT NOW 😭

Seriously though, it would depend on the situation that leads to the two of them meeting but I'd imagine Ahsoka would want to try to help Cody like she helped Rex. She's proven it can be done at this point, as long as she has the resources. And as much as she wants to get Cody back deep down, I think she would actually justify it to herself in that moment as something done for Rex's sake. (Rex would never ask for it outright of course, but she knows he'd wish for her to do whatever it took to free Cody from the chip) It's a mix of Ahsoka doing very few things for herself post order 66 and just uncertainty of where she stands with Cody even when he is himself (the last time they saw each other was before her leaving the order after all) that leads to that sort of thinking.

Speaking of that last point, I have Very lengthy and complex headcanons about how the chips work by altering thought patterns and memories to paint the Jedi in an unfavorable light, so for Cody what he'd really remember and focus on when he sees her is her leaving the order and the events that led up to that. He has too much control over himself for the emotions attached to that to hinder him in any way, but his determination to capture or kill her is definitely a little stronger than it would be otherwise

As for how the actual confrontation goes..... well. it definitely wouldn't be fun for anyone involved :')