#and here’s the thing. i am never escaping the guilt demon in my brain

[ohsweetflips]

current predicament im facing is that i am vaguely unhappy/dissatisfied with how i Am Presented or Perceived by people but i also don’t necessarily want to change how i present Myself too much bc i like my style, i just don’t like the. well. *hand waves*

[night-raven-tattler]

The pains of being human

Summary: You're dealing with period related misfortunes, and you feel vulnerable... mostly because you reached a point where you had to share your predicament with someone you trusted (?).

Characters: Deuce, Floyd, Lilia and GN!Reader (separate, vague)

Warnings: mentions of menstrual products, food, medicine; discussions of periods and related symptoms (such as: bleeding, cramps, nausea, mood swings.)

By opening the document, you agree to Mx Tattly's terms of source confidentiality.

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

You were in your dorm room, stuck in a real predicament: not stocking up on your menstrual products, and leaving the room to buy yourself some seemed too risky, fearing you might get a stain and embarass yourself in front of the whole school

It wasn't a very likely situation, but the anxiety was not worth it, so you relied the first person you were close enough with to help you out: Deuce

You shot him a simple text

"i am on my period, can you buy me some products? i'll pay you back when you get here"

and expected an awkward but supportive reply, since teenage boys and periods can be like oil and water sometimes or demons and cruxes...

But the text you received in return was... mildly surprising.

"yeah sure. pads? tampons?"

"what size do you need?"

"anything else you need? painkillers? something sweet?"

You even double checked the number to make sure you didn't text anyone else

He even knew about sizes! And he thought about painkillers! You were more and more touched with each message coming through

And, with the proper instructions, Deuce was on his way to Sam's

He was not embarassed for even a second: he was there on a mission, and he accomplished it successfully without any missteps

...Well, except of his little delay, caused by a pair of nosy boys, who received their proper threats from Deuce for interrupting his mission with their toxic masculinity

He knocked at your door, and for a second he was expecting his mother to open the door; after all, she was the only one he has ever bought these things for before you

You gratefully welcomed him in, waddling your way back to your bed as you inspected the bag he brought you

"Thank you, Deuce. You're a livesaver... How much did everything cost you?"

Deuce saw the tired look on your face, the heavy lids that indicated a lack of proper sleep, and he shook his head

"It's on me this time."

You scoffed, knowing Deuce was also on a budget; as much of a sweetheart and an honors student he was, Deuce deserved to be rewarded

"...I wanna think of a compromise, but my brain is too tired right now."

You groaned, closing your eyes as you rested them for a few seconds

Deuce shook his head at you again and clicked his tongue in fond exasperation

He wanted to be nice and offer you an out, but you were dead set on being nice to him...

"...A latte."

You opened your eyes, looking at Deuce in confusion

"I'm sorry?"

"I want a latte. One of those fancy ones from that café in town. When you're done with the, uh... bear week."

A small snort escaped you as you gave Deuce an amused look

"Bear week? Not shark week?"

Deuce's eyes widened slightly, and he looked away as his cheeks grew warmer

"...Mom never called it that. She always said that fighting a bear is more likely to happen than fighting a shark... and that it sounds cooler."

You nodded, feeling very inclined to agree with his mom, and decided to steal that phrase

You were very relieved to have someone as reliable as Deuce near you, and despite the fact that Deuce wasn't the most diligent person, he always made sure to carry one of your preffered products with him at all times

No matter what kind of teases he received from anyone for it, he knew he was showing a level of care not many would

And while helping you... he was helping himself

He was still dealing with the guilt of being so embarassed when his own mom sent him to buy pads; he couldn't help his mom with such a simple thing even after everything she's done

But he can be more careful this time... more appreciative

『••✎••』

The moment Floyd spotted you in the hallways was when things went downhill: Floyd didn't really bring sunshine and rainbows around with himself

By that point you were used to his shenanigans, but you still gave some interesting reactions

A gasp, a swat to his hand... but never tears

He wouldn't have yelled in your ear if he knew you'd burst into tears: he wasn't in the mood to deal with the aftermath

But he quickly put two and two together, seeing the way you were frozen on the spot, almost trying to pick between scolding him and saying something else

Unbeknownst to Floyd, you were simply trying to get back to your dorm after noticing a pretty sizeable stain on your pants from your period

And the anxiety from trying to go unnoticed put you on edge, making your reaction to Floyd so much worse

"...Please just get me out of here."

Your small plea came after a tense silence, in which Floyd was reading your expression with an almost uninterested look

But he still hoisted you over his shoulder without any hesitation, much to your embarassment

"Floyd...! Not like this, put me down!"

"Eh~? You're so hard to please, little discus!"

Floyd did not put you down, of course

It was causing a bit of a scene, so you decided that, in the end, you'll take whatever got you to your dorm room the fastest

"Alright, fine...! Just get me to my dorm then!"

"Boooring! Why can't we go somewhere more fun?"

Floyd complained while going in the direction of your dorm

"Because I'm not in the mood for fun, Floyd! I..."

Your cheeks turned red, realising you almost revealed something too personal

To your surprise, Floyd didn't point it out; he just pouted as he walked towards your dorm

You reached your dorm room soon thanks to Floyd's long legs, and you were able to change into fresh clothes, easing your anxiety and making you feel like crying from relief

Until you realised Floyd was still in your room, even after you told him you'd be having no fun together today

He looked you up and down, his face betraying his confusion

"Now can you tell me why you were smelling like blood? Did anyone do something? Do I get to deliver a revenge plan and squeeze some aquarium fish?"

Floyd's almost sadistic delivery did not phase you at all, and all you were thinking was that of course Floyd noticed

You had no other option but to explain

"I just... got a blood stain from my, uh... my period..."

Silence.

"...What do classes have to do with that?"

Your eyes widened as you came to a horrifying conclusion: Floyd couldn't know what period were, because he was a merman

You saw your short life flash before your eyes in horror at the prospect of having to explain periods to a teenager... when Floyd just burst into laughter

"Oh, you actually believe that! You are so funny!"

Much to your relief, Floyd's confusion was just a prank; he figured you had your period before you even said anything

He revealed that he took classes about humans, their customs and anatomy when he first decided to come on land

And he also dodged the pillows you threw at him with practiced ease

It was the last time you even talked about it: neither of you brough it up again, and you didn't know how to feel about it

On one hand, you were relieved, but on the other hand, you expected Floyd of all people to ask questions and be all annoying about it

But Floyd didn't really care about things like that

In fact, he found your periods hilarious: your mood swins in particular were funny, and he almost enjoyed making things that you could digest

And he would never admit it, but he felt proud when you seemed to feel a bit better after he helped you during your period

『••✎••』

Every once in a while, you found yourself being enveloped in a hug from behind from the old bat

He would either hand you a piece of homemade chocolate by him or some cute trinket he thought sould cheer you up

Lilia was a very cute individual, and he was surprisingly affectionate for someone who was definitely a teenager and not a retired war veteran attending highschool, so you never questioned it

...until you found Lilia wrapping his jacket around your torso gingerly from behind

"...There we go. Not too tight?"

His cute, softer voice vibrated through your back as he still was glued to you

"It's... not, but why did you..."

"Oh, haven't you heard? Jackets wrapped around waists are the latest fad! It's cool and chic!"

You didn't argue with him on it, especially after you tried to untie the jacket from your waist and were blocked by Lilia, who was still holding you from behind

The proximity was getting to you, and you felt your cheeks flushing, your knees growing a bit weak, your stomach doing flips-

Wait, no. That wasn't butterflies in your stomach, that was a sharp pain from... lower

As you put two and two together, Lilia started walking you down the hallway into a secluded classroom, his hand around your waist and making you two look as casual and unassuming as always

The moment Lilia closed the door of the abandoned classroom, you his your face in your hands from embarassment

"Oh, my god... This can't be happening to me..."

The tone in your voice betrayed how mortified you felt, but was glad that you had this realisation away from prying eyes

You didn't even realise the leak, since you were already using products, and it already felt like you leaked blood all the time...

Lilia only chucked at your realisation

"Khee hee... Someone was a bit caught off guard today, huh?"

Your pathetic whimper was the only answer Lilia received, and his eyes sparkled with mirth

He still brought out his magical pen and waved it gently in the air, muttering something under his breath

"Take that jacket off and turn around for me?"

You did as he instructed, but only because you felt more... dry, all of a sudden

Lilia hummed in delight as he saw the spot being gone, his spell working

"Good. No more damning evidence... Now all you gotta do is go on your merry way."

You sighed in relief and slipped onto an empty chair, letting the small rollercoaster of emotions settle down within you

Lilia was nothing short of a lifesaver, and he handled the situation with so much grace that it left you speechless

When you asked about it, he just laughed

"I'm no stranger to blood."

That was all he said... Not ominous at all /s

Still, you were very grateful at the way Lilia handled everything

Since then, he started being even more doting on you whenever you were in your period

He was almost... motherly in a way

And for some reason, the idea of Lilia as a parental figure didn't seem too far fetched...

He always was on the lookout for any other accidents and even tried talking you into trying the reusable alternatives for your products

What surprised no one was when he became even more eager to supplement you with nutritional food whenever you were low on energy

And so much more disappointed when your nausea made his food somehow even worse to be around

『••✎••』

[mayapapaya33]

It makes me really sad that everyone agrees with Percy either explicitly or implicitly when he says that Orthax is his fault and that he's a bad person who made a bad choice, when from what I understand of Percy's own account, he was taken advantage of in his sleep by a demon in his most vulnerable, desperate hour. His family was brutally murdered in front of him, he was tortured, he escaped into a frigid river, then homeless and hungry, he was sleeping in the streets, having horrific nightmares, and a demon traipsed through his brain, posing as a dream, to offer him revenge. He thought it was a dream! He didn't even remember it properly until the black smoke started pouring off of him. I feel like things you agree to IN A DREAM should NOT be legally binding!!!

In TLOVM Orthax says that Percy summoned him with his pain and his anger. That's NOT the same thing as ACTUALLY summoning a demon with intent!!! He didn't draw any glyphs or use any components to do a ritual, he was literally just suffering so intensely that it was like a catnip beacon to a demon.

It affects the rest of his life, every major decision he ever makes. He decided to sign the contract in the Hells to spare anyone else because he felt he was already damned, his soul tarnished, and he deserved his fate. That it wasn't worth risking anyone else's soul and he was the most expendable one. He thought he was fundamentally flawed or weak because the demon chose him, he somehow let the demon into him or attracted it to him. His conversation with the Matron of Ravens broke my heart. "Did it choose me because I was broken, or did it break me?"

Maybe if someone had sat down with him and talked with him about it, he would be able to let go of some of that guilt. But no one ever did. They agreed with him and the demon that he was responsible. They all forgave him and love him of course, but that's different from thinking it was never his fault in the first place. The personal responsibility aspect is the sticking point here. He's made poor decisions of course, And I don't think this would excuse him from the consequences of his inventions, the Pepperbox and Bad News are still his, but I am specifically talking about the demon deal that happened in his dream that led him on the path of Vengeance in the first place.

Not to mention the symbolism of Percy literally being taken advantage of in his sleep then victim blamed about it for the rest of his life. Idk, it just rubs me the wrong way, maybe I'm overthinking it, I just feel bad for him. Someone give that boy a hug!

[kill-the-hand-of-shakespeare]

“Unknown”

8

———————

The rope finally snapped.

Aziraphale watched as Crowley felt his heart fall out of his chest and straight down to hell. He bared his teeth, and snapped his head towards the Angel, balling his hands into fists as he stood.

“What do you want, Aziraphale?! Spit it out! If you’ve come here to tell me I made a mistake, you don’t get to decide that for me!” He yelled, pointing a finger at Aziraphale, who threw up his hands in defence. No, no he’d lost him. He could see the hurt and anger in every aspect of Crowley’s being.

The Angel shook his head violently, and stood up, watching as Crowley took a step backward- running away. He was running away again and Aziraphale didn’t know if he could stop him this time.

“No! Wait - Crowley, please that is the farthest thing from what I’m trying to say! I- oh good Lord!” Aziraphale tried, watching the demon shake his head.

“No. No, Aziraphale. You don’t get to do this. Not again! Do you know what you did to me?! I have been ruined for months over you! I have been wracking my brain trying to figure out how to forget you! How the hell to get all of this-” Crowley gestured at him, the book shop and himself, “Out of my head and away from me- but I can’t, Aziraphale. You are ingrained in me and I fucking hate it! I can’t escape you!” He seethed, and the silence that followed was eerily quiet.

Aziraphale felt this throat tighten. Felt that fear creep back up. Forget him? Crowley wanted to get rid of him? He said he hated how tied together they were...

Aziraphale tasted the salt on his tongue as he opened his mouth to pull in a shaky breath before he realized he was crying. He watched Crowley’s heated gaze cool ever so slightly before he turned his face away to wipe the tears.

He looked out the window. It had started to rain in London, as it always did. But somehow he felt that Crowley had something to do with the quiet thunder that rolled in with the blanket of grey clouds that now hid the sun from view.

The clock ticked behind Crowley. They had been here before, yelling at each other in this very spot. Aziraphale stifled the sob that rose from his chest, but it came anyway. He took a shaky breath and nodded.

“I did.” The Angel whispered weakly, “I did see what I caused. I heard you- cursing God. Screaming at Her. I saw you in the bars and here- I saw how I hurt you, how I caused you so much pain-“ he shook his head, voice becoming strained.

He never looked for long. He didn’t want to intrude on Crowley’s privacy, but he wanted to see him when the old recordings weren’t enough. When he’d heard Crowley curse God, Aziraphale knew it was really him Crowley was so angry with. He heard the demon sigh and shift, trying to calm himself down, but thunder rolled heavy outside, and shook the window panes of the bookshop.

“I don’t forgive you, Crowley.” Aziraphale said again, turning to face him again, wiping the tears, even when they kept falling, “Because there was nothing ever to forgive.” He whispered, and watched the furrow in Crowley’s brow smooth from anger to guilt, and he had to look away again.

How dare he make Crowley feel so many negative emotions. How dare he hurt him, and then beg for mercy. He hiccuped a soft sob and looked away again, hands wiping away the tears sloppily, but they only fell faster.

“You have every right to want to forget me- you may be right. Maybe... Maybe it would be best, even. I’ve hurt you, Crowley. I know that. And I can’t explain how sorry I am. How much I missed you.”

Aziraphale didn’t try to stifle the sobs, he spoke through them, “How much I just wanted... You. Wanted to be around you, to talk with you. I sat and thought up every scenario until there were none left.” He cried, wiping the tears from his stupid beard that he’d grown to look more authoritative. Supreme ArchAngel his buttocks.

“But that- that feeling. The emptiness? The ache in my chest and stomach... Feeling like I couldn’t take a breath correctly, it never went away...” he weeped, hugging himself, he shook his head.

This was wrong. He was wrong. He was just hurting Crowley more. That’s all he ever did- was hurt him.

“I just wanted you to do it again- to kiss me again. To sit around with me, or call me on the phone- I just wanted us again and I was stupid for thinking I could keep you safe by giving that up!” Aziraphale said as he turned to look at Crowley, and saw the same hot tears now on the demons face.

And he looked... Devastated. It made Aziraphale hug himself tighter, a gasping breath pulled into his lungs. “I’m so sorry, Crowley. I never, never wanted to hurt you. Especially you, out of anyone. Not my only friend, and the person I...” he paused. The clock ticked in the silence - neither one of them were really breathing.

“The person I love most.” He said quietly, and watched Crowley’s face twist in pain.

———————

I left you on a cliffhanger and for that, I apologize, but I had to say goodbye to a family member at the beginning of January, and had a hard time focusing on anything, really. But I think I’m back, and have finished up the last few chapters, and after GOAD smut war, ending on the 14th (I think?) I’ll post this on Ao3 and edit it a bit more. For now, enjoy ❤️

< Previous

[woopboopboop]

heaven is a place on earth; hell is too

a/n: i just like the idea behind the prompt so i thought i’d write it. and to @harrysgloves​, thank you for the encouragement sent early this year! happy reading everyone! :)

content warnings: strong language, graphic depictions of violence, mentions of drug.

[usually, in the story, the gang leader will kidnap a person, right? this time, it’s the other way around]

“Are you a demon?”

She stops twirling the handcuffs in her hand and put it on the wooden drawer next to the bedroom doorway. For a beat, she doesn’t quiet know what to say because it is not the common “where am I?” or “who are you?” or even him trying to escape. But, only for a beat. Then, she straightens from where she is leaning at the door.

When he asks the next question, she pretends to not hear and calls for Ezra. If it is not for the real intention behind this, she probably would entertain his question and tell him if there is any angel in the room, if she is one, it would be an incarnation of Lucifer.

The younger boy comes as quick as she calls him and stands beside her at the doorway, waiting for whatever she has to say.

“He’s still in the cloud,” she says, eyes still assessing Harry who is lying on his back on the bed before turning her attention to the raven haired boy next to her. “How many did you use?”

“Just like you wrote in the note,” Ezra answers. 

She hums and returns to look at Harry who is now looking at his hands, inspecting for who knows what and mumbling something. Well, she did want the drug to make him forget a little bit. But not to the point where he is delirious. In this condition, there is no way he can give her what she is looking for.

“Are you sure?” Her eyes return to Ezra’s confused ones. There must be something wrong somewhere. He did what she told him to. Maybe not in a way she had instructed it. “You do know there’s a point before the number five, right?”

When she said that the confusion in his eyes shifts to realisation and it dawns on him. That would explain it. He did not forget, obviously. He misread it. He should’ve given Harry a half of the vial, not the whole thing.

She let out a sigh, thinking how there is no undoing this now. She can only hope the effect of the drug will wear off soon. Besides her, Ezra looks like he is trying to say something but the words don’t come out. He gives up then, head drooping slightly, the tips of his ears are red. 

“It’s okay, Ezra.” She gives him a small smile, trying to ease his silent guilt as he knows this plan is important to her. The smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes but he doesn’t want to say anything, afraid that it will make the situation worst. Instead, he says his apology before leaving quietly and quickly after she dismisses him.

“Am I… on a boat?” Harry slurs.

At first, she answers him by shaking her head, hand grabbing the abandoned cuffs on the drawer while she strides over to him. The colour is muted in the room and she figures he can’t see much but the faint cold blue of the evening that is falling like a dusky curtain of the room. So when she stops a reasonable distance away from him, she answers him curtly, “No. Not anymore.”

The sight is a great pity. It is almost like seeing someone on the edge of falling off the pedestal. Who would’ve thought that there will be time when she can see a person who is deemed organised and calculated, feared in the underworld, be so weak. Unguarded. His once pressed, white dress shirt stained with dirt and blood.

Seeing how vulnerable he is in that moment; she can just end him then and there. That was the job after all. And she did pull the trigger that had sent brain pieces to fly everywhere before Harry landed face down on the flour sacks stacked on the boat with a thud, leaving white powder dancing in the air. Not really a way to go for a notorious gang leader if you ask her but the woman and the two men on the other side of the canal seemed content which made it another job well done.

Except that the brain blown was not Harry’s. And as far as the world, especially the Abramo who had delivered their order to end Harry’s life and insisted on witnessing it, is concerned, he is a dead man.

“Am I in hell?” His voice snaps her from her trance. She thought he slips out of his consciousness again when he went silence seconds ago.

This sod. She tilts her head, looking at him and shrugs. “Depends.”

There is something in his eyes and she knows he is trying to make sense of it all because she feels his resistance when she tugs his wrist closer to the bed post above his head. A part of him resurfacing, despising to be in such position. But his brain might still be too hazy to think through so he just let her cuffs him without much struggle.

“Oh! Kinky,” he teases, neck straining to look where his cuffed wrist is at which makes her scoffs. He then looks at her like he is taking note of her face, eyes narrowed.

Maybe he is remembering how she looks like so it’s easy for him to instruct his men to hunt her down once he gets out of there. If he is able to walk out there alive that is. 

If he wants to. 

If she lets him. 

Because, even though as organised and calculated of a man Harry is, this time, she has the few steps ahead.

///

“Now, really,” Harry starts. Sitting up becomes more of a task when one of his hands is cuffed and his brain feels like it is rattling against his skull with every move he makes. “If you wanted to see me so badly, we could have just meet up.”

When he woke up minutes ago, he thought he was in his bed until his senses kicked in and it hurt almost as his throbbing head. Since then, he has been trying to get out of the restrain that tied him to the bed post on top his head and figures out what is happening, where is he. Out the window, it is pitch-black.

He probably is in hell; his brain had decided to land him there.

In retrospect, it is as surprising as it is expected. To be in hell, that is. After all of the deals making, bloods spilling, life taking, fists colliding, he knows there is a place for him here. Only that he expects that it would be overwhelmingly hot and full of screaming human, or what’s left of them. Where he is now is opposite of that. The cold nips his skin and the silence is unnerving. Maybe hell is not all fire and brimstones.

“I tried,” the woman says. Her voice is smooth.

That smooth voice is a good sign. It shows that this person is still able to tolerate whatever deal that he can make out of this. But it is not necessarily safe.

“You are a busy man.”

In between the lack of conversation, he tries to place her somewhere and everywhere but he has never seen her before. Moving up to find a more comfortable position, the movement has caused a dull throb behind his head that makes him wince. Somehow, it also unlocks a sound of gunshot and his gaze flicks to her. At the foot of the bed, she is unfazed.

“You shot me.” His voice rumbles lowly; somewhere between amusement and danger.

“That what was asked for.” It is stated oh-so-matter-of-factly and he accepts it.

He is in no place to make a fuss about it since enemies, like friends or business partners, are made along the way. If anything, he is a little bit bewildered at the attempt of keeping him alive and he doesn’t like not knowing what brought him here. Well, aside from someone ordering this woman here to kill him, but he is not dead though, which makes the motive behind whatever this is, is more questionable.

“Am I dead? I am in hell?”

The questions are supposed to be echoed in his brain but his slightly hazy state betrays him which caused the words to left his mouth unfiltered. The words then hang in the air and it makes him internally cringe. Her unamused face certainly doesn’t help with the situation. “What?”

“I never really thought people like you believe in afterlife.” To be fair, he never really thought about it himself. He is too busy living his life here. Not the one after. “And that is the second time you ask me that question,” she continues.

“So, I am alive.” He swears his mouth is really trying to destroy all the reputation he has been building all these years of being a gang leader. Fearless, self-assured and all that but he conceals the uncertainty in his voice with a smirk. “Why? They didn’t pay you enough for you to complete your job? Maybe you are afraid my men would take revenge on my death?”

She raises one eyebrow, shifting her weight from one leg to the other and he takes that as a sign to probe further, “Sentiment, perhaps?”

“They paid enough. A vendetta is the least of my concern. And no, it’s not sentiment.” With every answer to his question, she takes a step closer until she stops at his side.

“Then you’re holding me for ransom? It would be a huge amount of money, although, I don’t think my accountant would be so happy with that much money flowing out –”

“I have more important purpose for you than death or money.”

If it’s not him or his money, so it might be for her own benefit. The thing about Harry or he would like to think so in this way about himself is that his concern when it comes to being in a situation or making a deal is he will be leaning unto anything that benefits him the most. He tolerates as long as he is presented with a mutually beneficial outcome. In this situation, it is no difference. She wants something from him and he wants her to let him go.

“Interesting.” A smirk on his lips is now blooming into a full smile as he tilts his head. “Maybe you can uncuff me first and then we can carry on with our business?”

If she hears him, she is purposely ignoring his question and diverts her attention to reaching whatever it is in her trouser pocket. When she pulls something out of it, she holds a picture of a man at an arm length. Its creased lines showed that it has been folded and unfolded multiple times.

He is about to take it from her hand to inspect something scribbled at the corner of the picture but she retreats her arm half way, still holding it between her thumb and forefinger. “Do you know him?”

“You know, we could’ve discussed about this over a meet up or dinner. The cuff is really unnessa –”

“Just answer me.”

If she has been quiet this whole time, passive, this is the first time he sees her reacting. The smoothness in her voice now has an edge to it, her eyes are hard and piercing; a presage of storm. He presses his lips together and answers with a nod.

“I need you to talk to him,” she says. The picture is folded and put in her pocket again.

He cocks one eyebrow towards her. “Why don’t you do it yourself?”

“I know only you can reach him.”

That is true, to a certain extent. The last question he has now is that will doing what she wants him to do benefits him too, so he asks in the way that he usually does. “What if I won’t?”

Like a fired bullet, her fist catches tight in the front of his clothes and then her hand finds his throat, knocking his head hard against the headboard. He juts his chin up almost defiantly and grabs her wrist with his free hand.

He pushes her wrist away but it is a futile effort as he can feel how her fingers reach near the particular throbbing part at the nape of his neck, digging in. 

“Fir – first the cuff. Now, you are tr – trying to choke me? Take me, fuck, take me on a dinner first, at least.” He grins despite his choked words and his ragged breath.

“You fucker,” she spats, eyes darken, “this is all a game for you, isn’t it?”

The storm he predicts reaches him and he is trapped in it as she pushes him impossibly further into the headboard, her fingers tightening around his neck while his loosens up around her wrist. He is whirling little by little, the full smile reduced to a tug at the corner of his lips.

“The Abramo was right when they come to us, to me, to launch their vendetta. You are a cocky piece of shit and the only place you deserve to be at is at the bottom of the cold, murky canal with a big gap behind your head!”

“Do you regret… no – not killing me?” He chuckles but it sounds strangled.

“You are making it really easy right now,” she snarls.

Maybe it is the restriction of breath or the warmth of her breath fanning out over his face against the coldness of the room but there is a glint in her eyes. He had been in near-death’s hold before but this feels like he is being thrusted into one without warning as he witnesses a sinister gleam in her face. She has been waiting for this moment. However, before she can end it or start it, she let go of him and strengthens herself up.

“Although,” she sighs, backing away. “I believe your mum and sister won’t find it that easy.”

It takes him minutes to be able to focus on her again, blinking and gasping a little. Her eyes are still boring into him. In between relief and dismal and the ringing in his ears, he notices her settling into the unfazed demeanour she was in before until –

“Dotty and Dusty will probably going to miss you too when you’re gone.”

His stills.

Nobody. Nobody knows about the cats. 

Rivals targeting his family is a part of his work hazard and he always makes sure they are under his protection. It is such trivial matter. It is only cats’ names. But to know it specifically holds a certain power against him because it either means that she had been in his house before or it means that she has been in close proximity with either his mum or his sister to know about that much information.

And at that moment, whatever security he puts his family under, it is not safe anymore. His stomach bottoms out and she is delighted to see him in that way to say the least.

“What do you want?” He grits his teeth, moving forward to fight and the cuff clinks against the headboard because of the sudden jerk.

“There’s only one thing that I want.” Her voice is smooth. She is back at the feet of the bed again, now, with a faint smile on her lips. “But I need you to be able to hold up a proper conversation first before we continue with the business.”

It is not much of a mock or provocation but he still feels a squeezing of terror and of anger. His jaw clenches. “I am talking to you now, don’t I?”

She is already walking towards the door, leaving him struggling to stand up behind her. The bed legs scrap against the wooden floor as he pulls the bed along with him when he tries to grab her arm or shoulder or hair but she is already far away from his reach.

“Not enough,” she says while sparing him a look over the shoulder.

When he realises he is not going to go anywhere, not when he is still restrained to the bed, especially, not when the wood under his feet begins to warp, he fell back on the bed, eyes squeezed tight to block the sharp pain of his head. Defeated.

“Get a good rest. I need you fresh first thing in the morning,” she says before the door shuts. 

Wherever he is, be it in the real world or the after, this is hell.

[fabdante]

Ok, last one. The Kat and Artemisia post. Incase you missed them, this is part of a trio of posts on Baroque art and the DmC reboot trio and a separate post on the DmC reboot and the Baroque as an art movement.

The other posts if you want to check them out: Dante and Caravaggio, Vergil and Benini, DmC and the Baroque

Today for the final installment in this little mini series, we’ll be discussing the artist who won the Baroque, Artemisia Gentileschi, and her painting Judith Slaying Holofernes, featured below. 

Analysis of this painting, why it’s such a bop, Kat, and the devil may cry reboot below the cut!

Content Warning: discussion of abuse as it relates to Kat.

I guess we start with the beginning and the beginning is who Judith is. 

Judith is a biblical character. Upon impending invasion, she is unsatisfied with the response of her people and decides to infiltrate the enemy camp with her maid, intent to stop the enemy army. After gaining the trust of the people there, she eventually seduces general Holofernes and is invited to his tent. Then she beheads him with what I am left to assume is his sword. I suppose given the painting that part’s a little spoiled. 

A lot of paintings focus on the beheading or Judith posing with the decapitated head in victory. But a lot of them don’t have the impact of Artemisias, as seen above. 

Judith, as painted by Artemisia, is full of rage. She is not serene or delicate. She is not posing or unsure. She is angry, certain, and out for blood. Everything in her expression and her movements is full of force and intent. It’s the little details like his hair between her knuckles from where she’s gripping it and the forceful twist of her wrist on his sword that she’s taken. To her rolled sleeves in her incredibly fancy dress. And it’s not afraid to be gory to. Perhaps this is tame by modern standards of blood and gore but for the time it’s very bloody and violent. Supposedly the violence was too much for the first owner who kept it hidden for some time (allegedly). I think it’s important that while the focus is Judith doing the act, her maid is not passive in the violence. She’s holding him down with just as much force as Judith. And unwavering to, despite how we can see how Holofernes was trying to throw her off before he died, his hands still limply in the air. The maids full of as much determination as Judith is. Judith’s dressed up for this to, in a fine gown with her hair done up. This is likely part of the ruse Judith set up before she got Holofernes alone, but I like the detail none the less. That she’s dressed up for this murder.

The key to why this painting fits Kat so much to me is how it is not only full of anger and femininity and violence but how in Artemisias hands, the image feels like a bloody catharsis. There’s something personal in Judith's glare, in her rage. Something kind of interesting to in how she’s forced Holofernes to look away from her, like he hasn’t earned the right to see her victory even if by this point he is surely dead (I mean, the sword is nearly through his neck). Or like she doesn’t want to look at him at all, like he’s not worth looking at.

Likewise, for Kat, hunting demons is personal. The Order is personal. Why she’s here doing this is personal.

It’s personal because Kat killed her abusive foster father. I don’t think how impressive this is truly gets conveyed. It’s almost a throw away statement. It’s just that one line, ‘I killed the bastard’, and that’s that. Like it was easy or something. In the reboot universe, though, she’s not even in the same dimension as her foster father. We don’t get a lot of information about how much a demons human form impacts their demon form. We are told Mundus is fused to his human form, but we’re also told this is because he’s been in it so long and also there’s the matter of his relationship to the hell gate. We’re not even told how long he’s been in this form. Has it been years, decades, centuries? How long is so long that it led to this fusion? So, I don’t think we can base the average demon to this. As far as we know in canon, it’s Kat against a being in another dimension. A dimension she cannot engage with physically and to which he can escape to at any time. 

And yet she kills him anyway.

She is the only human we know of in canon who’s done this, to. To be fair, she is the only human mentioned at all in the reboot canon but by how Dante positions himself as human savior and by how certain Vergil seems to be that humans cannot take care of themselves, this must be rare.

I cannot express enough how important it is that Kat is the one who kills him to. It’s not Vergil. She doesn’t say it was Vergil. It’s also not her and Vergil, she doesn’t say that either, she doesn’t say ‘we killed the bastard’. Kat says explicitly that she killed him, ‘I killed the bastard’. It’s Kats kill. No matter how much Vergil helped her, she did it. She killed her abuser despite the odds against her. 

I can’t imagine the sort of catharsis Kat must have felt in that moment. We don’t know how she killed him, she never says. The greatest crime of the comics, in my opinion, are how they take this kill away from Kat and give it to Vergil instead. Which means no further elaboration there on what went down. But I can imagine her in that moment after, unsure how to feel with the rush of adrenaline and power and newfound safety. She’s done it. She’s done something she must have thought was impossible. And she tells us in game how this made her feel emboldened to handle the rest of demon kind. She doesn’t tell us in that many words, I suppose, but she says that she wants to deal with them all because she killed her foster father.

To Kat, this is personal. To Kat, mankind is something worth saving that she is willing to do everything to save. We don’t see her violence in game, but we know she’s willing to kill for this freedom. We know she’s willing to die for it to, given the aftermath of the Orders fall. It’s personal. And Kat sees it as something far bigger then her.

Often Kat I think is written off as someone who is naïve and weak and in need of saving. I’ve complained at length how I feel about her being called naïve. In game we see a very interesting, complex person in Kat I think. I’ve said before that it’s kind of fun to just watch her in scenes. Like really watch her. She has very deliberate body language that often betrays this calm she’s fighting to display, particularly around Dante for the first half of the game or so. It’s little things like how she physically contains herself after the ‘I like it rough’ comment, shutting her eyes and taking in a deep breath, but things that are there. She’s someone who, despite everything, is fighting to be a softer, kinder person even if she’s still got a lot of anger (Vergil does compare her and Dante, after all).

And being soft and kind does not make someone weak. Existing in a world where you are at a disadvantage to the things that aim to hurt you is not weak. Entering into your enemies tent armed with nothing but an elaborate gown and your anger, waiting until you spot a sword and an opportunity is not weak either.

I think something about Kat that is so often forgotten in the drama of the twins and everything else (because lets face it, no matter the media, female characters tend to get side lined for...everything else really), is without her the twins would have failed. It’s Kat who gets Dante and safely brings him to the Order. It’s Kat’s spells that bridge the human world to Limbo. It’s Kat who saves Vergil in the server room by way of bringing Dante to him. It’s Kat who ultimately gives the twins the final plan to get to Mundus. It was her. Dante says so at the end, to. The game recognizes that without Kat, the boys have nothing. And it's still Kat at the end who saves Vergil, and saves Dante from the guilt of killing him.

With Kat taking so much into her own hands despite her disadvantage, despite just being human, despite her softness, despite this rage boiling under her skin (or perhaps because of it), she is so much of why the world is free from demons. 

I mean Artemisia herself got that treatment, largely left out of artistic canon until very recently despite her success during her time. I also debated for a very, very long time across the many, many iteration of this essay on how much I talk about Artemisia’s personal life. I suppose if you made it this far you’ve seen that I’ve chosen not to, despite how it could be relevant to this discussion. But I think her work stands on it’s own without me having to justify the anger Artemisia may have personally felt and conveyed here without bringing up her personal life in depth. Though, if you want to know, I assure you that pretty much any information you look up on Artemisia will go into detail on her personal traumas and how that might impact her work. And it could definitely be relevant angle in discussing Kat and Artemisia, I just felt it overall did not add to this essay.

I often wonder, if she was in a different game or a different medium or a different story, if Kat might get more love. So often she’s called weak for the crime of not having a big weapon and a trail of dead demons behind her. So often she’s reduced to a love interest or a damsel despite how she is really the thing that saved the day, despite the fact her relationship with both twins is much more then ‘potential love interest’. And how many times have you  guys seen a post on your dash about wishing a character picked to enact revenge on an abuser? How they fought to be soft despite their trauma and pain? But I suppose, as is often the case with women in any story, she might have gotten this treatment anyway.

So, here’s to Kat. The brain cell, the Nephilim baby sitter, the girl who wanted to throw Vergil off a cliff, the hero Limbo city got who will never get enough credit, and forever the girl who deserved more. 

Those of us who love you will love you enough for the whole fandom, it’s alright.

[therealmintedmango]

Cerberus - Part One

Summary: ...”An eerie shadowy figure looms across the way making my murderous blood run cold. It looks smaller than a bear so the thought of running into a bloodthirsty wild animal leaves my mind. It looks not like a wild boar or cat. Wait. There appears to be not just one figure looming across the meadow but two. My eyes widen. The figures don't move but they both stand like humans would upon two legs. But they are bigger… Much larger now that I squint across at these two unknown figures. My stomach drops as I feel like a low growl is produced by the looming, unwavering figures… with… glowing amber eyes?...”

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

Genre: Werewolf/ Shifter AU; Medieval AU; Strangers-To-Lovers AU; Heavy Angst; Soulmate AU; Eventual romance/ smut

Beta Read By: @justanothergirlfromeurope​ Thank you so much my darling for helping me with this! You are wonderful! Thank you! 💖

Rating: NC 18+, Explicit 

Words: 5,379 

Pairings: (Eventually) ot7 BTS x Human Female Reader 

Warnings: Dark themes; Possible Yandere Vibes in the future; Death; Gore; Murder/ Killing; Implied Incest (nothing happens - I promise); Mentions of being naked/ being seen naked; I think that’s it.

It’s late July in the afternoon, the hot sun baking boils on exposed skin if you are a brave enough soul to show any flesh. The cicadas cry, the large winged beasts screaming into the scorching air, sounding like terrible, angry monsters. My giggles cut through the loud droning of the winged beetles, pleased to my core I even let out an unladylike snort, shoulders shaking as Seungkwan tells the group of us a joke. I sit with a few of my brothers - the princes of the land in which father rules - in the shade of the maple when the laughing ceases as a shadow blocks the sun from roasting us further. The younger crowd of my brothers and I look up to see it is men from the king’s court, walking over to our shady spot in the garden, solemn features, shiny hats, and a loyalty to my father is the only thing they share. 

They say that mother has passed.

My brother Minghao gets up and asks where the older kin of boys are. The advisors tell him as he barks at us to stay here. The castle, they say. Infection, they say. Seokmin gasps, the bright smile like mother’s downturned at the news. Seungkwan’s joyful attitude dies. Vernon covers his face with his hands, a sob ripping from his throat. Youngest of my thirteen brothers, Chan, clings to me suddenly, tears welling in his large brown orbs as I hold him steadfast. 

The food sitting in my stomach feels rotten and cursed all of a sudden. All the sound dies from my ears, my mouth hangs open as the breath escapes me. 

Infection they say? How could they say such a thing? She was never ill, I think as people are running in and out of the castle, screaming and crying—something I wish I could do at this moment. I flinch, hearing my most vicious brother - Soonyoung - bellow a sound I wasn’t aware he was able to produce. 

I feel the same, but only in my heart for my lips cannot utter even a simple, single whisper. 

I was never close with mother even being the only daughter she had out of the fourteen children she created over the years with father when she was fertile - the only job a woman of nobility has in these times. And when she is finished having many children she is to still retain her youthful appearance which she did easily. 

They said that she gave her children a little piece of herself when she birthed us all. Chan has her sparkling eyes, Seokmin her smile, Junhui has her high cheekbones, Soonyoung has her unbreakable spirit, Minghao has her sharp tongue, Jeonghan has her cunning brain, Jihoon has her feisty attitude, Mingyu has her ability to be understanding and kind in the midst of her fire and passion, Seungkwan retains her strange sense of humor, Wonwoo got her cool intelligence, Vernon got her uncanny skill to be so young but so strong at the same time, Seungcheol has her unyielding stride, and Joshua her wit. And they say that I am a twin of my mother physically: her hair, her body type, her smile, eyes, her wide hips, sharp shoulders, feet, hands, legs, and even my fingernails. 

I only wish I had her spirit and fire my brothers bear, but perhaps they took it all before I was created in her belly? They say that children suck precious things out of you. Did I take everything else from her? Was my guilt eating me alive? 

My father, the king of this land, kept her locked away most of the time in the high tower of the west portion of the castle. I don’t know much about father but I know he is easily jealous. He wants the best whatever that may be: the most children, the best cloaks, the best military, the cleanest streets, the shiniest coins, the happiest peasants, the most beautiful queen in all of the land. Father hated when mother would talk to anyone that wasn’t close kin at dinner time or when we went to the market when she would merely look at the fruit seller man. She would be gone for days, no trace of her for a week or so, emerging with tired eyes, brushing the stray hairs from my face as she smiled sadly at me. Little did I know there was no fruit seller in the cobblestone market either. 

Still, my heart aches for a mother I had and hardly ever knew. 

The sound of the boisterous cicadas fills my ears, hearing returning to normal as brothers Jeonghan and Joshua come to collect us shortly after that, faces made of what looks like stone. 

-

It has been many moons since mother has passed. The air that was once ripe with colors and sounds is quieter now. It’s cool, my peacoat and shawl wrapped around me when I roam the garden in the afternoon with a different brother each day. It’s almost time for a harvest moon which comes in a week, Wonwoo told me on our walk yesterday. The demons and goblins of the underworld are said to have sprung up from the dirt and mud during these times. We sent mother away on a burning ship out to sea so I can’t help but wonder if mother is in the sky, the ground, or the sea still. 

My brother Soonyoung and I walk quietly together, the brown leaves crunching under our boots. It is a rare time when his voice is still. I know he is pondering what to say to me. 

What can one say to me? 

I love them deeply though, their touch and affection they still bring to me after each day. Sun up to sun down they coddle me. They have always coddled me, even the elder ones who are fit and strong and ready to be wed treat me as if I am a babe. I used to hate feeling like this, like I am small and unimportant, a babe who needs protecting. The only daughter the king has ever had. One of fourteen. I am no one to my father, to his people. But to my brothers now I see, I am their youngest sister. Something they only have one of. They cling tighter to me emotionally and physically now that mother is no longer here. 

I will take this feeling and hold onto it. I am important to them for that is why they treat me this way. 

The sound of horse hooves clattering up the path behind startles me. Soonyoung shields me, pulling me into his warm chest. I am comforted and protected. 

“Prince Soonyoung, Princess.” The captain speaks monotone. They do not call my name for I am a woman. Even of nobility and the pride of my brothers, I have no name besides my title.  

The captain’s lips move. I have no idea if what I heard was true. Soonyoung snarls and tells them that it's preposterous and evil and to shoo before he cuts them with his blade attached to his hip. They turn on their stallions and leave, a fog rolling into the garden as I feel hot and confused. 

Did I hear them correctly? 

They say that father wants to marry me.

They say that he will never be able to find a bride as beautiful and as perfect as my mother. They said that I will wed at sunset tomorrow. 

It is my turn to be made of stone as I fall into darkness. My breath is gone, a warm exhale hits the cool air, leaving my lips in a wisp before I pass out in my middle brother’s strong arms. 

-

When I awaken, my eldest brother, Prince Seungcheol, is heard pleading with my father in the political hall. His usually calm voice echoes against the rock of the building, the fire crackling in his basins as my thirteen brothers all object to me being my father's next bride. His brows are kit, furrowed as his lips speak my thoughts for me while father watches with mild amusement, seated at his holy throne. 

“She is not ready to be wed! She has not even bled yet!” He remarks, flinging his hands out to his sides. Little do they know, I have, I have just kept it a secret, becoming a woman is nobody's business but my own. “She is your daughter! Think, father! Think! How the kingdom will hate you for that! It is vile!” His voice cracks, tears swim in his brown eyes as my brothers shake their heads in agreement. 

Yes. How vile indeed, I think watching them all silently behind a pillar from above the hall. 

Father gets up with a wretched smile stretched upon his lips. I take a few steps forward, uncloaking myself from the secrets of the darkness in my nightgown a maid must have dressed me in, looking over the stone railing. “She is our littlest sister! Our only sister! She deserves to be married for love and only love-“

SLAP. 

I gasp as my stomach pits into itself. My brothers flinch. 

“How dare you talk like this to me, Seungcheol!” Father spits, anger flashing in his eyes like the fire in the torch basins. “She is a woman. She has no rights no matter who and what she is. She belongs to me.” 

“How dare you treat Y/N like an object and not like your daughter!” Soonyoung snarls, mothers fire lit inside of him like the hot sun. He is brilliant and strong like a tiger who burns through the forest in his powerful wake. 

Father raises his hand striking Soonyoung across his cheek with a sound that echoes in the corners of the hall. Something falls from his hands, though its clanking sound is covered up from the shouts that follow. 

“How dare you thirteen boys!” Father is shouting, my feet are moving on their own, rushing down the stairs to my brothers. “All of you are utterly worthless!” He shouts as Mingyu, the tallest brother, rage ablaze on his face as he moves toward the king, arms raised as he acts like he is about to slap father. 

Please, don’t! Is what I want to say, but I cannot. 

“Guards!” My father shouts into the hall as they come running in at his command. “Flog them all hundred lashes each!” He smiles a wicked smile as I run up to the scene with the ones carrying swords and pointed sticks. “And if they make a sound give them ten more!”

My brothers are being beaten and detained and my heart is breaking into fragile glass as the noise and blood coming from their mouths is too much to bear.

I do the only thing I can do. 

It is my turn to protect my brothers. 

Please mother, give me all your strength to stand up to this vile, evil man who surely killed you for the sport of it. My gut twists thinking of the peril I may face rising to the challenge that is our father. 

“Stop!” I say, my voice shaking as the next few seconds feel like hours and the eyes of all the men in the hall are on me. I walk toward my weathered and old looking father as he smirks a devilish grin down at me ascending the steps to his throne. 

“Father please, I beg you: I will marry you and do whatever you say, as long as you let them go now.” My voice does not shake now. My voice is calm and steady. Mother’s spirit fills me at this moment as I speak up to my father. Before this, I have not spoken to him before this for what feels like eons until now. 

“No!” Several of my brothers yell as I stand in false confidence, inhaling the iron from the red liquid that fills the hall. “No! No! No!” They shout as I stand in front of the man that doesn’t see me as a daughter. I am an object to him, whether I like it or not. 

He smiles, stroking his wiry, grey beard as he sits back on his golden chair, cloaks draped over his shoulders pool and spill over the seat behind him. 

“Whatever you say?” Father quips and I nod, hands balling into fists onto my sides, nails that are not mine dig into skin that is also not mine. “Then strip.”

My eyes grow wide, my lips part in shock, my blood which is mine boils, white-hot and merciless trapped in this skin that should belong to my mother. 

“Father, please!” Jeonghan, my father’s son and second eldest, pleads now. “Be reasonable!”

“She said anything, boys.” My father, the ugly worm that he is, states calmly. 

“Should a virgin be seen like this before she is wed?” Joshua makes a good point while father rips his pupils away from me as Jihoon, smart bugger that he is, recites the article of the kingdom where it is unlawful for a virgin to be seen in such a state before she is made another man’s woman. 

Father scoffs as he says, “Flog them two hundred times if they don’t like-“

“No.” I say, holding my ground, brushing hair out of my face. All eyes on me again as Chan starts crying. “I will do what you wish.” 

“Then do it!” Father shouts, banging his fist on the arm of the golden seat as he gets up. “Do it now and if anyone makes a noise: I will behead you.” 

I do it. I find the buttons on my yellow nightgown, my hands do not shake or waver as I shake the comfortable garment from my shoulders. My slip is the only thing that covers me now. My brothers close their eyes, look away, Chan choking on his sobs but the only thing I can hear is the roar of the crackling of fire. I step out of my nightgown, walking up to my father's throne. I see it. Glinting in the torch light. A stray blade lies upon the steps close to the devil king that is my flesh and blood. 

Praise the gods for the viscous middle brother I have. 

I step out of my white slip now, distracting the men who have their wicked eyes set upon me, hungry wolves ready to take any meat they can. I hold my father’s gaze as it travels down my body, making sure he does not look upon what my right hand is doing. 

I have it. I move quickly, the spirit of my mother now fully alive inside of the body that is said not to be mine. 

But now it’s mine. 

I am not a disrespectful child nor have I lashed out against my parents ever. I followed the rules without exception, never spoke out of turn and always let my older brothers go first for treats and presents. Always. I am a slave to my family and the system that I was born into. The ugly demons and snaggle-toothed goblins are really alive and well during this time as my brothers have said. The scent of strong ale hits my nose the closer I get. Maybe the beings of the underworld have possessed him? I am looking for a way out, a way to logically justify the way father is. But no. I know the real answer. 

This man is evil. Has always been evil. And he needs to be stopped. 

I am not a killer. But I am sick of the mistreatment of my family. I know my father killed my mother. There was no infection. None. 

Like a crazy witch with eyes burning like white-hot coals, whose blood is singeing to be set free, I plunge the pointed blade into my father’s throat. 

Blood spurts from his neck, squirting against my bare flesh, his eyes roll back as he gurgles profanity, my body blazing as my whole existence is overcome with the desire to end this cycle of corrupt injustice. 

“Run!” Vernon shouts as the guards descend in my direction. I drop the blade in haste, my brothers scream for me to run away as the guards scream mutiny. 

And I do. 

—

-Somewhere deep within the neighboring wood...-

“I’m hungry.” A clear tenor tone sounds off in the dark wood, a small chuckle leaving his lips as he resumes a human form in all his naked glory. Hoseok’s lithe body full of sweat glistens under the moonlight as he reaches for his purple cloaks under the large tree in the middle of the bog they just finished running around in. 

“Me as well, brother.” A deep bass vibrates off the trunks of the thick trees, his wolf form morphing into his handsome, tan body. 

“Taehyung, Hoseok.” A soft voice wafts through the air. “We aren’t to feast before the full moon.” The eldest quips, melting from his shiny fur, shaking his dark locks free from his collar as he dresses under the almost pregnant moon. 

“I can’t wait.” The second eldest grunts as he comes into the torch light that was burning on the stump next to their favorite tree. “The air is ripe with so much wildlife tonight.” He wets the edges of his lips, the thought of fresh, pink, juicy flesh at the forefront of his mind as well as his brothers.

“Where are Jungkook and Jimin?” Namjoon growls as he quickly morphs into his tall self, sweaty skin glistening under the light from the mother moon. Their run through the dense wood was very fruitful in the sense that they let loose and got a lot of pent up energy out of their bodies.

“Weren’t they behind you, Yoongi?” Seokjin questions as he scoops up the younger one’s clothes in his arms, signaling Taehyung and Namjoon to take the torch light. Yoongi shakes his white hair back and forth with a solemn grunt. “Very well,” Seokjin nods, twitching his nostrils in the air. “Hoseok, you have the loudest howl. Will you please call for the troublemakers?” 

The man with the hair as bright as cherry pie chuckles right before he sucks in a large breath. The third eldest bellows a howl that will be heard throughout the wood surely. 

They wait with bated breath for two of the younger brothers to respond. The wind whips around them carrying the smell of fallen, rotting leaves, thick moisture in the atmosphere, and the odor of something unfamiliar in the air. They all exchange looks in the torches' soft, orange glow. Something doesn’t feel right. 

The five brothers start to become uneasy. Taehyung shifts on his feet. Yoongi wets the edges of his lips more. Namjoon shifts his eyes between his brothers, swallowing uncomfortably. Hoseok frowns, kicking a few leaves in the dirt as he waits for the brothers to return his call. 

After another moment or two, the second eldest bristles, anger flashing in his amber orbs. “I swear if those wild banshees from the Twicelands have set another trap for us in our forest-“

The white-haired brother is cut off by the sudden cry of both of his brothers they were in search of, coming east off the dense bog.

“Come quickly!” Jimin yelps, his higher pitch ringing around the wood. “Come see brothers!” 

Meanwhile, Jungkook only utters one word that has the brothers taking off like bats out of the deep trenches of hell. “Mate!”

—

My skin is on fire, my fingertips numb, and my feet hurt as I run naked from the castle into the blackness of the night. 

I escaped through the kitchens, not a sane soul awake at this hour so I quietly slipped through the cracks. I hear more yelling and shouting but I cannot slow down. The blood of my father drips down my naked body, making me feel like a painted warrior. 

A shout is heard from the stable. The men on my father’s court call my name but it is not a happy sound. It is a sound of lies, of deceit, of pain they want to inflict upon me. I shudder when I hear Soonyoung scream a throaty battle cry into the evening air, on his way to find these men and rip them limb from limb surely. 

Under the almost full, pregnant moon, a blood bath is occurring in the usually peaceful castle.

I trip on an exposed root from a tree beyond the stables. When I gather myself, pushing up off the ground, I see a bed sheet hanging from a line out to dry and I snatch it from the air. I tie it, tugging it around myself loosely, giving my legs room to carry me off into the thick wood that lines the backside of the castle. 

Dread and fear taint my senses as I pad along the brush barefoot, trying to maintain a quietness even though I am running. The fallen leaves crunch underfoot, the earth cold. My naked body starts to shiver, the adrenaline of my actions wilting away as I fly through branches and bushes. I have no clue where I am headed, the pale moonlight guiding me. Wherever I see on my path I go next. 

My feet slip on the slick ground under my feet. I trip over my heel several times, mud and dirt covering my palms as I right myself. I must not look like a princess, so disgusting, covered in blood and unkept in this feeble, white bed sheet. 

I have to press on, I remind myself.

My breathing is ragged as I climb through long, pointed branches and under low shrubs. I stop for a second to catch my breath as I glance at the almost completely blackened forest. The nightlife of the dark wood whispering around me: bats screeching overhead, crickets that haven’t died out sing into the cold night air, even a pack of wolves howl out into the throes of the velvet evening. 

I suck in a cool gust of air, ready to trek along the unknown path once more. 

Wisps of my breath leave my lips as the cold night air stings my lungs. It feels as though I have been running for ages, the torch light not visible through the thickness of the tall trees. Have I run far enough? I think as I come to a little clearing in the wood, a meadow of soft, lush clover encompasses the land. 

An eerie shadowy figure looms across the way making my murderous blood run cold. It looks smaller than a bear so the thought of running into a bloodthirsty wild animal leaves my mind. It looks not like a wild boar or cat. Wait. There appears to be not just one figure looming across the meadow but two. My eyes widen. The figures don't move but they both stand like humans would upon two legs. But they are bigger… Much larger now that I squint across at these two unknown figures. My stomach drops as I feel like a low growl is produced by the looming, unwavering figures… with… glowing amber eyes?

 A wind whips through the meadow quickly, breezing from behind me, whipping my hair and the bedsheet about like a flag on a pike. 

I hear the sound of horses and I gasp, covering my mouth with the noise I just made. I shake my head, snapping out of my trance of looking to the almost human like figures. 

Have they found me? Have the guards and the men of my father’s court located me? My brothers were surely fighting, right? I pray none of my kin have lost their lives because of me. Or are they not men from my father’s castle? Would they hurt me? Torture me? Deflower me?

I shudder. 

I turn to run east, looking over my shoulder to the figures that have disappeared in the trees. A fog sweeping through the thicket, blocking my vision. It was probably a trick of my scared mind, I remind myself. 

Another thought chills me to the bone as I feel the exposed skin of my legs and arms slice under the thorn bush I accidentally stumble into, making more noise than necessary. I squeak in pain. The more I try and pry myself of the spikes, the more I become entangled inside of the nasty, winding plant. I want to call for help but I don’t want to alert whatever is coming near me. 

It is almost the harvest moon. The line between realms is blurred meaning creatures that normally I think exist in fairy tales are real at this time of year. Could it be a wandering herd of ghouls? A pack of wild demons coming to devour my flesh clean off my bone? My body shakes with uncertainty as I paw about the dirt. 

Ever since I was a little girl, my brothers have warned me about the wood. I should never go in alone. I should always bring someone. I should always have a weapon or a horse or something to protect me. Monsters are said to lurk in the bog that the wood surrounds in a thick sea of lush brush and vegetation. 

An owl hoots overhead as the sound grows thicker, heavier. The footfalls inching closer and closer by the second. The wolf’s howl sounds off again, this time the cries from the beast desperate - the noise much too close for comfort. 

No, I think as I freeze with a bone-chilling noise that vibrates off the trees around me. Not just one lone wolf howl. There are two very distinct animal noises that echo off the earth I lie bound to. One softer and longer. The other a little nasally and short - more like a bark than a howl. 

I should have run to the market, I think, body shaking from the cold and acute fear that plagues my mind. I should have tried to hide with a peasant or two until this treacherous act blew over or married a nobleman’s family in a neighboring town. Mentally I chastise myself as the thunderous noise draws closer and closer. Why am I so rash?

My heart hurts, it clenches in around itself as I look up into the shimmering moon hanging low in the sky. In a bed of thorns I lie, blood from wounds of my own and from my father still flows down my body, exhaustion overtakes me finally. I’m entangled, suffocating in the sharp spikes that pierce my body, choking me from the freedom I so desire. I can’t move my muscles, my body tense and sore, my feet blistered and cold. I’m weary. A tear rolls out of my eye and falls onto my dirty cheek as I snap my orbs tightly closed, the horses almost upon me, I think as I hiccup a sob. 

All of a sudden, the boisterous noise of what sounded like a hundred horses pounding toward me, stops. I suck in a breath and prepare for the worst. An eye for an eye, right? So they should slit my throat like I did to father.

It is my turn to die. 

“Little bird,” a soft, steady tenor of a voice purrs out above me that I don’t recognize. My eyes fly open, revealing a glowing torch light and a few handsome faces I cannot place hanging around me. “It seems you’ve flown far from your nest.” He simpers, flames dancing off his puffy lips as he gently brushes a stray hair away from my unkempt face. He shows no disgust, only empathy as he gazes upon me trapped in this tangle of wild thicket. 

I flinch as the long thorn branches I have ensnared myself in are being removed from my shivering body. The other boys, I’m unsure of how many surround me, take extreme caution, trying not to harm me as they pull the plants off of me. 

“Are you from Royaume des Diamants (Kingdom of Diamonds)?” His puffy, pink lips utter quietly in the night. I stare at his sculpted face, admiring his accent as I feel like the terrors of the darkness are melting away with his soft speech. I say nothing but look up into the rich eyes that seem to glow a golden-amber shade in the torch light. They bewitch me and I am in awe. “Little bird?” His perfect brows twist into an expression of concern and I take a moment to glance away from his otherworldly face and to his other features for a second. 

Dressed in rich purple with gold medals hanging from his broad shoulders, I can tell he was from a family of prestige. His lips are giant and lush but they are not out of place on his pale face. He appears to be a prince from those fairy tales I’ve heard so much about from the stories my brothers have told me since I was a babe. His dark hair envelopes his face, curling just at the ends, making him look far younger than I am sure he is. They finish uncovering me from the thorns and all gaze upon me covered in blood, dirt, sweat - looking positively disheveled - the farthest thing from a princess. 

“Hyung,” a deep bass speaks from behind the broad shouldered noble-man, “she’s shivering.” A tan boy with thick eyebrows observes above me. His velvety voice makes my cold body feel warm with the way his timbre seems to echo off the wood of the trees around me. 

“I know you are probably frightened and it looks like you have been through a lot…” The prince-like man holds an arm out for me to take. “...and even though your lips don’t speak, I do not wish for you to freeze out here in the wood.” The boys surrounding me shake their heads in agreement with the handsome one speaking. “Will you come with us, little bird?” 

I don’t want to die and I don’t want to die out here in the cold night. Even if they want to hurt me or worse, I don’t want to die frozen to death in the thicket. Somehow, I don’t think they are bad men, but my threshold of trust was high due to the internal struggle I faced with my family. Still, I feel oddly comforted by the seven who are mostly quiet above me. 

As I go to speak - to tell them ‘yes’, opening my lips slowly, nothing comes out. Not a peep or a squeak I can utter. The boys share looks of confusion at my lack of acknowledgment. My orbs flit from one handsome face to the next. Are they all princes wearing the same cloaks of purple and gold? I register you all, I swear I think in my mess of a mind. My body is too exhausted, not being able to do anything but nod once. 

That’s all they needed to collect me it seems.

“Come, little bird.” The soft voice purrs again as I am being propped up gingerly, carefully by one of the boys around me. I lull my head against his warm body, a blanket or a cloak (I haven’t a clue which) was placed upon my dirty body. This boy is strong, not struggling to hold me up in the slightest I think as my eyelids flutter. I look up to him. He has long, black-as-night curly hair that falls around his neck, smiling tenderly down at me, his nose is long and rounded at the tip, a little mole under his lip catching my eyes that flutter more and more with every breath I take. Sleep was overtaking my body now that I know I am safe. “We will take you to a place where you will not suffer any longer.” 

And with that affirmation, I nestle closer in the arms of the strong, young boy, believing the prince-like voice that hums a sweet lullaby. I yawn while he continues stroking my matted, tangled hair as I fall fast asleep against this stranger's chest.

I miss the seven smiles and nods, drinking me in with their sparkling amber gazes.

---------

PART TWO 

[parrisher]

ooh ronan pov of the bllb scene?? fuck yess!!

anon i love u endlessly

on ao3

As Ronan fluttered back to reality, he realized two things very quickly. One, he was frozen in place, lying in a pew. Two, his clothes were drenched —he looked as far as he could without moving his head—his own blood.

Well, technically his own blood. And technically, those were his own whimpers echoing agonizingly through the pews of St. Agnes. But Ronan’s mouth was stuck shut.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Adam start awake.

Fuck.

Adam jerked back from the twitching dream-Ronan before he even seemed to fully realize what he was seeing. Ronan watched, still helplessly stuck, as Adam’s eyes raked over dream-Ronan’s arched spine, his shaking fingers, his desperate eyes. Adam sucked in a sharp breath. His lip began to curl, quivering, and Ronan tore his eyes away.

Watching Adam grieve felt too private to watch, even for the grieved himself.

He heard the shuffle of denim against carpet and finally, as Adam scrambled over to the body that pleaded with Ronan’s own voice, Ronan’s body sagged against the hard wood of the pew. The manila envelope, stuffed with a hundred different horrors, almost fell out of his hand before he tightened his grip, refusing to let go of everything he’d just sacrificed for.

He had to get up, he had to get them out of there. But as he lay there, Ronan couldn’t think of anything besides the panic in Adam’s eyes. The heat of a thousand different emotions mounted in his chest.

The simple, wringing sadness from seeing death. The heart-stopping fear of his nightmares. The pain in Adam’s gasp that had lodged like an arrow in his chest and, above all, the frustration that Adam had insisted on staying. That he’d been sappy enough to let Adam stay, that he’d had to see this-

“Ronan-” Adam’s voice came out strangled. Ronan sat up in a rush, but Adam wasn’t talking to him. Bent over dream-Ronan, bleeding out on the church carpet, his voice was barely a whisper, no life behind it. “Oh, God.”

A prayer fit for a church. Ronan didn’t miss the irony.

The pain, the guilt, the tears straining to be held back all exploded in his chest with those two damn words. Watching Adam move helplessly over Ronan’s own body, beautiful hands fluttering from blood-soaked stomach to ruined throat to chest, Ronan had the sudden impulse to run before Adam could see him. Another impulse immediately followed, barely stronger than the first.

You can't run from this, idiot. He thinks he’s watching you die.

How many more burdens would he throw carelessly onto Adam’s shoulders? How much more could he take? He’d watched the bags under the other boy’s eyes grow deeper and deeper as the hunt for Glendower had stolen more time from Adam, and now—Adam didn’t deserve this, he didn’t need the nightmares. He was running on empty already.

Frustration spiraled up again, faster than he could push it down. Anger picked a target before he could stop himself.

“Are you happy now?” Ronan regretted the words as soon as he’d spit them out. “Is this what you wanted?” He gritted his teeth as Adam jumped, looking around wildly. When his eyes finally landed on Ronan, he looked-

Emotion swelled again in Ronan’s chest. Adam looked lost, gaze faint. Unreachable. His voice came from miles away. “What’s-” he blinked several times to no avail. “What’s happening.” It wasn’t a question.

Dream-Ronan let out a shivering cry. Real-Ronan knew how he felt.

He couldn’t stop the fear-sorrow-anger from flashing across his face as he saw the version of himself bleeding out on the ancient St. Agnes carpet. Somewhere deep in the fog of his brain, something told him he should scream. Something else told him that it could have been worse.

At least Adam hadn’t had to put the pieces of him together.

Ronan looked back over at Adam, and found that he was watching Ronan intently. He still looked about ready to faint, but the fog in his eyes had cleared. What was underneath, though—an unguarded sadness, pain, pity written all across his perfect cheekbones--was somehow even worse.

It was the fact that he’d seen this part of Ronan, all the shit inside his head. Adam was crouched over a hard copy of all the bad decisions he’d made, all the times he’d gone to bed wondering if he would be around to bring anything back. All the terrible, too-real things he’d brought back. Wasps in Monmouth. Adam’s t-shirt. Slit wrists.

Maybe Ronan should scream.

Maybe he should break down, throw his arms around Adam, beg him not to let him die.

But if there was one thing he and Adam had in common, it was that they couldn’t stand to be pitied. So Ronan dragged the ice back into his tone.

“You wanted to stay?” he snarled. He thought of Kavinsky. Leash your dog, Gansey. “Well, here we are. Hope you enjoyed the show.”

Adam pushed himself up from where he’d been kneeling by the body. There was a tiny red bloodstain—Ronan’s blood—on the worn-out neck of Adam’s shirt that Ronan couldn’t tear his eyes away from. Dream-Ronan was still gasping for air. “Why would you- why?” Surprise met with his Henrietta twang as they laced their way through his voice. “What did you do? What happened?”

What had happened?

Nightmares. They should’ve known. Even if Ronan had tried to dream a godddamn lollipop, he would’ve had nightmares, but dreaming this kind of shit? To get photos, he had to stage them. To get a hand, he had to cut it off. Adam’s plan was the kind of grisly detail that nightmares eat for breakfast. And he’d been in there so long…

The dream-Ronan gave a last shuddering cry and went still. Ronan knew Adam was watching, could feel Adam’s eyes on his face, and he tried to keep his face neutral.

But God- he’d just died, for fuck’s sake.

“I tried for too much at once,” he said. His voice betrayed him- it was too flat, too emotionless even for him. Adam’s eyes flashed with guilt growing more watery by the minute, and the resulting stab of self-hatred shocked even Ronan with its force. He stared resolutely past the other boy. “I was in there too long. The night horrors came, and then-” he realized in horror that his voice was shaking. He took a breath in and refused to meet Adam’s eyes. “Then I heard the wasps, and I knew I would bring them back, and then-” he gestured with practiced thoughtlessness towards dead-Ronan. “That would be me. But, like, for real.” He could see Adam’s jaw clench out of the corner of his eye. He refused to let himself think about what that meant, and this frustration only added to the mix of emotions coloring his words. “Easy solution. Dreamt a new me, fresh and ready-to-die. Woke up. Here I am. Here I am, again.” He was spitting the words out now. “What a cool trick. What a damn cool trick.”

He finally glanced over, but Adam’s face was unreadable. He had a look in his eye like he was putting together a puzzle that was, as he went, gaining more pieces. Ronan felt far too known.

He couldn’t do it anymore. He had to get out. Some corner of his mind reminded him why they’d gone through all this in the first place, and he only remembered the envelope in his hand as he was shoving it towards Adam. “Here’s your shit.” The words came out embarrassingly wounded. Ronan could feel his window of escape slipping.

It seemed to take a second for Adam to recognize what the envelope was, and a second longer for him to reach out his hand and grasp it. The blood-stained manila looked wildly out of place in his long fingers.

There was a moment of silence as the two faced each other. It was obvious from in the pain in Adam’s eyes, in the way he seemed to wilt in on himself, in how his breath hitched that he had lost something precious in this church. That Ronan had ripped something from him.

Dream-Ronan’s eyes stared up at the chapel ceiling, seeing nothing.

A sigh broke the silence. “What now?” Adam sounded almost embarrassed. “What do we-”

“Nothing,” Ronan interrupted. His eyes had just caught the bloodstains on Adam’s knuckles from the dreamt envelope. He thought about crossing over to him and wiping them away. He thought about pausing, hand in hand, looking into the cornflower eyes that had shed tears over his dead body, lifting a tan knuckle to rough lips. He thought about running away and leaving Sister Whoever to find his dead body. “We do nothing. You go.”

Adam’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, then crinkled in confusion. “What?”

Heat was rising in Ronan’s chest again, that same fiery mix of grief and anger and fear and this time love, maybe. He couldn’t breathe. He realized he was shaking. “I said I didn’t want you here in case this happened. It happened. Look at you.”

Any trace of grief or even embarrassment was suddenly gone from Adam’s eyes. He was the magician again, making bargains with Ronan’s dreams without ever feeling a thing. “Asshole.” His mouth twitched. “This wasn’t my fault.” Ronan knew it wasn’t Adam’s fault. Of course it wasn’t Adam’s fault. Adam wasn’t the one who had made Ronan watch him die, slowly and painfully.

But he still couldn’t breathe right as long as Adam was standing there staring at him, and by now, the bloodstains were sinking into the carpet. The chapel was starting to feel less like a house of worship and more like a place where demons were made. “Just go,” he said in a voice too low, too rough, not to mean the opposite. “Get the hell away from me.” He stared up at Adam, and Adam stared back, and he knew they both could feel the echoes of a thousand past fights, a thousand times where neither had backed down.

“I’ll ask one more time.” There was steel in Adam’s voice. Ronan knew, instinctively, that they would never mention this again. There was a part of him that wished they could. “What now?”

But another, stronger part needed to watch it all burn, if only for a moment. Ronan wished desperately that he could shove it down, but it set his jaw and drew his face into a scowl before he could stop himself. “Bye. That’s what.”

He was an idiot who deserved whatever came to him.

“Whatever.” Adam stepped around dream-Ronan on his way out. Ronan couldn’t tell if he imagined the way Adam’s expression faltered when he looked down or not. “Next time you can die alone.” His footsteps faded up the stairs to his apartment. Much later, so late it would almost be early, Ronan knew those same stairs would echo with Adam’s panicked shout as he woke from seeing Ronan’s glassy eyes over and over again. He knew he would do the same.

He knew he’d hide a worn-out gray t-shirt underneath his bed.

He finally screamed. It echoed off the chapel ceiling, past the altar, back to the stairs where Adam and his cheekbones had just left, until Ronan couldn’t tell if the sound had come from himself or the pale dream-Ronan still lying in a pool of his own blood.

“What’s happening?” Adam’s shaky voice, scared because of him. “Ronan, oh god.”

Ronan fell into the pew and buried his head in his hands.

[you-cant-spell-subtext-without]

Sigh. It’s quiet today, so I guess it’s about time to talk about 12x06: Celebrating the Life of Asa Fox.  

This is an episode without Cas, so clearly it revolves entirely around Cas (I'm kidding, but only a little bit).  It’s also a bottle episode and a meta writer’s wet dream, so excuse me while I nerd out - this is a long one to unpack, and I have spent too much time doing it for you.  That’s ok because, as Sam says:

DIVE IN AFTER THE CUT BUDDIES!

The Asa montage is where we start.

Asa is a Dean mirror. The parallels are pretty clear - he’s a scruffy rough around the edges hunter, Mary is the reason he got into hunting, he wears a ton of flannel, etc.  If you remain unsure, the writers throw this in at the very beginning in the montage of Asa’s life as a hunter So That You Know:

Bucky: Hey, you know they make new cars, right? Asa: I don’t want a new car. This is my lucky car. 

***Canadian!Dean confirmed.

Shaine Jones may also be the Canadian Jensen Ackles.

I don’t make the rules ok?

Back in the US, the boys surprise Jody with a visit. 

In case you forgot the episode prior to this one:

Side note: domestic Jody gives me life. 

We’re clearly supposed to see how Jody is a mom figure for the boys, and it feels nice for them to have that, especially since Mary is Taking Some Space.  Their entire dynamic warms even my cold black soul.

[romantic scene of a couple silhouetted against a sunset while sweeping music plays on Jody’s TV. The couple kisses.] 

DEAN

[his mouth full of pizza] Jody, you watching some kind of chick flick here?

JODY

Well, Dean. I’m a chick. 

Kim Rhodes YOU ARE A DELIGHT.  A side note - I know this exchange is supposed to be funny, but I feel sad for Dean (who clearly is a rom com chick).  This is a perfect example of Dean struggling to present some fabricated image of heteronormative masculinity that’s not the heart of who he actually is.  His surprise that a “badass sheriff chick” can also enjoy rom coms makes me fucking upset.  

ALSO:

Anyway, Asa has passed on and the boys tag along with Jody to the wake in support.  

SAM

Yeah, no, Jody. We… we know you’ll be fine, but… you know, we never go to hunter gatherings, outside of bars. Dad always said they were trouble, so…

DEAN

Yes, you’d be doing us a favor if you let us tag along.

***more receipts that John Winchester was an isolating abuser.  They could have at least had a normal HUNTER life and friends who hunted.

SAM  

That is a big house. [Music continues playing, coming from inside the house now]

***We now establish one “theme” of the episode.

JODY

Family home. Asa was just a guy. 

AKA pretty brutal implication that Asa didn’t have a family of his own.

Speaking of implications:

[Jody removes her coat and the three of them begin mingling. Dean finds his way to the kitchen and a cooler full of beer] DEAN

No label. Well, that’s a red flag. 

****LOL WHAT THE FUCK IS THE REASON****

....

....

....

GIRL SEND HELP

Enter Bucky, who is actually (SPOILER!) the villain of the episode.

Do all hunters just walk around with this manly flannel/weird symbolic necklace combo?  Looking at you Bucky and Dean.  

Dean is surprised to find that people know who he is:

But doesn’t seem to have an issue with it until -

***Someone who just bragged the entire five hour car ride about killing Hitler shouldn’t be this concerned about what people are saying about him right? 

Or is he thinking it may involve something he isn’t comfortable sharing - since apparently there are things Dean doesn’t feel comfortable sharing as established by the prior couch conversation with Jody?  Hmmmmmm...

***Compare the expressions.  The “you’ve died four times” response is the same as the smug/proud “I killed Hitler” face.  The reaction to the “stories” is the “hey this is my personal business” reaction Dean had to Sam’s Japanese erotica art form comment. He is thinking specifically about something personal.

I wonder what it could be.

I don’t think any one had to teach Max Banes the art of seduction, but also thank you.

Also, manifesting Dean being raised by Max and Alicia’s Cool Witch Mom instead of John Trash Winchester.  Because that’s what we’re supposed to think here, correct?  Two sibling hunters usually present a brother mirror.

Worth noting Sam’s surprise that witches can also be hunters.  The John Winchester Bigotry Brain Rot runs deep.  (GOD the Sam-witch thing would have driven him crazy I LIVE FOR THAT).

Dean escapes to Asa’s office/room and proceeds to go through his things.

[Dean is in Asa’s office and finds an angel blade mounted on blue velvet inside an ornate glass-lidded box. He opens it, reaches in and pulls out the angel blade, comfortably spinning it in his hand when Sam walks in.]

SAM

Hey.

DEAN

Oh, hi. This is a real Angel Blade. I mean, this guy was legit. 

***that’s weird, why does Canadian!Dean have an angel blade?  We haven’t heard anything about angels yet, and it wasn’t in the opening montage.  Hmmmmmm, I say. Hmmmmmmm...

***Sam is also concerned about The Stories They Tell 

This one particularly:

Honestly I don’t know why he’s THAT surprised that people know he was possessed by Lucifer?  Didn’t he start like multiple apocalypses?  That’s something people tend to be in the know about. Anyhoo.

DEAN

Yeah. Apparently we’re a little bit legendary. 

SAM 

Yeah, but, I mean, so was Asa. Then a hunt went bad, and he ended up hanging from a tree, alone in the woods.

DEAN

He died on the job. No better way to go. 

SAM

You really believe that? 

DEAN

Yeah. What, you don’t? I mean, come on, Sam, it's not like we're in the “live till you're 90, die in your sleep” business. This? [Dean points at Asa’s hunting wall] This only ends one way. 

***Insert deep internal screaming about 15x20 here***

It’s Jody’s turn to be uncomfortable as we find out she and Asa were more than just friends and everyone knew it and Said Things About It and Told Stories About It.

HMMMMMMM...

Dean is surprised that Jody not only enjoys rom coms, but ruggedly hot men. Another thing they have in common.

As Dean comes to terms with the idea that Jody can be a mother figure and also a human person with a life and her own feelings and needs and thoughts, enter the person whom said lesson is actually about:

This is a Kim Rhodes Facial Expression stan account now.

So cute how Jody knows immediately that Dean is not okay.  Time to reach:

JODY

Huh. Is that why you spent the entire ride up here telling me in extreme, excruciating detail how you killed Hitler, but, uh, you neglected to mention the fact that your mom is back from the dead? 

***look, it’s another Dean doesn’t like others knowing personal information parallel!***

DEAN 

Yeah, no big deal. 

JODY

That’s a lie.

DEAN

JODY …

JODY

Look, maybe this isn't my place, and this is epic stuff, but

JODY

Yeah. Because what if I’ve changed. What if they changed? What if it just didn’t work out the way I wanted?  If you wanna talk about anything

***Killing Hitler used yet again to show Dean doesn’t care about oversharing hunting stories, but he doesn’t like for people to know personal ones.  Also, Jody mentions her son and her husband.  Her family and her romantic partner.  

Dean wasn’t just reunited with Mary this season. He was also reunited with Cas, after saying goodbye to him at the end of Season 11 when he headed to what he thought was going to be his death as the Amara-bomb.

So, this conversation isn't just about Mary (the “anything”).  It’s also about Cas (the”...absolutely anything”).

Mary chats with Mama Fox and more Points Are Made about hunters not getting to have a “normal life” or family:

MARY

I saved his life. 

LORRAINE

[scoffing] What am I supposed to say to that? After you, Asa got so… Hunting was his whole life. He never married. Never had a family, kids. And now… enjoy the wake. 

***sending Mary on a guilt spiral about Asa (mirroring her other guilt spiral about hunting as a life for her own sons)

Speaking of mirrors:

BUCKY

And Asa loved that Jeep. Fuses were shorted, fuel line was busted. Ah, he didn’t care. He’d just roll up his sleeves, he’d get right to work. 

Time to learn about today’s Big Bad.

BUCKY

Jael. He’s a crossroads demon. And he hangs people. It’s his thing. Snaps their neck, slits their throat. He’s a real piece of work. 

***Wait a second.  Jael is a demon?  Don’t...angel’s names usually end in “el” in SPNverse?

Samandriel.

Uriel.

Gabriel.

Raphael.

Gadreel.

Castiel.

HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM.

Anyways the demon [questionable] killed Asa and now everyone  is trapped and also In Grave Danger.  

BUCKY

Exactly. Right, so five years later, Jael– he came back, and he came for Asa. 

JODY

How so? 

BUCKY

Asa was seeing this woman, right? She had a kid. 

LORRAINE

Marlene. 

BUCKY

Yeah, Marlene. Jael got into her. It didn’t matter that he was killing people, he wanted Asa to know it was personal. He gets off on it. 

***that’s so weird, didn’t someone else in the show start seeing a woman with a kid - 

what a sexy little coincidence.

oh and didnt  a supernatural being come back right around that time too - 

HMMMMMMMM.  No killing though.  That’s the difference between angels and demons, I guess.

(meanwhile Dean has been drinking alone outside - as he does, and is realizing he can’t get back in)

HI QUEEN

Also, this immediately took me to 

this show isn’t fair.

****sob break****

Jael Posession 1:

So curious how there are two siblings and then one gets possessed by something Satanic and the other one is good at seducing men.

SO FUCKING CURIOUS.

Jael Possession 2:

Elvis. Random.  Though he was the guy who brought up the Stories Sam Was Surprised Were Circulating -

He was also oddly interested in it.  Methinks Elvis thoroughly enjoyed the Jael possession.

Bilie gets Dean back in the house.  The words “one-time deal” are said a lot of times.

BONUS: Jensen why are you so pretty:

The hunters get to work, and I live for Max Bane’s pentagram aesthetic.

MAX

I like a Fifth Pentacle of Mars. It’s got more character. 

***TBH, same.

Jael possession 3:

****Kim Rhodes is even better when she is playing evil.

JODY/JAEL:

I had so hoped you’d kill your mom. Wouldn’t that be a riot? 

[Mary draws the angel blade and charges at Jody. She cuts Jody’s arm before Sam wrestles her away.] 

SAM

No! Mom!

MARY

What are you doing?! She’s a demon. We kill demons. 

******WOOF MARY - I REPEAT TO YOU THAT THE JOHN TRASH WINCHESTER BRAIN ROT RUNS DEEP.

Also did you immediately flash back to this with me?

Gets me thinking that Dean’s feelings for Cas are made twice as complicated by the fact that he is also a supernatural creature.  Another Reason Why John Winchester Would Disapprove.

****Just as he would Disapprove of Sam Being Possessed By the Devil and all that (never forget he told Dean to kill him because of the whole made unclean by demon blood thing). 

Right on cue:

JODY/JAEL

Oh, I have heard so many stories about you Winchesters. And I desperately want the Lucifer thing to be true.  

***Stories again. Jael proceeds to go into Stories That Are Dark Personal Shameful Secrets:

JAEL

As for the rest of you, I have been inside your heads. I know all about you. For example, the twins. Too frightened to tell anyone that they actually came to say goodbye to their daddy. Or the grieving mother who hated the fact that her son was a hunter so much she’d hide his gear, she’d sabotage his Jeep, anything to keep him from hunting. Not that it worked. Could’ve tried harder, huh? 

[She gestures at her own face] And this meatsuit you all seem to care so much about. She actually fantasized about a life with Asa. Can you believe that? Like that worthless man– 

***HMMMMMMMMM

[Bucky gets off the floor and sneaks up behind Jody/Jael] 

BUCKY 

Shut your filthy mouth. 

[Jody/Jael grabs Bucky by the neck and forces him to his knees] 

JODY/JAEL

And you. Bucky. Brave, brave Bucky. I was there that night. Tell these nice, stupid people what you did. Tell them what you took from me. Asa was mine. 

***Excuse me? THIS IS GETTING VERY...subtextual.  A dark timeline supernatural being/hunter relationship [ending badly because demons only know how to take, consume and possess]? ...Asael?  CURIOUS. 

They chant the exorcism, a different hunter doing each iteration (beautifully done) 

and send Jael back to hell, but not before Bucky shares his Shameful Story - he’s the one who killed Asa.

Elaboration:

BUCKY

Asa, he was just all– he was just always so stubborn. Look, we were in the woods. [We see the scene play out as Bucky describes it] Jael, he… he was taunting him. Asa wanted to chase him, but he didn’t have the angel blade. I said, “Let’s go back.” He called me a coward, and he shoved me, so I shoved him back, and he fell. He hit his head. Asa? I didn’t mean to do it. But it was a mistake. Asa. Asa? An accident. I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do. Asa hated that damn demon so much that I just…

DEAN

Oh, you thought people would buy that Jael killed him? So you hung your best friend to cover your own ass. 

BUCKY

What are you gonna do to me? 

ALICIA:

Tell everyone, every hunter we meet. They’re gonna know your name, Bucky. Know what you did. 

MAX

You like stories. This is the story everyone’s gonna tell about you. Forever. 

***Shameful Stories that Define You, what a theme.  Also, definitely a supernatural being potentially having some subtextual feelings for Canadian!Dean.  Hmmm.

***Funeral pyre and side discussion about how Asa did have a family, and children, and a potential supernatural sidepiece.

In conclusion, Supernatural is a love story.  Thank you for watching this dark timeline/Canadian dub.  You’re dismissed for the day.  Go eat bacon.

[yandere-tech]

Comfort (Jin Bubaigawara X Reader)

Being alone with your thoughts was possibly the worst thing you could be doing right now. Sitting in the darkness of your room, cheeks stained with tears and eyes red, you tried to get rid of the overbearing sensation of...guilt, sadness, loneliness. It all seemed to swirl around in your brain like an angry swarm of wasps, ready to attack with each second you weren't distracted. Having thrown on some feel good music on low, trying to read something that would bring back that smile. When was the last time you smiled? You were sure it was over something stupid like a tiktok video or short clip about a cat. A quick, small laugh and half smile that would dissolve the moment the video was done. The more you thought about it- when was the last time you were happy...?        A shudder of a cry escapes past your lips as you try to keep quiet- knowing the walls of apartment complex were thin as paper- and it was one in the morning. You didn't need to wake up anyone- you certainly didn't need to accidentally wake your boyfriend either. As much as you'd love to cry and cling to him, he had it far worse and you knew it. Constantly battling himself- much like you did. But you knew how to silence your pain, you were his 'home' and, honestly, he was yours. Despite trying to hide these feelings behind dark humor or a half assed smile, he somehow managed to make things better. His ability to somehow deal with everything and still be the most kindest and most loyal man you had ever met.         Your hand had slipped over your mouth as a hiccup and slight whimper manages to slip out. Nothing was helping this time and it felt like the world was slowly closing in on you. Your tears come back full force as the thoughts take off with you again, reminding you of how worthless you were- how lonely you were- how you weren't worth the life you were given. It bombarded you to the point you were doubled over, hand now firmly pressed to your lips to keep from crying out or sobbing, your other hand shakily gripping your hair. The feelings would be gone by morning...You'd fall asleep and you'd wake up feeling numb once again. But right now- in the late hours of the night when sleep wouldn't drag you in, when the darkness swallowed you whole- it felt never-ending.        And that's when you heard his voice, gruff from sleep and concerned. Just the way Jin said your name made the darkness reel back just enough as you quickly look toward the other side of the bed, where the blonde had shifted slightly, propping himself up on his elbows, blinking in the low light of your computer glow. Quickly closing the laptop, you wipe at your eyes and try to find a way to make your voice sound normal.        "Sorry, Jin. I didn't mean to wake you." You tell him as you slide your laptop to the side of the bedside table and slowly curl up under the blankets with him. The moment your body is under, he sinks down as well, an arm snaking around your waist to pull you closer.        "Are you alright...?" "We need our beauty sleep, babe." He says before grumbling and opening his eyes once more to look at you in the dark. A small hum escapes you as you run a hand through his hair.        "Just fine." You lie easily. However, you soon feel his hand on your cheek as he strokes his thumb in small circles.        "Then why is your cheek still wet?" "Lying to me- I'm hurt!" He shakes his head a bit, making you tense slightly.        "It's nothing, Jin, really. I just get sappy and over emotional at night." You tell him, taking his hand off your cheek.        "Mnn...You seriously suck at lying..." Jin yawns as he sits up again, pulling you up and into his lap. "Now let's try that again... Why were you crying?" The male asks, resting his chin on the top of your head, his arms wrapped around you in a comforting way.        There was a long pause as you try to think of if you should tell him or not. Unconsciously, you begin to bite and chew on your lip. You wanted to tell him, you really did. But the thought of being so vulnerable- the thought of letting him see the real you, the broken, the damaged, the pieces of you that wanted nothing more than a short drop and sudden stop. Certainly he'd understand better than anyone else! He had too! But- he had so much to deal with already- adding onto that- you didn't want to burden him- or scare him off. You were his rock after all- and if that rock started to slide- who would catch both of you?        As thoughts begin to start up again, Jin gently nuzzles his face into your neck, making you tense slightly.        "Calm down, your heart rate is astronomical." He mutters against your neck, only really making it skyrocket further. "Hah, look at that, I still have the power to distract you." His other personality chuckles, making you huff lightly and look away. "Come on, just tell me what's up... I always open up to you. I always come to you for help when I start to feel down, like I'm splitting- you're my comfort. So- let me do the same for you." Jin says, now messing with your hair. "I'll do my best to help-" "Or at least help in distracting you and making you smile!"        Giving a small sigh, you glance at the male out the corner of your eyes before looking down.        "Okay- but- please- don't hate me." You say, making the blonde pull away briefly to look down at you, confused.        "I couldn't hate you even if I wanted too." "Except when you eat my leftovers! I still haven't forgiven you for the deep fried cheesecake last week!" At this, you can't help but give a short, small laugh as you lean back into his chest.        "Well...I've struggled with really bad depression my whole life." You finally admit, closing your eyes, almost as if afraid to see his expression. "I've been able to bury it around others pretty damn good though. I can easily be around the League or Giran and you- but the moment I have to deal with myself on my own- I dig myself into a deep hole." Feeling Jin's arm move from your waist to lightly tracing your jawline with a finger, you relax a bit more. His touches really were such a nice thing. Gentle and slow. "Most days I just feel nothing. Like- like going through the day is just another task I have to complete. Other days, like tonight- I end up feeling everything at once. There's no stop to it, really." You feel tears slowly stirring up again as you continue. "People half my age have done so much more than me, I feel like, at my age, I should have done something- anything! Yet, I can't find a job, my best friend, only friend and boyfriend are all the same person, I only talk to the League- I don't have friends. And-and." You hiccup as you curl up in his lap, a hand gripping his wrist as you pull it to you in a comforting manner- much like one might a pillow to hold. "I feel like such a disappointment, a failure. Like my life isn't even worth it." Turning to have your face against his chest, you bury your face there and try to stop the flow of tears. "You have to do everything for us- I'm useless- I don't- understand why you'd want someone like me. All I am is a huge headache and mess of a person. I have nothing going for me- so why? Why keep going?" By now, you were sobbing between words and trying to stop the shaking that rocked your body like a chihuahua.        Jin was silent for a moment or two- a real concern, as he was almost never quiet. It seriously made you feel like your heart was in a vice grip- maybe you shouldn't had said anything. You start to pull away, looking up at Jin, who had tears in his own eyes as he held you tighter.        "I'm sorry- that you felt you couldn't talk to me about this." He says, pressing a few kisses to your forehead, he hugs you as if he could lose you the moment he lets go. "I know how it can be- the loneliness- the fear....I know how it feels." Jin's voice wavered, as if he was keeping himself from sobbing on you as well. "But you're my heart. I can't live without you, doll." He states, his breathing hitched slightly. "We're both pretty fucked up, huh?" A weak laugh escapes the male as he nuzzles his face into you again. "Please, if you're going to help me- let me help you too. When you feel like this, I want to be there to cry with you." "And trust me, I can cry a LOT." This earns a small laugh from you as he smiles down at you in the dark, wiping at your tears. "I'm sorry you feel like that. But I want you to know that I love you, alright?" "Like- a lot. It's unhealthy. I think I might be love sick~" He says, gently clutching his head and hissing. "Shuddup." He mutters before sighing lightly. "I'm here for you, okay? And all these thoughts you have? They're just thoughts. We can get rid of them- like fighting off heroes! They may be strong, but we can overcome them!" "Through love and friendship!" Jin gives you a bright smile. "And you'll always have me! Sorry, you already threw out the receipt , no returns." He then gives you a few little chaste kisses, earning one of those laughs you know he adored so much.        A small smile pulls onto your lips as you look up into those grey-blue eyes of his. Maybe this was a good thing for you- for both of you. Opening up to him was relieving and he seemed all too happy to hear you out. Jin had a way with words- even when he didn't mean too. It really did brighten the rather deep and unending tunnel. You knew the feelings wouldn't just vanish...But at least with Jin, there was someone to help you battle off these demons with. The way ahead would be heavily loaded with trials- but maybe just having someone there for you- at your side- would be the saving grace to keep you from diving into a permanent solution to this feeling.        "Okay, okay." You sniffle lightly before leaning up and kissing his lips lightly. "I'll try and come to you when I'm like this from now on." You assure him before he gives you a rather excited smile.        "I'm gonna be such a good supportive man." He says, pulling you back onto the bed with him, with you resting on his chest. "We're both pretty crazy, huh? Like we cancel out each other's weirdness." He teases as you get comfortable.        "Cancel out is a strong way to put it." You hum as you look up at him, his hand gently stroking your hair.        "Fine, fine- we help each other out mutually now." Jin chuckles, the rumble in his chest sending such a small signal of happiness to your brain that you finally feel a slight genuine smile. He was such a good man- How you were so lucky to have him, you didn't know.        "So- how about some depression sex~?" His other personality asks, making Jin smack a hand to his forehead. "I-Ignore that." He mutters, shaking his head. "This is seriously not the time for that." He says, lightly smacking himself a few times in the head. You grab his hand and gently pull it down, placing a kiss on his palm.        "Mnn, maybe it would help distract us though." You tease before giggling as he get's all flustered.

[siriuslydivine]

Last night as I was laying in bed, I began thinking about my recent ex. I do this often. It’s like I have no control over it. But last night was different than usual. Usually, I would sit awake reflecting back on the good times we shared and getting upset that it ended. But last night, my brain combined with Mercury Retrograde, decided to do the opposite. I began reflecting on all the pain and suffering I endured since the very beginning of the relationship. What’s even stranger is that of the “good times” that we shared, there have always been major red flags and issues. With exception for the first year of dating (and even some of that time was bad), the rest of the six and a half years was spent feeling miserable. He hurt me so often. I don’t know why I never realized how badly he was hurting me. I guess, I wanted it to last so badly simply because of his looks. I was very physically attracted to him. I’ve never been more attracted to anyone ever.

So, what was so bad about my relationship? Well, for starters, he was never mine. He never once committed himself to me. A part of me knew he would be like that when I first met him and found out he not only had a girlfriend but was also living with her. If that was the case, then why was he out late at night with me? Then it hit me, history had repeated itself. I had become his last ex. I became “the roommate”. Here I have been believing all along that he was this great guy and he changed but he has been the same guy since day 1. We used to fight, and he would always say that I changed but he has been the same guy that he was. I always argued that wasn’t’ true and that he did change. I certainly did change. I am not denying that. I changed for the better. But he was right. He didn’t change. He was literally the same horrible, untrustworthy, and arrogant asshole that he was when I first met him. Why has it taken me this long to come to this realization? Better yet, why did I waste all those years with a person who lacked the ability to make me happy? Why did I stay so long and suffer?

There is a repeated cycle that has happened where I refuse to see the bad in someone and literally turn a blind eye to all the terrible things that they repeatedly do to me without any sense of remorse, guilt, or shame. The last time this occurred was with my ex best friend. She was always a horrible “friend” to me. She used me and competed with me. She stole my boyfriends and excluded me from parties. She was a narcissist. She was never trustworthy. And even though my mother tried to warn me about her, I wouldn’t hear it. It took something major happening for me to finally see her true colors. I was dating a demon who was the most horrific and mentally abusive person I have ever encountered in my life. I call him “Satan”. I dated Satan for 3 years. By the third year, I finally found the strength and courage to leave him. My so-called best friend and I had reconnected after a few years of not speaking. I would confide in her by telling her all about my abuse only to find out that Satan had reached out to her, and they had begun hanging out and trashing me together behind my back. I cut her off from that moment forward and I have not once looked back. I don’t miss her at all. And she was my ride or die for 14 years!

I came to realize that she had in fact done me a huge favor. Sure, I lost what I believed was a “best friend”, but she took Satan’s attention off me. He stopped harassing and stalking me once he had her. That allowed me to escape and start healing. One Narcissist connecting with another, only to realize they are both the same and cannot get their narcissistic fill from one another, therefore they had to end their little fling and look for a tasty empathetic meal elsewhere. This same story rings true with my recent ex who has an evil sister who is one of the biggest narcissists I have ever met in my entire life. She sits second to Satan. I hate to admit this, but I do believe now that she was sent to destroy our relationship because he and I were never meant to be. She did me a favor. My ex was already a narcissist, and a narcissist can’t feed off another narcissist, so they both need to cheat and lie to people to get their narcissist supply from unsuspecting kindhearted people. I made it very difficult for them to feed off me. I was aware of their narcissistic ways. After all, I had already lived through dating the biggest one ever being Satan. I knew how to protect myself. They did not like that about me, her especially.

For six and a half years, I really believed that I had a great guy in my life. I really believed that he was “the one”. I don’t completely understand why I would think that. When I try to remember all the good times we shared, and then cross reference all the bad times we shared, the bad completely overshadow the handful of good times. He was never faithful to me. He was never honest with me. He never did anything for me on our anniversaries, holidays or even my birthday. He would always vanish and not answer his phone for hours. He would always have me paying for every single vacation, trip we took or concert we attended. He would flirt with girls right in front of me everywhere we went. He stopped attending my family gatherings with me and would always be “working”. He started repeatedly “staying at work” until late at night. He stopped texting or calling me unless it was to attack me for something. He stopped answering his phone anytime I would call or text (even if it were an emergency). He stopped kissing me or even hugging me. He stopped asking me for things and would instead demand things. He would talk down to me and call me terrible names. He would even do this in front of other people. He made me cry more than I had ever cried in my entire life. He would secretly talk to all his exes and then leave pictures of them out that I would find. He stopped sleeping in bed with me. We stopped having sex. We stopped talking. We stopped eating dinner together. We stopped going out together. This relationship was over many years prior before things had even reached this point. I just wish I wouldn’t have ignored all the red flags when I did. Regardless, I am finally relieved that I have successfully cut the trauma bond cord and can begin healing and moving on with my life.

In close, I have been so focused on being angry at him and his sister and blaming them for robbing me of years of my life and almost all my personal belongings, when, it was me all along who caused this. I need to take accountability for my actions (or lack thereof) in this situation. I allowed him to diminish my sense of self-worth. I made excuses for all the mental anguish he inflicted upon me. I accepted the abuse. I rarely ever spoke out against how he was treating me. Towards the end I did, but by that point it was already too little too late. I played dumb when I shouldn’t have. I was weak and both him and his sister knew this. I became his doormat and I laid there all those years knowing I was being taken for granted and was not truly loved or appreciated. I can finally accept and see that at the end of the day, I have only myself to blame. I strongly believe that was the lesson to be learned here.

[favefandomimagines]

Queen of Mean 2 (p.p.)

Summary: it takes some wise words to make you realize that maybe Peter is the only person who can fix you.

AN: HERE IT IS!! part 2!!! the fact that people even wanted a part 2 has me over the moon and makes me v happy! so please enjoy and hopefully i met the expectations!!! v long and v angsty but tbh with me social distancing, i’m always angsty. 

I also made MJ super understanding because girl power is important and i feel like she’s not the type of girl to be all ‘i hate you, you stole my boyfriend.’ When she sees two people are meant to be she won’t stand in the way of that.

It had been a few weeks since what happened between you and Peter on the roof top. You made good on your promise and stayed out of his way and left him alone.

But you stopped going to school. You were spiraling down a dark hole and you weren’t sure if you could crawl out of it. After all, you dug it yourself.

Your friends noticed and sent numerous texts and phone calls, asking where you were. It wasn’t like you to skip school. But you didn’t want to go and have to face Peter and MJ.

You sat at home in your apartment, using your powers for small minuscule things, like you and Wanda used to do when you were on lockdown at the Avenger’s facility.

Peter immediately noticed your absence at school. Ned would be talking about the newest Star Wars lego set he got, while Peter was waiting for you to show up at your locker. But you never did.

Or when he’d be at lunch with MJ and Ned and he would be staring at your lunch table but you never showed up.

MJ could tell something was wrong with him and decided to ask him about it. It wasn’t like her to be subtle.

“What’s going on with you?” She asked him. “W-What do you mean?” He stammered. “You’ve been acting weird for weeks. Staring at nothing like you’re waiting for-“ MJ started before dropping herself.

As she was speaking, her brain connected the dots. Peter was waiting for you. “It’s about Y/N isn’t it? You’re waiting for her to show up?” She questioned.

Peter and Ned shared a look before Ned got up from the table to let the couple talk.

“Y/N, isn’t doing so great. We, uh, had a run in a few weeks ago and she wasn’t herself. Somethings wrong with her.” Peter explained. “What do you mean?” MJ further pushed.

Peter knew he had to tell MJ why you weren’t around anymore. Why you all of a sudden changed your entire personality in a blink of an eye. He had to tell her it was because of him.

The story he told MJ about your breakup was that the two of you drifted apart. Losing Tony was too much for him and you were battling your own demons. Peter never told MJ you broke up because of her.

MJ was a feminist and knew that no girl should question her self worth because her boyfriend broke up with her for another girl. A mind set like that wasn’t healthy for a teenage girl.

“When Y/N and I broke up, it wasn’t because we drifted apart. It was because of you. I broke up with her because I had feelings for you. Then she changed. She became mean and cruel and she started to mess up my patrolling just to get to me. That night on the roof, something snapped. And I think it was because of me.” Peter explained.

MJ looked at the boy and everything became clear to her. He used had. Past tense. Which meant he realized he made a mistake picking her.

“And it is because of you. Peter, a teenage girl’s mind can be fragile enough as it is, let alone a girl who has mutated powers. Powers she got from being kidnapped and powers she got before she watched her older brother die in front of her. You should know better than anyone how sensitive Y/N. I mean, do you know how many times she didn’t want to hang out with me because of how often she thought of her brother?” MJ replied.

The truth was, Peter didn’t know. He didn’t think anything of it when you said you weren’t feeling well and couldn’t hang out. He didn’t even see the signs of how close you were to losing it.

“You were the straw that broke the camel’s back. She had every reason to not keep it together but she had you. Until you broke up with her.” MJ added. “And I know you want to get back together with her. And it’s okay. I get it. The two of you were epic and I can’t think of two people who are more meant to be than you and Y/N.” She finished.

“You’re not mad?” Peter asked. “I’m mad that you couldn’t see how much she was hurting. She was there for you after Tony Stark died and every day after that. He was like a father to her just as much as he was to you. Did you ask her how she was doing?” MJ answered.

Peter sat there, swearing that he’s asked you how you’ve been after losing Tony. But he came up short. Realizing that he never asked you how you were doing.

“The fact that you can’t answer that means you’re a big reason as to why she’s not herself.” MJ told him. “I’m a terrible person.” Peter muttered. “That’s the thing, Peter. You’re not a terrible person. Sometimes you just lose track.” She told him.

“Y/N is never going to speak to me again. I’ve tried calling, she sends me to voicemail. Said she doesn’t deserve to be forgiven.” Peter said.

MJ saw the guilt and sadness in his face and realized that she had to be the one to talk to you. You were close friends before everything went downhill and she owed you that much.

—

You were wrapped up in a blanket, sitting on your couch when there was a knock at your door.

With furrowed brows, you got up to answer. You didn’t know who would be knocking, aside from the landlord bringing you your mail.

You opened the door and your face fell at the sight of MJ standing there. “M-MJ, what are you doing here?” You asked.

“I came to talk to you.” She answered. You were hesitant for a moment but let her in anyways. “It’s about Peter.” She started. “Look, MJ,” You began before she stopped you.

“He’s miserable without you. He worries constantly and he told me everything. About the breakup and the night on the roof. He really is sorry.” She said. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I was awful.” You said. “You were grieving. Trying to adjust to a new normal without one of the most important people in your life. He understands.” MJ rebutted.

You sat down in defeat and ran your hands through your hair. “But he’s with you now.” You said. “He’s not. Not anymore. The two of you were each other’s epic love. Who am I to stand in the way of that?” MJ said. “But you must really like him.” You said quietly. “Maybe. But he would have never been all in with me because of how much he loves you. And he needs you, Y/N. I know you’re hurting. I’ve known for a while and Peter is so worried about helping total strangers, he lost sight of who was the most important; you.” MJ told you. 

“I know you think you don’t deserve to be forgiven but you do. You’ve been going through a lot and it’s okay to not be okay all the time.” She added. 

By that point of the conversation, you had silent tears streaming down your face. 

“I just don’t want him to throw me away again.” You said quietly. MJ really felt for you and of course she had no idea what you were going through but she knew you needed a friend. 

MJ hugged you tightly and you gladly hugged her back, really needing someone in that moment. “Peter loves you, Y/N. And he really wants you back.” She said to you. 

The two of you sat like that for a moment. The affection from someone who used to be your closest friend, helping you climb out of that hole. 

__

Peter was not having a good night. He had been bruised and beaten by numerous thieves and muggers and he was just off his game. Mainly because thinking about you threw him off. 

He rested up on a fire escape, at least fifteen stories high, when he felt the presence of someone next to him. 

“Hey, Parker.” You greeted. Peter saw you and his posture straightened and his mouth went slightly agape. “Y-Y/N, wha-why are you here?” He stammered. 

“I, uh, thought we should talk. About everything.” You answered. “I am so sorry. For everything. The way I broke up with you, being the reason you became so mean and not noticing just how much you were hurting all this time.” He told you quickly. “I should be the one apologizing. For being terrible to you at school and trying to make you fail at being Spider-Man. I just, I don’t know, I was hurt and angry and I didn’t know what to do or how to make it stop. So I thought, why stop?” You said. 

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Y/N. I was so caught up on my own stuff that I didn’t bother to ask how you were doing. I feel awful because you don’t do that to someone you love.” Peter said. 

You were fiddling with your fingers, thinking about what you should do. Do you go back to Peter and reopen those wounds and expose yourself to new ones? Or do you decide you needed to be alone? 

“I just, I can’t go through you leaving again. I lost so many people and I can’t lose you too. Not again.” You spoke. “I will never make that mistake again. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me and I can’t lose you.” He told you. 

“And believe me when I say I forgive you for what you did. I was the reason for it and you had every right to react the way you did.” He added. “I know. MJ talked to me today. That’s why I’m here.” You replied. “She did?” Peter questioned, shocked to hear his ex girlfriend went to talk to you. 

“I love you, Peter. I always have but when we were together, you’d be there physically but you were never all there. And I need you to be there.” You said. 

It was taking a lot for you to be so vulnerable and upfront about your feelings, especially when you were admitting you needed help. 

“I need your help, Peter because Wanda isn’t here and no one else knows what I’ve been going through like you do.” You added. 

Peter could see it was a big deal for you to admit what you were saying. You weren’t one to express how you felt, that being a factor in your mutated breakdown. 

He walked towards you and slowly reached for your hands, afraid you’d reject him just like that night on the roof. 

“I am not going anywhere. Not again.” He told you softly. “You’re officially stuck with me.” Peter added, causing you to smile softly. 

Peter smiled because you were smiling and that was something he hadn’t seen in so long. “What?” You questioned. “I haven’t seen you smile like that in a while. I missed it.” He explained. 

That caused your smile to grow before you leaned in a pressed a gentle kiss on Peter’s cheek. But before you could pull all the way back, Peter let go of your hands and cupped your face in his and kissed you deeply. 

You were taken aback by that action, kissing Peter something you learned to live without, but soon melted into it. It was a deep and passionate kiss but once you tasted blood, you pushed him away. 

Getting a good look at his face, you noticed the blood coming from his nose and the busted lip. “What the hell happened to you?” You asked. “It hasn’t been a good night.” Peter answered. 

You examined his face before making him lean against the fire escape railing before beginning to clean up his wounds. “Y/N, how have you been holding up? Tell me everything.” Peter asked. 

You smiled giddily before going into a long explanation of how you’ve really been doing. And the two of you stayed up all night, Peter just being there for you. 

Tag List: @tommysparker​ @eridanuswave @lets--be-honest @averyfosterthoughts @juliebean247​ @ixchel-9275​ @watson-emma​ @peterbparkerth​ @fckingchile​ 

[uhhhhyandere]

i’m alive. 

i really am lmao. just gone through a pretty bad mental state tho. i’m trying to write my way through it, and I figured I would share some! it got 10x worse now that I had to move back home from college bc of corona, so i’m going to probably be sporadically writing. 

stay healthy y’all! here’ the result of me playing my fifth time through three houses.

You read a poem once. Back in the day when there was enough time to indulge yourself in such frivolities, you used to read a lot of poems. In the fresh, clean winds that blew through the grassy field below the walls of Garreg Mach, you would situate yourself under the same oak tree. Sometimes it would be in the early mornings when the sky was just beginning to wake in a bask of pink, orange, and blue, but more often you would find yourself reading poems about the mortality and searing reality of war and tragic love affairs with only the light of the sun setting illuminating the print. Each work evocating a pain you should have expected before picking them off the shelf.

Perhaps you were always a stickler for things that hurt you. 

You don’t know why this particular poem was reiterating itself in your mind right now. It spoke of ice and fire, of death and desire, and of the world dying all in a mere nine lines.

No, you were lying to yourself. A little more than five years ago, this poem meant nothing to you. It did not wrench your gut like the epics of long-dead heroes and narratives of unrequited love did at the time. The short poem was something you read in a book of one-stanza poems you happened upon in the library before Tomas’s identity even came out. You remember not being able to discern a theme or meaning between the lines. There was no hidden text or interpretation to be done. What was there is what was there. 

Now, with blood staining the breeze and fire burning through the land under a black and red flag, you found the lines reciting in your head. The scorching heat of when Edelgard set fire to the center point of Gronder Field as you were in the midst of fighting on the very wood set aflame, the sickening burn of splattered blood on your cheeks of a slain enemy, an enemy you most likely once called friend, and the overwhelming intensity of the endless battles raging through Fodlan.  

Goddess, the smoke of the Empire permeated even the air around the monastery.

You exhaled, unable to shake the heavy feeling in your chest. Everyone was shaken from Gronder Field, even Felix, though he would never show or say so. Pointing your blade at the throat of Petra, locking eyes with Claude moments before he released an arrow in your direction (in all fairness, you believe he missed on purpose), they were images cemented in your brain. No prying, no treatment would dilute their intensity, especially as you slept, or tried to. The sun had long set over the mountain, and stars were beginning to peek out into the darkening sky. You huddled more into your cloak to hide from the icy breeze. 

Ice. 

Where fire burned, ice bit and nipped inside your bones. It left its own white heat in its wake. From the inside out, it crawled and it inched down your nerves, your muscles, your skin. The chill would reside over you for much longer. You looked up at the Goddess tower before you, impermeable in the night. Your heart wrenched. You’d been there on a night not so dissimilar to this one, mind the peace of the time and the ball music muffled by the walls. A happier time where you weren’t forced against old friends 0n the battlefield where you found yourself first connecting with the other houses. 

You winced, tears slipping from the squeeze of your eyes. Goddess, you wanted that again. You wanted him again.

But he was ice, a danger as much as the fire was to Fodlan at the moment. Creeping in your core, this was a chill that did not go away in any sauna or in any soup Dedue could stir up in the kitchen, but you did not want to get warm. The heat melts ice, after all, and this ice was so… thin. 

You wiped your stray tears. He could not see you cry, not without risking his temper. The boy from years ago, you knew how to do your best with him. He was much more amicable to your advances to help. 

With this man now, you toed a thin line. 

Fulfilling your promise from five years prior along with the rest of those your professor recruited, you did not expect the boy you fell in love with, the boy whose room you would tip-toe into in the dead of night, the boy you trained with and helped you become the fighter you were now,  and the boy who would sacrifice, by his word, everything for you to be the man you saw that day. Least of all did you expect those feelings or some semblance of them, to remain inside his shattered soul, but, along with himself, they festered into something twisted.

Or, perhaps this has been him the entire time, hidden under the persona of royal perfection if Felix’s continued abhorrence spoke to anything. This truth, however, bit back at you. Weren’t you supposed to be the one to see it? Weren’t you supposed to be that endless fountain of unadulterated support? Weren’t you supposed to know him? 

This guilt ate away at you. You could have done something. Goddess, anything, yet you missed it, and you stayed away for five years grieving over a man who lives, 0r, at the very least, survives. You had to make up for what you missed, both the time he was left alone here, and everything else under your gaze at the academy, 

No matter what it took.

You felt him before you saw him. Despite his seemingly inhuman strength, his footsteps were silent as they traversed across the empty monastery. The wind blowing through the cracks of the wall and ceiling covered up every noise. It almost felt like it was empty, if not for the hands gripping your hips and the heat on your back. 

“Dimitri,” you spoke. He was not the vocal boy he once was, the bundle of awkward phrases and misspoken sentences. Dimitri communicated in touch now, feel, because words outside of threats of death and useless soothings to the dead were not part of any love language. His hands, icy despite his body heat, traversed up your side. You did not jump or try to escape when he neared what you already knew he was looking for. Trying to escape anything he does only leads to more misery. “I tried to patch it up myself on the march back. Didn’t want to bother anyone.” You winced as his claw put mild pressure on the poor excuse of a bandage. 

His head wrapped around to observe your face, and you prayed you had hidden the evidence of your sorrow well enough. Unfortunately, his remaining eye was still as discerning. 

“Do you weep for them?”

“W-what?”

“Those fools. Those who would get in our way, are your tears for them?” Despite your fear, you knew Dimitri would not harm you. At least, not kill you, so you risked turning around, forcing his arms back to his side. 

“Dimitri…”

“They would stop me from ridding these ghosts, these demons, and yet you cry for their deaths? They are no longer your peers. Anyone who gets in our way is an enemy, no matter the past, and they hurt you. They hurt you, Y/N. I’ll crush anyone who dares touch what is mine.” 

“It’s just a scratch.” From saving your self-destructing ass from getting spliced by a lance. You decided to forego that part. “I should have had Manuela or Mercedes look at it before.”

“No.” Abruptly, he turned his back, the fur of his cape hitting you in the process. His large, hulking form retreated into the chapel. You followed wordlessly. “Sit.” Again, you complied. He pulled from beneath the nearby pew a small box of medical supplies. “No one touches you but me. Strip.”

“It’s cold.” 

“Strip.” In the breeze, you lifted your shirt off. His hands were long passed the point of calloused. Under the gloves, his skin was rough as he cleaned the dried blood from your skin and continued to address the wound. The finished product wasn’t nearly as well done as if your priests had done it, but it would do. “No one touches you but me.” 

“Okay.” Dimitri stood and made his way to his regular spot. Murmurs started not so long after. At his side, you would stand. Then, by his legs, you would sit. Finally, at his feet, you would lie. The rubble digging into your back and Dimitri’s growls of promised vengeance to the dead lulled you into the same restless sleep as always.

[darkpoisonouslove]

“How Can Light Be So Hard to See?”

Summary: It’s been seventeen years and Griffin has finally seen the light she was looking for inside herself when she left Valtor. Can she find her way to him and leading their love out of the black void it’s trapped in before it has surrendered its last breath to the indifferent cold of the universe? Sequel to "How Can Darkness Burn So Brightly?" but can be read on its own.

I had an idea and then managed to tie it in with "How Can Darkness Burn So Brightly?" so we got this sequel. Hope you like it!

Love can flow, like a river of light to touch the darkness of a soul and not burn into it a day when the cover of night was always a temple for magic, always a temple for love

"What are you doing?" Valtor's voice snapped her concentration in half and let the spell fall through the cracks just like its effect slipped through her fingers. The energy was still there, though, flowing around, confused without the direction of the words, longing. It was the perfect reflection of him as he stood in her cell like his magic had whisked him away from his previous location without his permission, yet he only had eyes for her instead of looking at its betrayal.

"If you're here, you know what I'm doing," she let her fingers relax at her sides and stop curling with the need to grab at him. She didn't even need to raise her hands to brush them against the tangibility of the feelings floating all around them as they were shed from the blue of his eyes like the tears she hadn't gotten to see after she'd left him. Her magic had fulfilled its purpose and led him to her finally powered by the right emotion.

He had felt it. He had felt all the threads made palpable by his heart in the bed of the spell. They bound them together like strings of fate but were far more powerful as it had been fate exactly that'd been trying to sever them. Every step of the way the universe had thrown blades of pain and shards of broken memories at them to cut them from the cocoon they'd spun together for themselves. It had carved her out amidst her metamorphosis to leave her half wings, half centipede and force on him the outside cold but their silk was still around them waiting to be pieced together in a protective veil fire couldn't burn and light couldn't come through.

Valtor shook his head. "You can't do this. You shouldn't be able to." His eyes traced over her like he couldn't find the light spilling from her anymore despite the nature of the spell and the light magic giving it its power. "You're a witch through and through."

A witch she was. But not the darkness the Ancestrals had taught him to associate with the word.

"I am your witch," Griffin let the devotion glide over the feelings the spell had brought out and fall directly in his heart to bring him to the bridge standing between the two of them and let him cross it at his will. If he could find it in himself to trust what waited on the other side was better than the quicksand behind his back.

Valtor's gaze stopped its frantic racing now that there was solid ground under his feet and he reached for the monad symbol still hanging from her neck where it'd belonged ever since he'd given it to her. He brushed his fingers against it tentatively as if not quite able to believe the sight of it, as if he'd only now noticed the golden gleam coming from the gift nestled so close to her heart. "My necklace," he murmured in foggy recognition before trailing his touch over to where her heartbeat was excited after all those years it had had to stay steady in his absence just to keep her from crumbling to pieces at the slightest lively movement.

"Your heart," Griffin covered his hand with hers pressing it more firmly against the beating organ to feel all that lived in it. "Your love."

Valtor's eyes finally found hers and she held his gaze as she reached slowly to put her free hand over his heart. She'd disintegrate at the smallest tremble from either one of them. The only thing she could stand pumped through her veins was his closeness after all the years of blood rushing through her with no way of spilling out no matter how many wounds she could feel scarring her pale skin and the flimsy muscles beneath.

"How did you get it back?" Valtor's voice was still quiet as if to remind her she had to be strong for him, for both of them, after she'd broken down their union, their wholeness.

"I didn't," Griffin didn't let go of him even as the fire flared inside him to have his magic prickling on the surface of his skin like small white-hot thorns growing between them to poke holes in their flesh. Holding on was the only way to erase the illusion of the cold that Omega had pushed into his mind to appear like an ice block between them. Her heart had never been touched by frost trying to scrape his fingerprints off of it. "It never left." Her whole soul had ran temperature akin to a fever just to keep the memories of him snug and comfortable inside her in hopes he would come back to them one day. Come back to her.

Valtor wasn't moving, not even his chest budging to let the oxygen his flames needed through. Just his lips parting to leave space between them. "But you did."

"I was never trying to leave you." Griffin held her breath waiting to see if he'd take her truth from the hands that had caressed him one moment only to throw magic against him the next. It was all she had to offer and rejection would be like having her fingers cut off as no touch would ever reach her brain outside the soothing blue vastness of his eyes holding her like space held the stars. "I just wanted to leave the Coven, leave behind who it made me," she forced out more of the darkness that had separated them when the shine of her eyes hadn't been enough for her to see through it. Not with his flames under the command of someone else and not his own wishes.

"It made you my partner," Valtor tugged on the necklace for her to feel it digging into her throat like it was his refusal to listen to anything else she had to say but his other hand was still covering her heart as if to protect it from harm. And he hadn't put his mark on her to silence her free will either. He still had leftover faith in her choices, or at least some surviving respect for them that let her live as well. And their love was still alive in both their hearts as proven by the magic he hadn't taken away from her.

Griffin shook her head. "I was there to make magic with you," her powers didn't need more than the mention to run through her veins ready to heal the emptiness she'd left next to him if he'd let them, "and to have your back." Keeping him safe had always been her mission and she'd failed spectacularly when she'd gotten lost in the deception her own mind had pulled on her after all her time with the Coven and their way of operating. "I was there to love you," her heart thumped louder to hold her in the right place. "Mass murder and colossal destruction was what the Coven was forcing on me. And that was not who I was." There was still enough anger in her coming out not just through her magic but through that of her students' as well as she passed it down to them but the fact that they were the way to bring her down was proof enough of her words. And she'd been the way to bring him down to prove he wasn't the Coven's either.

"That was who you were with me. We were both that." Valtor threaded his fingers through hers as if to pull her back into the memories she was trying to rip herself out of to leave him with a bleeding brain once again. But it wasn't her who'd played mind games with him. He'd been raised in the darkness of those with nothing his fire could do against them until it had started obeying them and turning dark itself. It had lacked the light he needed to break through the illusions and see all the lives he'd spared when she'd been by his side to give him a better plan he could use, to give him a better view of himself.

"Remember what you told me? That comparing my eyes to suns wouldn't do them justice?" Griffin almost heaved a sigh of relief at the spark of recognition lighting up his gaze. Their history wasn't so easy to swallow and suffocate in darkness since their romance had bloomed in the late hours in his room in quiet words whispered in the night for it to be their witness and nourish them away from prying eyes. "Staying with the Coven would have extinguished them and that was not what you wanted. You wanted suns. Why are you trying to destroy them?" she clutched at his hand to hold him in the pools of gold, the substance her gaze was made of too rich for trickles of guilt to break through with their thinness. "If you didn't want their light, why were you comfortable sleeping with it and embracing it?"

Valtor held on. He released the gold of her monad he'd held prisoner now that he had that of her eyes to be his armor of protection and rested his hand on top of hers to press her palm harder into his heart. His magic was swift like a flash of lightning as it removed both their gloves only to leave her flooded by his warmth instead of frying her nerves like her escape in the middle of the night had done to her.

"You wanted the witch that I am, that I have always been." He'd leaned in her healing touch countless times just like he was doing now. "You wanted the light in me as much as I wanted your flames. I would have never let it blind you any more than you would have let your fire burn me. I would've never let it obliterate our darkness." There had been shadows dancing in the corners his flames hadn't quite reached into and there'd been pain spilling from her fingertips that she'd touched everyone else with to save him from it, and their demons had been twirling together in a love ritual among the murky waves rippling off of their beings. "But I couldn't have let it get snuffed out either." She'd heard too many people equate witches to monsters to have allowed herself to reinforce the mistake.

"I would've never sacrificed my flames for you either," Valtor said, the understanding licking at her from his icy gaze like fiery tongues along her flesh keeping all the cold of their past away. All of it. Even the icicle she'd pushed in his chest and had to melt with her own fingers.

"I should have never expected you to." She'd stroked his humanity and she'd loved the menace he had been. She'd held the spark he was in her hands and had stood amidst the wildfire he'd made for without a threat for her life, nor for her conscience. They'd simply been two forces of nature taking their toll in a hostile universe that hadn't wanted them. At least they could have been without anyone trying to force them into the moldings of weapons pointed at a target that wasn't their own. She should have pointed them in the right direction instead of pulling them apart just to leave them more lost.

Valtor leaned in now that she was right there in front of him and the only thing in his reach and his lips were pressing against hers the same way their hearts were being pressed in each other's palms. It was much better than the memories she'd kept cold in her head to preserve them. Better than she'd ever dared paint in her mind a reunion between them would feel when her heart had been running from the emptiness that imagining her soul piecing together bathed in his heat would leave once she had to face reality. But there was no fantasy here, no fairytale she could only read but never experience.

Their mouths were one and their tongues were together again, dancing to celebrate the return home. His teeth were in her lips, sinking in the vulnerable flesh to leave his presence all over it and make sure every moan that left her would dip into his closeness on its way out to flaunt it into the face of the universe the moment her voice made it real and tangible. He was breathing into her lungs again – love and fire, and darkness. His very essence. And hers.

Pulling away was yet another cruelty of reality and she was licking her lips to gather every last remnant of his taste on them and draw it inside her. After all these years of kisses feeling like she was cheating herself out of love, her stomach was about to rumble its protests against the denial she had to face as they parted and her heart was only in its place to stay under his palm. She was in the only place she'd ever belonged and his hot pants were scorching the memories of her wrongness off of her skin to leave her all his again. Like she should have always been.

Griffin barely managed a whisper through all the life he'd released inside her, "The universe be damned."

"What was that?" Valtor's eyes were on her and the blue was crystal clear as it waited for her answer to nestle into itself where his trust would keep it. And there was the fresh knowledge not to encourage his destructiveness with a lie.

"I have my everything back," Griffin pressed her forehead against his both to revel in the closeness he was allowing her once again and to seal the confession in their minds and their flesh. There was nothing that could erase his heat from her skin and the seventeen years of loneliness she'd doomed them both to had proven that. His flames were at home inside her and she was at home inside them. It was enough for her.

Valtor cupped her cheek in lieu of holding her gaze, his eyes closed in content as if there was no danger out there requiring his alertness. "Where do we go from this cell?"

"I remember you mentioning something about a castle among the stars," Griffin dug the words out from under all the thoughts her mind was throwing at her to bury her alive. But it couldn't when there were no corpses she was leaving behind, just her life. "I would really like to find that one. We can make our own universe there." There was no place for her in the one she was already in if she couldn't have him.

"Just the two of us?" Valtor looked at her, the ice of his gaze pressing into her gently to probe as if he was afraid too much of it could chill her to the bone and chase her away in search of sunlight even though she'd always liked the stars shining in the dark and the sparks of his fire flying around her mind like fireflies in a garden.

"If that will be enough for you," Griffin gave her answer since there was nothing to ask him. And there was nothing to ask herself.

She was leaving behind everyone else she cared about but she owed it to herself. She'd ran away from her happiness once and all the love she'd gotten despite that had convinced her to forgive the universe for the piece of her being it had taken away. Her friends and her students had been more than enough to convince her she was wanted and needed, that she was worthy of existing. They had given her everything she could have asked for in those seventeen years. But she'd never found someone to give all of herself to, not even Faragonda who had always accepted every last grain of darkness inside her and had held the broken pieces of her heart unafraid of cutting herself. Not when Faragonda couldn't make the same use of her light Valtor could.

"It will be everything," Valtor gave her the whole universe.

[spirit-of-the-void]

Hey sweetpea! I’ve got some more angst for you! I hope these don’t feel too repetitive. If they do you can feel free to mix them up a bit! I was wondering if you could do a scenario where the boys are possessed or mind controlled, and they attack and hurt their s/o. Fluffy ending pls! Thank you so much for doing these! 🌸

I live for hurt comfort hell YES *slams fists on table* I’m opting for them losing their shit a bit in Devil Trigger forms instead of mind control or anything. Minus V, who doesnt have a devil trigger form.

Okay so I put WAY too much effort into these. Its four am. I am dying.

~Dante~

- You had never been around him while he was in that form, hell you weren’t even supposed to be there in the first place.

- When Dante didn’t return to Devil May Cry after the mission as quick as he promised, you grew worried, and set out on foot to find him now that the sky was growing dark. It was a mission in town, so why wasn’t he back yet? Surely something was wrong.

- This is why you hated letting him go on missions alone. You were no fighter, sure, but at this point he should have just bit the bullet and combined forces with Nero and Nico. Maybe hire on Trish and Lady to help out every once and a while.

- You walk for about ten minutes, finding the abandoned subway tunnel someone said was housing a nest of demons.

- You knew going down there alone and not a fighter was a dumb, foolish idea. You were armed with a basic revolver and daggers just to be safe, but you knew you were fast enough to run away if things got bad.

- If you were chased…well, you knew where Morrison lived, and you had your cell phone.

- You had already tried to call Dante, hell you called the others too. Nero could definitely make it in his Devil Trigger form, but you were reluctant to ask him when he was sticking so close to Kyrie during her pregnancy.

- Both Trish and Lady didn’t pick up. You assumed they were both off on missions of their own.

- You had no choice at this point.

- You walked into the subway tunnel, almost gagging at the smell of rot and sulfur. Definitely the home of demons.

- You still push forward despite the fear and anxiety that fills you, already seeing the trail of carnage Dante has left. He must have killed dozens of the things, bodies and blood on the floor as you quickly made your way past.

- “Dante…!” You called his name worriedly, voice echoing in the tunnel. You hear no response back, but can make out the faint sound of snarling and screeching in the tunnel further ahead. Sounds of fighting.

- You didn’t hear Dante. Maybe you should just turn around?

- But your worry kept you going. You quickened your steps, only stopping when the sound of fighting ceased. Now the sound of low, panting growls remained.

- Now was not the time to make noise. Something was glowing in the tunnel, growling and leaving a bright orange hue.

- You peeked around a piece of debris, eyes widening as you saw.

- What appeared to be another demon was standing there, slightly hunched and releasing panting growls. Sharp claws, sharp teeth, fire coming from its body. Bigger and badder looking than all the lower level creatures you had seen.

- You immediately gulped, taking a few steps back when you didn’t see Dante anywhere. This was bad. This was really bad. You were useless against even the lower level demons, but this…

- You didn’t make it far.

- One step back and a few rocks went tumbling behind you. Way too loud in the space. The noise echoed, making the demon snap its head around to look in your direction.

- You were so fucked.

- You immediately turned and began to dead sprint down the tunnel, heart pounding in your ears as you tried to put as much distance as you could between you and the creature.

- Another bad idea. As soon as it heard your feet pounding on concrete it came after you, and it was much faster than you were.

- The tunnel was so dark, it was hard to see where you were running but that didn’t matter anyway. The creature slammed into your back hard, shoving your face down with a choked screaming leaving your lips. It’s claws dug into your shoulders, a hard snarl rattling your ears as it landed on top of you.

- Heavy, so heavy you couldn’t breathe. You phone went sliding from your hand, as did the revolver you had.

- You could already feel blood warming your skin where its claws dug in, a strangled yelp leaving your mouth as you tried to struggle away.

- It bared its teeth, jerking you back and making a panicked scream leave your lips, “Dante…!”

- You immediately felt the creature freeze above you, the growl cut off in its throat.

- You were wheezing now, crying a bit as you tried to squirm away from the demon and escape.

- But something stopped you.

- You heard a rasping, demonic voice from above you whisper, “Sunshine?”

- Your eyes went wide, turning back to stare at its face with shock. You lashes still glistened with tears, voice shaken as you stammered, “D…Dante…?”

- The claws in your shoulders immediately retracted, weight from you gone and your body lifted and held against him protectively, frantically.

- Panicked gasps were leaving him now, becoming human and familiar as his body shifted back to the one you knew. The Dante you knew.

- You had never seen that form before, Dante barely even admitted he had it. You had to learn from Nero and the others about it, and even then they didn’t tell you much.

- He held you cradled against your chest, his hands frantically touching all over you, checking for wounds, stroking back your hair as he panted, “Fuck, oh fuck. I’m sorry babe. I’m so sorry…!”

- He touched the wounds on your shoulders, more frantic sounds leaving him. You were unbelievably shaken, but more so relieved to see him.

- “Fuck, I didn’t know it was you…!” Dante rasped, grunting when you wrapped your arms around his neck and hugged him hard.

- You were crying more now, just so happy to see he was alright.

- “Are you okay?” Dante peppered kisses to your neck, holding you close and wiping away some of your tears, “Fuck, babe, what the hell are you doing down here…? I told you to wait for me at home.”

- You sniffled lightly, leaning back to look at him with watery eyes, “It was already so late…I was afraid something had happened to you…!”

- Dante let out a shaken breath, holding your face in his hands so he could stare at your tear stained face. His eyes were so guilty, searching over you as he stroked some of the tears away.

- “I promised you I’d always come home,” He whispered, more serious than you had ever heard him, “This was my fault. It took more time than I expected, and that caused you to get hurt. I hurt you.”

- You shook your head, hugging yourself to him again and closing your eyes. You didn’t care about that, you just cared that nothing terrible had happened to him. Sure, the experience was a bit scary, and your shoulders and back were hurting. But you would heal, and that was fine.

- “I’ve never seen that form before,” You whispered, sniffling a bit as his strong arms wrapped around you, “You never showed me.”

- He sighed at that, “My fault too. I didn’t want to scare you…some fucking genius I am.”

- You sniffled more, whispering softly, “I love you…no part of you would ever scare me, Dante.”

- Wow, his heart was fucking aching at that. You were so good to him, too good. Precious, something worth protecting. Something worth fighting for. And he had hurt you.

- “I’ve never been the smart one, sunshine,” He grumbled, trying to hide just how emotional your words made him as he pressed his face to your neck, “You’ve always been the one with brains. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

- “Stop,” You whispered, leaning back so you could kiss him. He immediately grunted, threading his fingers in your hair and kissing you back. When you pulled away you added, “Can we go home..? I think…we both need some time to talk and relax.”

- He nodded easily, standing up and lifting you with him, “Agreed…I need to dress your wounds.” He sounded so guilty when he said that, starting forward and holding you bridal style.

- He only stopped to swoop a hand down, grabbing your smashed cell phone and your gun. He sighed at the phone, tucking it into his pocket with even more guilt.

- “I’ll buy you a new phone, sugar,” He promised, kissing your soft lips again until you groaned, “A better one too.”

- You sighed softly, eyeing him with soft eyes as you replied, “Are you my sugar daddy then?”

- He paused, a hesitant smirk quirking his lips as he asked, “Do you want me to be.”

- “No,” You replied firmly, wrapping your arms around your neck and holding yourself to him, “I just want you.”

- Dante sucked in a shaken breath, holding you ever closer as he carried you out of the abandoned subway tunnel.

- “You already have me, love. I’m all yours.”

~Vergil~

- Vergil had always been prone to nightmares, it was why at first he was prone to sleeping alone.

- It had taken months to coax him to your bed, and even then he slept sporadically, in bursts. It took him months to accept the change, and even longer to settle with you enough to allow you to see him so vulnerable.

- But his nightmares had never been like this.

- He had gone to bed before you–you had some final things to work on before sleeping, ones that took you an extra hour before you were supposed to retire for the evening.

- At first you weren’t going to go right to bed. You sat in the kitchen for a bit, feeling kind of restless and wondering if you should make a cup of tea to settle yourself. When you tossed and turned it made Vergil cranky, so you didn’t want to risk upsetting him after he had just grown used to sharing a bed.

- You were just about to put the water on when you heard a strange sound coming from your room. Something caught between a growl and gasping.

- You immediately turned off the stove, concern filling you as you walked toward your room. The sound was deeply unsettling, something you weren’t used to in your own home.

- After pushing open your bedroom door, you immediately knew what was wrong.

- Vergil was in Sin Devil Trigger form on the bed, the noise coming from him.

- You had seen this form only a couple times before, most times in battle. Only once did Vergil take on this form to show it to you personally, to let you feel his horns, his claws, the armor-like exterior. It fascinated you, but he seemed reluctant to have it out around you.

- Never once had you seen him turn into this form while asleep, and that itself told you he must have been having a bad dream.

- You rushed to his side, unsure of what to do while he twitched and let out rasping growls, claws digging into your mattress.

- You had to wake him up, otherwise he would rip your bed to shreds.

- But you no sooner placed your hands on his face, and he practically explodes underneath you.

- Your throat is grabbed in the next instant, a startled squeak of alarm escaping your throat as you’re slammed into the floorboards. All the air is jostled from your lungs in a choked sound, the wind literally knocked out of you as his large form towered over.

- Both his hands were gripping your throat now, your head spinning as you struggled to breath. You stared with shocked eyes, seeing he was still partially asleep as he let out panicked, rasping growls.

- He was still seeing his nightmare. He didn’t know he was attacking you. Something had made him lash out to defend himself.

- His claws were digging in, drawing blood as you kicked and tried to fight him off, fear filling your head as your oxygen depleted. He was so strong in this form, his face unreadable and those claws so sharp.

- He was going to kill you. If you didn’t do something he was going to strangle you. He wasn’t in his right mind, he wasn’t awake. You needed to wake him up.

- You lifted your trembling fingers to his face, struggling for air even as you gently stroked his demonic features. You weren’t a threat, he needed to know that. He needed to recognize you.

- You voice was weak, strangled as you managed to get out, “B…baby…please…please it’s…me…!”

- You were lucky enough that your words reached him in his panicked frenzy.

- He let out a strange sound, head snapping back and even more panicked gasps escaping him now that he was truly seeing who he was hurting. You felt his vise tight grip on your throat loosen, his hands beginning to shake as a few tears dripped from your eyes.

- What the hell was he doing…? You were underneath him, you were crying, you were…

- He slowly pulled his claws back, seeing your blood on them, seeing the red on your neck from his scratches. Bruising, he had hurt you. You started coughing and gasping as soon as his hands were off you, practically choking now that the air was filling your lungs again.

- He had almost strangled you. He had almost killed you.

- He stumbled back, blinding panic filling him as he continued to look at his hands. All he could see was your blood, the look on your face when he had snapped back into reality.

- He couldn’t take it. He was falling to pieces inside.

- He morphed back into human form, his expression shattering your heart as you sat up, holding your throat and staring at him.

- You had never seen him look that afraid, that vulnerable. That mortified.

- “What have I done…?” He rasped, his tone broken as he continued to stare at his hands. He was hyperventilating now, panicking even more as he put his hands to his head, “What have I…what have I…”

- You immediately scrambled toward him, wanting to stop his panic attack before it got any worse. You had just gotten close to him, you didn’t want to lose him now.

- You fell into his lap, wrapping your arms firmly around his neck as you whispered, “Stop…! It’s okay, I’m okay baby. Breathe, just breathe.”

- You thought he was going to push you away, but he didn’t. He stared in front of him like he wasn’t seeing anything, his sharp jaw clenched with each panting gasp and his eyes almost glassy.

- “I hurt you,” He rasped, his chest practically heaving now, “My doll. I almost killed you. I could have. I could have snapped your neck. I could have…I…”

- You shook your head, hugging yourself closer as you whispered, “I’m okay. I am. You didn’t know what you were doing, you were having a nightmare, Vergil.”

- He wasn’t soothed. You could tell he wasn’t. His breathing became more ragged, his hands hanging at his side as he tilted his head back a bit.

- And Vergil did something you had never seen in all the time you knew him.

- He began to cry.

- A few stray tears rolled down his face, his eyes wide and shocked as you stared at him, touching the wetness with your fingers. He didn’t sob, the only sound leaving him was that panicked rasping. It broke you in two in an instant.

- “I hurt you…I almost killed you, Doll…” He repeated in that broken, rasping tone. His expression shifted to something so exhausted, heart-breakingly so as he leaned forward, resting his head on your shoulder, “I hurt everyone in my life. I hurt so many people….what a monster I am.”

- “Stop, please,” You whimpered, holding him close and stroking back his hair, “Please Vergil. Please.  It’s okay, everything will be okay.”

- His arms finally snaked around your waist, holding you like you were a lifeline to his hard body. His hands were still shaking, his breath short and quick as the warmth of your body registered with him.

- “Of all the blood that stains my hands,” He whispered, the wetness of his sharp cheeks moistening your shirt, “I never wanted to see yours. Never yours, Doll. My hands are drenched in sin and carnage and I never wanted that stain to touch you, for you to be a part of it.”

- There was so much guilt there, so much pain. You knew of his past, knew of the death he had caused and the terrible things he had done. You wanted to help him learn how to be human, to accept his mistakes. It never occurred to you that they were destroying him.

- You squeezed him tighter, pressing a kiss to his temple as you stroked back his silvery hair.

- “Please…let me help you,” You whispered, your own eyes tearing up as you continued to hold him, “Please Vergil. You can’t keep going like this, holding everything in until you burst,” You leaned back, pressing a kiss to his forehead, “You had a nightmare…you were disoriented and scared and you lashed out. I’m okay…I swear I am. I’m not made of glass, or porcelain.”

- As much as you loved his nickname, in reality you were weren’t a fragile doll.

- He remained silent, his eyes tired now as he stared without seeing anything. He was coming down from the panic, the nightmare. You could tell that much. He was going into numb mode, and you didn’t want that either.

- You pressed your lips to his, gently kissing as you cupped his cheeks.

- “It’ll be okay,” You whispered, “We will figure it out. But you can’t run away from it, or me,” You took his hands and placed them gently on your neck, where his claws had left scratches and bruises. Gentle, feather-light. No fear and no more pain, “I will heal and I’ll be fine.”

- He swallowed visibly, his sharp eyes staring at the marks with deep regret.

- “You are too good for me,” He whispered, sounding incredibly guilty. Like you were a prize he didn’t deserve, especially after all he had done, “Doll…Why do you even put up with me? I am a man deserving of nothing.” He deserved nothing and you were…everything

- You smiled softly, pressing another kiss to his cheek as you replied, “Because I love you, slick. And you don’t get to decide who I’m too good for, I do.”

- With that, you pulled him to his feet, pressing another kiss to his lips this time as you added, “Now, let’s go get some tea, some food. And we will talk about what happened.”

- He remains quiet, watching you with dazed eyes as you lead him out of the room.

~V~

- V had been missing for several days.

- You were an absolute nervous wreck, bouncing between demon nests with a few other demon hunters as you all searched for him. You didn’t know what to do, what would happen if you didn’t find him alive.

- You and the poet had been fighting demons together when he had been taken, snatched through a portal by a bigger demon when neither of you had been looking. Something had subdued him, some sort of gas made him go unconscious and his familiars returned to him. There had been no fight for him to give.

- You were with Nero, Dante, and Lady now. Searching yet another demon’s lair for your lover. This one was bigger than the others, taking up multiple floors.

- You decided on the top floor alone. You were a skilled fighter, you could handle whatever this place threw at you.

- What you couldn’t handle when you got there was the sight of V, strung up by tendrils of flesh in the middle of the room.

- Seeing him after your days long search made your heart race in shock and relief, you rushing into the room without thinking. There were no other demons in the room, no enemies on this floor.

- You slashed at the flesh holding him up, catching him in your arms and easing him to the floor.

- Christ, he was alive. He was still breathing. That alone was a relief.

- You set him down on the ground, hearing him stirring a bit even as you turned to call for Dante and the others. You would need help to carry V out, he needed a Doctor.

- What you didn’t expect was to feel his cane pierce your shoulder when your back was turned, making you let out a startled shriek of pain.

- You whipped around in the next instant, the metal object ripping out of you as you stared at V in absolute shock.

- Something was wrong. You could tell that right away.

- His eyes were glazed over, glassy as he swayed from side to side. You clutched that the wound he had left, panting as you took a few steps back.

- You knew a possession when you saw one. V was strong willed, but if they broke him down enough they could easily force something on him. This was not good. This was definitely not good. If you fought him, you would hurt him, and judging by the cuts and heavy bruising on his body he couldn’t take much more.

- His expression was blank when he lifted his cane, pointing it at you and summoning Griffon and Shadow. You half expected them to be under the influence too, especially when they came out ready to attack what V was focused on.

- But Griffon immediately came to a screeching halt, Shadow sliding on their claws as they stared at your panting form in confusion.

- “What the fuck?” Griffon squawked, flapping his wings wildly as he stared at you, turning his annoyed gaze to stare at V, “Yo, genius, what the hell are you–”

- V slammed his cane into the ground, the order to attack loud and clear. Both familiars jolted, Griffon letting out a pained yelp as V’s command jolted through his skull.

- “What are you doing?!” He screeched at his master, shaking his head over and over as he resisted the command, “I’m not blasting your fucking girlfriend…!”

- Shadow let out a strangled snarl, rubbing its face over and over with its paws as spikes tried forming from its pelt.

- He was trying to use his ability as their master to force them to attack. Which was definitely bad.

- You were panting with fear and panic, voice broken as you said, “He’s possessed…! We have to do something…!”

- “Are you fucking kidding me…?” Griffon hissed, landing on the ground and pressed his beak downwards, “Son of a bitch…! Whatever you’re gonna do, you had better do it quick…!”

- You heard Griffon let out another loud sound of annoyance, shouting at Shadow, “Knock Shakespeare on his ass…!”

- Shadow let out a low snarl, whipping around and running at V while it was still able. You bolted forward with her, heart pounding as you saw V raise that cane again.

- Shadow’s black pelt twitched, a couple spikes shooting out at you and slicing your arms. Shadow still seemed in semi-control, letting out a roar as their paws hit V’s shoulders, teeth snapping onto his cane.

- You saw the poet struggle, but he was in no way strong enough to fight the cat. They ripped the cane away, sending it skidding across the floor with a metallic crack.

- You were there in an instant, sitting on top of V, panting and several parts of your shoulders stinging in agony. But you didn’t care, you couldn’t care.

- Bringing V back was all that mattered.

- He stared at you with those glassy eyes, panting and struggling against you. Whatever was possessing him hadn’t been there for long, that much you could tell. V was so hurt, his body too battered and weak to put up a true fight.

- He needed help, god he needed help.

- You cupped his cheeks, ignoring his hands as they tried to grasp around your throat.

- “I know there’s some more fight in there,” You breathed to him, stroking his ebony hair back as his fingers slipped over your skin, “Come on, darling. You can do this. Come back to me.”

- You saw his face twitch as soon as you used your favorite nickname for him, his jaw tightening. That was the way to do it, that was the way to reach him.

- You started quoting William Blake to him, stroking your hands over his face. Touching his lips, his cheeks, his jaw. Every part of him you adored, everything you loved. These few days without him had been so frightening, so achingly lonely. You needed him to know that.

- “I miss you,” You murmured to your poet, voice growing louder when he groaned, putting his hands to his head and his body beginning to thrash under you, “Please, I want to go home, V. I want us both to go home.”

- That was the way.

- He jolted, beginning to gag and retch as he eyes rolled back into his head. He was rejecting whatever had him, so you had to act fast.

- You gasped, immediately rolling him over, holding his hair back as he started to vomit.

- He hadn’t eaten anything in a few days, all that came out was stomach bile until…something else.

- He gagged more, retching as something black oozed out from his mouth. What the fuck was that?

 - It all came out, the poet hacking painfully and groaning as you held him, feeling his senses coming back.

- The blob of black goo formed several red eyes, teeth opening and hissing at you. It started to scurry away, but Shadow pounced on it in an instant, snarling loudly as it was pinned under their paws. It struggled and shrieked, writhing sporadically and unable to get away.

- You had no fucking clue what demon type it was, but it was as good as dead.

- And through it all, V wheezed and coughed, his body drooping forward as he rested his weight on one arm. He was shaking, trembling and weak as his body cast out the last of the traces of that creature from his system.

- “Oh darling,” You whimpered, pressing kisses to his head and pulling him against you, “Are you okay? Are you alright?”

- He groaned, his head lolling back a bit as you smoothed some more of his hair away. Griffon landed next to you both, eyeing the poet with worry as he took in his absolutely messed up form.

- “What the fuck happened?!” The bird asked in an astonished tone, looking around the demonic layer in confusion, “How did we get here…?”

- You winced, letting out a light sigh, “Long story.”

- V let out another groan, his voice weak and rasping as he muttered, “Sparrow…I’m…sorry…”

- “Shh…” You shushed him, holding him close and pressing a kiss to his temple. He felt feverish, clammy. You needed to get him out of here and fast, “We’re going to get you some help. Griffon, The others are downstairs. Get Nero and Dante up here…!”

- “On it!” The bird didn’t hesitate, darting in a flash of feathers out of the room.

- You kept holding V, whispering sweet nothings to him as you kept stroking his hair. You needed to do better. You needed to do better to protect him from things like this. Had you been more careful, this could have been prevented, you could have saved him before some gross demon was forced inside of him.

- “Hurt…you…” V murmured, his jade eyes opening to stare at you weakly, “Forgive me.”

- You put a finger to his lips, wiping away some blood from his lips as you replied, “Hush. You did nothing wrong love. Everything will be okay.”

- V closed his eyes, letting out a slow breath as he leaned into your touch. You both needed this after the days apart. You both needed each other.

- Dante and Nero came sprinting into the room moments later, both shocked to see V’s battered form in your bleeding arms. They didn’t hesitate, Dante lifting up your lover easily to carry him out.

- Nero stopped, staring at Shadow holding the black goo on the ground. He merely gestured with his chin, pulling out a pistol to point it at the creature. Shadow lifted their paws almost comically, then the creature was blasted into nothingness.

- You ignored your own wounds despite the piercing from V’s cane, making sure V was comfortable in the van on your way to a doctor before you’d even let Dante and Nico touch you.

-Luckily, Griffon was smart enough to grab V’s cane before you set out.

- V made a full recovery in the following weeks, but he refused to stop apologizing for stabbing you. Despite how many times you told him it wasn’t his fault.

- It was something you doubted he would ever live down.

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A Thin Line Between Love & Hate ♛

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Summary: Y/N, a fiery, new Avenger with the fighting prowess of Black Widow herself, and Bucky Barnes, a stubborn, ex-soldier with the demons and strength to prove it, don’t exactly get along, despite their many similarities. The two of them make it their mission to win against the other, making everything between them a competition. A sparring match gone awry and a midnight dip in the pool changes all of that. Let the games begin.

A/N: since the last Bucky fic I wrote did so well and I’ve been in a bit of a slump lately :( I decided to write what I’m familiar with, and I just had the pleasure of watching Bohemian Rhapsody in theaters (GO WATCH IT IT’S SPECTACULAR) and it’s caused a stroke of inspiration XD please enjoy this little story of my favorite smol winter bean even if it’s a flipping mess and lemme know what you think and if ya want more 

Warnings: mega fluff, a sparring match with violence ensues, sexual tension to the max, language

You clutch your gym bag to your side, slung over your shoulder haphazardly with little regard for style. The tank top you threw on clings comfortably to your waist, followed by a slipped on pair of athletic leggings that leave little of your curves to the imagination of your teammates. But at the moment, that’s the least of your worries, that, on the other hand, is running into James Buchanan Barnes a.k.a the human version of a paper cut. He’s stubborn, insistent, irritatingly charming and annoyingly good-looking, making it damn near impossible to muster up the strength to be angry with him (but you find a way anyway). He also has the sole purpose of teasing you to hell and back. Ever since the first day here, you’ve been at each other’s throats. And to this day, you still have no idea why.

You like to think it’s just a game, that you’re both only joking, but sometimes he’ll say things and the look on his face tells you otherwise. That perhaps you’ve gone too far. 

Then, proving your point, while passing you, he knocks his broad shoulder against yours in the narrow hall. You frown and kick your leg out, tripping him in the process, watching as he barely catches himself, struggling to stand up straight until using the wall to steady himself. He chuckles darkly, blowing hair out of his eyes.

You narrow your eyes at the Winter Soldier, “Do you do this to all the women you work with or am I just lucky?”

“Good morning to you too, doll,” he says gruffly as he helps himself up and dusts off his deep gray joggers, his own tank clinging to his muscles, the wind having been knocked out of him.

You pry your eyes away from him and tuck hair behind your ear, shaking your head, “It certainly was,” you drink in the frustration in his eyes cerulean eyes.

“You’re a real piece of work, Y/L/N,” he sighs, glancing at you with an amused expression, the conflict behind his eyes warring when you look back at him.

You grab him by the front of his shirt, crumbling the cotton material in your fist, his smirk only an inch away from your own lips and he lets you do it. “Then next time you’re walking down this hall, watch where you’re going and don’t knock into me. Or get it through your head that I’ll do it back.”

He shakes his head with a low laugh, looming over you, “That mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble one day and no one will be there to save you.”

“Is that a threat?”

His lips twitch, “No, doll, it’s a warning.”

You let go of his shirt and push him back, the tempting look in his eyes frightens you, “It keeps you away, doesn’t it? Me running my mouth,” his resolve flickers. “I’m also more than capable of saving myself, I don’t run away from my problems.”

He rolls his eyes and frowns, “And you’re suggesting I do?”

“I thought I made that clear,” you tilt your head, toe to toe with the man.

“Oh, you did, I was just hoping I didn’t hear you correctly.”

“I have read that hearing deteriorates first when it comes to men of your age.”

He cocks an eyebrow, “Are you calling me elderly, Y/N?”

You look him over, enjoying this far too much when you nonchalantly shrug your shoulders, “If the denture fits.”

He snorts. “Funny,” he glances furtively at your mouth, how it curls at its edges. 

You laugh, enjoying this game of cat and mouse, the highlights of your day, you think, “I’d like to think so,” you smile before walking out of the hall and into gym, where the team trains every morning, leaving a confused Bucky to stew alone in the hall.

Steve sends you a smile when you enter the room and Tony’s shoots you a wink as you set down your things and watch patiently while Steve sets up the the boxing ring. It’s been awhile since the last match between any of you, but you wouldn’t mind throwing yourself back in, with the promise of high stakes of course. You’re never one to back down from a challenge.

Natasha smirks when you look over at her, regretting your decision when you see her signature scarlet smile, “Morning, Y/N, where’s your boyfriend?”

You force a laugh when you begin wrapping a bandage over your knuckles, a genuine one escaping when you look to see Barnes coincidentally enter the room himself. Shit, “I don’t have a boyfriend, Nat,” you look up at your friend, holding your mouth tightly. “You know that.”

“Be careful,” Tony pats your shoulder affectionately. “If he hears you’re single, he won’t hesitate to throw his hat in the ring. Literally...”

“You’re not helping, Stark,” you elbow his side, not doing much damage when he catches your arm in his hand. You rip your arm back from his grasp and he pokes your nose. You scrunch your face.

“That wasn’t my intention,” he grins. “But you’re seriously adorable when you’re angry.”

Bucky smiles at that.

“Shut up,” you grumble.

Steve cracks a smile while setting up and hearing the teasing, he avoids your glare when you hear him. Bucky pretends stays in the dark as to what you’re all whispering not-so-covertly about, every so often looking over at you.

“What about that guy Nick who asked for your number at the bar yesterday? He seemed pretty interested in filling that position for you,” Nat brings up after a spell of silence and you look at her, knowing what she’s trying to do.

Bucky’s ears perk up, tightening his metal fist at the thought of it. He knows he has no right to be jealous or possessive over you, not after the way he’s treated you, but he can’t help it, anger he’s never experienced before. Then, before you can argue with Nat, Steve speaks up.

“Alright,” Steve starts. “Who wants a turn in the r-”

Your hand shoots up first, grinning excitedly, “I do.”

“You need a partner, hotshot,” he chuckles at your enthusiasm, an idea sparking when he locks eyes with both Nat and Tony, flashing a smile when he looks at you. “How about Bucky?”

Your eyebrows shoot up and you laugh in disbelief, “You’re kidding... Right? You must be joking. Because if not, that serum has finally reached your brain and its messed up... something up there,” you shake your head.

“I’m not fighting a girl, Steve,” Bucky wraps his own bandage over his hand, chuckling deeply, resonating from his chest. Even if his jealousy was slowly growing and he wouldn’t mind a one on one with a punching bag, he’d never take it out on you. 

But something in you clicks when he says this, rubbing you the wrong way, “Because you’d lose,” you turn around, you simply couldn’t help yourself. If only you’d kept your mouth shut... 

He lifts an eyebrow, standing up straight with his arms folded over his broad chest, squaring his shoulders, “Is that right?”

“I guess we’ll never know, because we’re not doing it,” you look back at a smug Cap. Your blood boils when Bucky takes a step towards you and you stare him down, but it doesn’t do you much good. It’s consists more of staring up at him.

“It sounds to me, doll, like you’re the one who’s afraid you’ll lose,” he maintains a thoughtful expression, sizing you up. You furrow your brow.

“I just don’t want your pretty face to get hurt, that’s all, it is all you got going for you,” you tilt your chin up.

His eyes flash and you know you struck a nerve. He chuckles humorlessly, “You’re lucky I’m a gentleman,” he tells you. “Or I’d ask you to put your money where your mouth is. Since you always have so much to say.”

“A gentleman knows how to finish a fight, not start one,” you push your hands against his chest, sending him backwards after having enough. “So finish it.”

He looks at his chest and back at you, clenching his jaw, “Watch it, Y/N.”

“Come on, then,” you tell him, swinging your leg over the rings border and climbing inside. Steve and Tony share a worrisome look, wondering what they’ve started, Nat only leans forward, hoping to hear more. “Or are you going to keep running?” you throw over your shoulder.

It doesn’t take him long to ignore the inner turmoil creating in his gut. ducking under the border himself and stepping into the ring, commanding the attention of the room when he gets into his stance.

He swings the first punch, you duck under it and swing your leg out to send him on his back. You move to straddle him on the ground, but he’s back on his feet before the thought even crosses your mind, gripping your ankle when it flies towards his face. Your fist collides with his jaw, hitting just the corner of his mouth, he stumbles back, and he wipes at the cracked lip, staring in awe at the trickle of crimson staining his calloused finger.

Guilt settles in your stomach, and your form wavers, in your hesitation, his fist curls and the blow lands painfully into your shoulder. You grasp the sore area and fall back, catching yourself against the bordering ropes. The room goes silent, one giant, collective inhale of breath being the last thing you hear before Bucky’s face falls. He didn’t want to do this. To fight you, but here you are. You asked for it, you can’t back down now.

His chest heaves, his eyes full of guilt and fear, he gulps like he’s gasping for air, “Doll, I-”

You didn’t have time to freeze, to listen to what he’s saying. The punch only fuels your adrenaline and you flip him on his back, on top of him and straddling his waist. You throw a punch, aiming for the bridge of his nose, but he blocks it, taking your wrist in his to move you so you’re the one on your back. You ignore the heat rising to your face from being beneath him, caged under his muscular arms, holding himself above your frame with little to no effort. He could crush you if he wanted to, you wondered why he didn’t just finish it right here and now, that’s what you expected, after all. It does’t help that he smells so damn good.

“We can stop here and call it a tie,” he tells you, his cool, minty breath fanning over your flushed face, noses brushing whether you like it or not. You’d never admit to the former anyway. “I’m trying to help you, doll.”

You snort, “Don’t strain yourself,” you knee him in the groin and he topples over, unable to stand once again. You’re on your feet before him, declaring you the winner of the match. He went easy on you and you know it. Your chest rises and falls with each strenuous breath and you blow hair out from in front of your eyes, swinging your leg over the ropes again.

You couldn’t stand there and gloat, something you’d usually have no problem boating, to mess with him. But you’re still thinking about how you felt, when you were pinned beneath him, how your face burned, how your skin rubbed against his own, and how you still feel afterwards. But you hate him. You hate him.

Don’t you?

★★★

Bucky leans his back against the side of the rooftop pool atop the Avengers building, muscles aching from training, the cool water and night air relaxing him. He breathes slowly, hoping this isolation will help him forget the events of today, what he did. He hit you. You of all people. He never wanted to lay a hand on you, not only are you a woman, but you’re you. Not to mention the fact you can throw one hell of a punch as well, his split lip a consequence of that, his thumb brushing over it when it comes to mind.

His mind whirs, thinking about you, and his heart tightens in an unfamiliar, unspoken way. The same ache in his chest he’s felt since you got here, hoping if he’d ignore it and you, it’d make it all go away. But it’s only made the sensation worse, thinking back to having you underneath him, a dream he never thought would bloom into fruition. Just under different circumstances. If only he hadn’t have messed it up and pushed you away in the process, everyone in the room watching.

And that he doesn’t hate you. Not even a little. Quite the opposite, actually. He’s absolutely enamored with you.

You slide open the door leading to the roof, a cover-up wrapped around your waist, hugging yourself. You turn to close it and look back to see Barnes in where you were hoping to find empty. You cross your arms over your chest and look on at him, haven’t had talked to him since this morning.

Thinking against starting a verbal altercation with him once again, you instead ask softly, “Mind if I join you?” voice lost in the wind.

He shakes his head, looking up at you, afraid his hoarse voice will give way to his emotions. Bucky attempts to avert his eyes when you drop the cover-up, revealing a red two piece decorated with cherries, the bottoms high waisted and fitted to your curved waist. Then his eyes are falling over you and he simply can’t look away. His eyes are glued to you and you want to fight him on it, say something, but you can’t either.

Bucky admires the way your y/s/c skin illuminates in the milky, effervescent moonlight, gaze flicking back up to meet your eyes when you catch him staring. You only smile and brush him off. You descend the steps inside and sit across the pool from him, the bruise on your shoulder on display, weighing on his conscious.

He’s the first to break the silence, “Doll... I-I’m sorry.”

Your eyes follow where his lay on your bruised shoulder, shaking your head, “Don’t be, was my fault. I pushed you to fight when you didn’t want to. I shouldn’t have. I’ll heal,” you offer him a sweet smile, an expression he treats as a gift, a rare sight to see, especially when it comes to him. Well, one he knows of.

He returns the smile halfheartedly, arms spread out on either side of him, gripping onto the edge of the hot tub. The tension is slowly simmering away into something new, crossing the line between love and hate, the air growing heavier by the heated second. You sigh and push yourself off the wall, if you were going to talk you at least need to be able to hear him. You wade to the halfway mark of the pool, treading water. 

Bucky’s hands grow clammy, watching you move. Just like you did in the ring, elegantly and deliberately with an endearingly awkward clumsiness he finds more attractive than he should. He forces himself to think about what’s changed since this morning, why he’s feeling these things now. Then you look at him and it answers his question.

You run a hand through your wet tendrils of hair, fighting back a satisfied smirk, “Why the long face, Barnes?”

He leans forward, sitting up straighter on his ledge, enough to make droplets of water roll down his torso and catch your eye, finally coming out with it, “Why do you hate me?”.

You’re taken aback by his sudden question and you’re brutally aware of what your answer will do to the complicated relationship between you two. You run a hand through your hair and sigh, standing up, “I could ask you the same question.”

Bucky pulls his brow together, getting off the wall, “If I hate you? You think I hate you?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” you laugh, humorless and forced, you hope he’s joking. “You’ve made it your mission to tease and insult me since the moment I got here, you purposely bumped into me in the hall this morning as you do most days.” Getting so frustrated with him, you splash water at his face, earning a petty one back from him.

He runs his hands down his face, “Are you serious?” he looks at you, blinking hard like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. 

“Yes!” you exclaim. “Bucky, why else would you purposely run into me in the hallway? Or punch me in the fucking shoulder!”

He laughs loudly, slicking his long hair back and looking towards the sky as if he’d find the answer to his internal question written in starlight, “You told me to fight you. And I apologized immediately after because I never wanted to do it in the first place! You’re also the one that punched me in the jaw and split my lip first... Come on, dollface, you’re tougher than that. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you-”

“So was that your plan? Teasing me constantly, everyday, to prove I’m tougher than I look?” you snort and his face flushes red when you tug your lip between your teeth. “Mission accomplished then, Barnes, I know now. Satisfied?” 

He sighs, chuckling, “When did flirting with a dame become so damn challenging?” He smiles sadly, “Maybe I am old.”

You watch as his eyes fall on your lips even at this distance from one another and you, painfully so, do the same.

Stunned, your lips part slightly, sending him a silent, tantalizing invitation to wipe this confused look off your face and answer your question. By any extreme means possible. He groans aloud at the tempting pout of your baby pink lips, taking you by the hand to pull you to his chest, wet skin flushed together.

His calloused hands move up to cup your jaw, tilting your face towards him, he presses his desperate lips feverishly against your own, lighting your skin aflame. He kisses tentatively as if he’s walking into the home of an old friend and afraid he’s arrived too late, thumb brushing the ghost of a heart over your cheek. His plush lips taste of salt water and scotch liquor, tongue laced with smooth butterscotch candy he stole from your bedroom. And suddenly you’re craving the sweetness, too. Your arms fall helplessly to his chest, listening to the lullaby of Bucky’s slowly rising heartbeat, humming pleasantly at the thought that that’s of your doing. A whimper escapes your shaky lips when his tongue slips in your mouth just as his hands wander to grip your thighs beneath the water, hoisting you up. He eases your legs to wrap around his waist and hold on.

Both of you break away at once, swollen, pink lips still brushing with the sworn promise of meeting again, nudging your nose against his when you exhale. Your eyes flutter closed again, paired with a simple, soft smile, muttering quietly, “...Oh.” 

He cracks a smile, kissing just below your mouth, muttering a silent love letter in your skin, “Maybe if you didn’t ramble so much, you’d have been silent long enough for me to do this.”

“Screw you.”

His stormy eyes darken, complementing nicely with his seductive grin, “Maybe later, doll.”

You tilt your chin up to capture his awaiting lips with your own, wrapping your arms wantonly around his neck, a gesture he eagerly returns with a squeeze of your ass. You gasp into the kiss, The man is a human radiator, exuding heat, in his touch, in his kiss, in his skin, warming your body from the inside out. 

Bucky buries his head in the crook of your neck, kissing you in the spot sure to make you squirm in his touch. Then he stops, something coming over him when he moves up to lean his forehead against your own, meeting your lust blown eyes.

His face burns under your expectant gaze, cursing himself for not doing this sooner, “Are we... are we really doing this?” he says when you place a calculated kiss underneath his jaw, letting your tongue trace his hot skin, only fueling the fire before whispering,

“Meet me inside in ten minutes and find out.”