#and sam wants his trust & praise & approval

[lambmotifz]

sam can control dean emotionally by pleading & using submissive puppy dog eyes while dean has physical control over sam. you understand

[ailtrahq]

“People want an authority to tell them how to value things, but they choose this authority not based on facts or results –– they choose it because it seems authoritative or familiar.” -Michael Lewis, The Big Short.Renowned author Michael Lewis published his book, Going Infinite: The Rise and Fall of a New Tycoon, on the rise and fall of FTX on the first day of the trial of its notorious founder Sam Bankman-Fried (Bankman-Fried). The book has met with heavy criticism by commentators for its seemingly favorable portrayal of the millennial crypto founder. It’s funny because at its core, the story of Bankman-Fried is a very old-school, Big Short-esque tale of a privileged actor who leveraged, for his own gain, our society’s predilection to make value judgements on people not due to their track record –– or as Lewis put it, “facts” –– but rather based off of a set of heuristics and approval from “sophisticated” people. Bankman-Fried’s ability to convince those we trust to be the “smart people” of our society –– including Lewis –– is uncanny. But why did they fall for him? Perhaps, it is because Bankman-Fried was someone they understood. He was an insider, who –– like them –– saw crypto as a community they could capitalize on, rather than an an ecosystem to nourish. Crypto ColonialismFortune Magazine in their profile of Bankman-Fried, wrote that the Bay Area native doesn’t look like the most powerful man in crypto. But is that really true?If anything, a 20-something year-old man oozing social awkwardness, an MIT degree, and poor fashion-sense is the wet dream of many a modern “sophisticated” tech investor. Bankman-Fried could easily be a character on the HBO show Silicon Valley.Now compound that with his birthright –– two parents who are law professors at a modern basilica of commerce –– Stanford University, and you have almost messianic figure of modern capitalism. One need not look further than the praise given to him by Kevin O’Leary, saying “I'm a big advocate for Sam because he has two parents that are compliance lawyers." the Shark Tank investor said in 2022. O’Leary continued: “If there's ever a place I could be that I'm not going to get in trouble, it's going to be at FTX.” We later found out that the Canadian investor was paid close to a million dollars an hour to be a public spokesperson for Bankman-Fried.But beyond Bankman-Fried’s bona fides, the real selling point that captured investor attention was Bankman-Fried’s mission. Not “effective altruism” –– subscribing to trendy, faux empathic movements is certainly a good marketing move for elite financiers. But, what really excited his investors was his belief that crypto wasn’t a serious industry worthy of building up, but rather a great opportunity to grab a bag load of money from gamblers.As a Sequoia Capital’s venture capitalist put it in a now deleted profile on Bankman-Fried, “Yes, crypto eventually could replace money, and, yes, it can eventually decentralize the web,” the investor said. He continued: “But all those things are not true today. And, so, what is the thing that people do today? They trade. And if people trade, and people like trading, what is the business model that will make tons of money? It would be an exchange.”This quote shows that the investors of Bankman-Fried didn’t view the crypto community as serious. To them, crypto itself has the same societal significance to getting three sets of cherries in a row on a slot machine in a Vegas casino. Better to invest in the casino rather than the photos of cherries.Agree or disagree with them, the crypto, and specifically the bitcoin subsection, of the community is serious with their goals. They are largely a set of libertarian, hyper-principled people. They are profoundly serious about their view on how blockchains can be used to liberate the currently unbanked, protect the value of one’s labor from ever increasing inflation, and connect people around the world through payments, and specifically remove government interference in money.

As Erik Voorhees’ puts it –– in what is now one of the final debates with Bankman-Fried –– “what we are doing here is in effect bringing the same separation that occurred between church and state to state and payments. In effect freeing people around the world.” The earnesty of belief held by people like Voorhees doesn’t compute for people like Sequoia VC or Bankman-Fried. For them those beliefs were useful in that they got a community to work hard for close to no reward until the first few bitcoin bull runs. But the belief itself? For the jaded elite, a company mission often is a means to a single end: Enrich one’s bank account. To them, a mission is as significant as making a “charity,” or going on a service trip in high school to look good for an ivy league admissions officer. It is just part of “the game.”This is quite problematic, since their investments in immature crypto companies –– and overall childish behavior, like when FTX raised $420,690,000 from 69 investors –– is a large part of the reason the “crypto” industry isn’t respected by the general public.Moreover, Bankman-Fried regularly made statements criticizing bitcoin, for being “slow, and bulky.” Keep in mind, the bitcoin community not only birthed crypto, but are –– for better or worse –– perhaps the most ideologically pure people in technology. Moreover, Bankman-Fried sought to influence legislation that would impact the earnest bitcoiners. Since he was –– prior to FTX’s collapse –– one of the biggest Washington donors, he likely would succeed in lobbying the government to follow his view. But this here is a form of colonization. The crypto community was a vibrant ecosystem prior to Bankman-Fried’s entry. It was a bunch of misfits that came together to build something that was unique and important. A chance to feel empowered in a system they feel marginalized in. For Bankman-Fried and his cohorts to come into it aiming to make a percentage off of the trading fees of investors –– rather than create products and businesses in the ethos of bitcoin –– was their original sin. Should we be so surprised that it eventually fell apart?A Silicon SocialistIn a similar vein to a young child who asks “why doesn’t the government just print more money and give it to the homeless?” –– Bankman-Fried’s claim to fame was to make a lot of money and give it away. Like some benevolent patrician. Andrew Carnegie in board shorts. But was it really an authentic impulse for charity, or was his empathy just some kind of game strategy to increase his social capital?In a phone call with crypto reporter Tiffany Fong, Bankman-Fried said that he donated as much money to Republicans as he did Democrats, but did so quietly in order to gain favor with journalists who he felt were predominantly left wing. In other words, Bankman-Fried manufactured a public persona of humanitarianism, but in reality his raison d'être was to gain more power and cloutHis former business partner Anthony Scaramucci said that he saw Bankman-Fried as having a sort of “superiority complex.” So, perhaps in Bankman-Fried’s head he thought that he could single-handedly solve all of the world’s problems if only he had all of the money.Whatever the truth may be –– what is it that made Bankman-Fried think that he had the right to use other’s money at his own discretion? Or for him to enter a space that he, once again, had close to nothing to do with creating. What made him think that he should be the authority who decides what aspects are kosher or haram? Or write legislation for it?At its core is a belief he was the smartest person in the room. A belief certainly had the innate privilege to feel given his parents’ societal standing, and his undeniable analytical wit. But, what was missing in the matrix of Bankman-Fried was a soul. A soul that would allow for him to truly respect community that he was entering as a stranger. History is filled with examples of people similar to Bankman-Fried, who rose to power promising to be stewards of a new, more fair utopia.

When, in reality, the main change they’re looking for is to be the ones in power. Bankman-Fried took that trope and sprinkled in Silicon Valley culture. As Michael Lewis writes, for Bankman-Fried, most of life is just some kind of game. One which –– if most legal experts are correct –– he won’t be getting any restarts on.This is a guest post by Jacob Kozhipatt. Opinions expressed are entirely their own and do not necessarily reflect those of BTC Inc or Bitcoin Magazine.

[plutobutartsy]

i'm here to add some thoughts to this concept :)

Sam and Vincent are related by blood and were put into the system at a very young age. I imagine them to be early teens when William first starts fostering them so around 13-15 maybe?

They went through multiple foster homes together and learned to trust and rely on only each other

Out of the two, Vincent is deffo the more rebellious one, allthough I don't like calling him that because he's just a kid trying to cope. But he acts out a lot more so that's the box people put him in.

As far as he's concerned, there are no good foster parents and they all have ulterior motives. At best, they only want to fulfill their saviour fantasy and everyone else is much much worse in his eyes.

Because of this he tends to get a lot of negative attention from his caretakers. Sam usually gets overlooked.

Sam is a lot more reserved. He is just as distrustful and hurt and angry as Vincent but he deals with it differently.

Most of the praise he gets is for being "mature for his age" when he really just bottles up his emotions a lot. It's sort of an endless cycle of him putting up a front, getting praised for being well behaved and since he doesn't want to lose this bit of attention and approval, he clings on to it and keeps hiding his feelings.

So basically, Vincent acts out ang gets a lot of negative attention while Sam gets overlooked unless he is directly being compared to Vincent

And if you're thinking "But wouldn't this cause conflict between the two?" You're right!

Vincent is jealous that Sam seems to get the approval of adults so quickly.

He knows that if he stopped being so rebellious he would get praise as well but. He doesn't know how. He thinks Sam is lucky to be able to handle his emotions so well (Hah.) and is resentful of the fact that he gets constantly compared to his brother.

Sam on the other hand thinks that any attention, good or bad, is better than none. As far as he's concerned, Vincent is so lucky to at least be noticed.

With the way Sam has been treated by previous caretakers he feels like he can only exist in direct relation to Vincent. "Why can't you be more like Sam?" is the extent of the attention he receives, just a passing remark and then he's back to being ignored because obviously, if a kid is well behaved there is no need to be there for them! (/sar)

And again, Sam clings to that bit of attention like a lifeline.

Don't get me wrong, they both still trust and care for each other very deeply! They don't really fight but when they do, that's what they argue about.

Because of this conflict there is a rift slowly but surely forming between the two. The older they get, the less they feel like they can be open with each other about their feelings out of fear the other wouldn't understand (sad :c )

Moving on

William takes them in :)

And Vince and Sam sort of have a subconcious routine when it comes to new caretakers.

Vincent doesn't waste any time being disrespectful and rude. Short answers to questions if he even bothers answering them at all. Sarcastic remarks. Insults and swearing. He knows he has to strike first.

Sam is reserved as always. Quiet and polite. Don't speak unless spoken to. Don't share personal interests or opinions.

And they're both so ready for William to be shit

and then he just

isn't

He doesn't yell at Vincent for acting out, doesn't dish out harsh punishments

He's just concerned. And Vince wants to convince himself that it's all bullshit, that Will doesn't really care, but it's kinda hard when Will is being so genuine

And he isn't smothering or suffocating Vincent, he's just genuinely concerned, offers his help and to talk but he also sticks to boundaries and let's Vincent have his space

Plus he's so interested in Sam and what he has to say which is like,, the bare minimum but Sam has never had that so he's like "AYO???"

And it's not some "oh let me prove what a good guy I am" bullshit

William is 1000% serious and interested and invested

It weirds Sam out a bit because he's not used to bring in the spotlight like that

I think one of the best things William provides is just room for both of them to be kids

And it's like he knows exactly when to be a little pushy to show that he genuinely cares and when to take a step back and give the boys their space and privacy

Also William is 100% the type of dad to be so excited and supportive about anything his kids do

I'm talking the entire fridge covered in fucking drawings and report cards and whatnot

The dude that finds a way to connect ANY topic back to his kids

It's honestly almost obnoxious but also very sweet and endearing

Obviously this happens later into their relationship because Vincent and Sam deffo wouldn't be comfortable with this right off the bat

and i'm sure there's more but this shit has been sitting in my drafts for forever and i have to post it NOW or i'll just never do it

tagging @kitkatkoneko because i think you might be interested :]

i would love to write a 50k+ word fic about an unempowered au where william adopts teen vincent and sam and it's just fluff and hurt/comfort and found family but i don't have the patience or time to learn how to write well

[buckys-little-belle]

Mafia AU

Guide Book

Belle’s Mafia AU

This AU (alternate universe) is set in New York, following the four most prominent Mafia Families and their business. The series, for now, will be focused on the Barnes-Rogers Family, specifically Bucky and Steve, and their little Dove. In this AU Little’s are a common thing, everyone is sort of placed into three categories, Little, Caregiver (Cg) and Little/Caregiver. (Some characters do not have a label, this is because their label is insignificant to the plot, feel free to label them as whatever you want in your head.). Because I do not know extensively what New York living is like, nor do I know extensive history of the area, I am going off of what the internet says, if you think I have something wrong, it’s probably because I do, but this is a fictional world, the vibes will be different, so even though I try to keep things accurate, I cannot promise native New Yorkers will enjoy this series care free. This series is completely fictional, I am not romanticizing real Mafia life, I am simply making up a fake world and creating a storyline within it, please do not think that the real Mafia world is like this, as it definitely isn’t.

Odinson Family - (All of New York) The oldest and most respected Mafia family, the Family holding the rights over all other Mafia families in New York. Odin’s sons are known for fighting over the leadership of the Family, too stubborn to agree to Co-Lead, instead swapping leadership every so often. Though the Family has a small inner circle, it’s known for it’s many allies, the Odinson empire far larger than meets the eye.

Odin - Head of all New York Mafia Families, nothing happens without his approval, he is basically the ‘King’ over everyone.

Thor (Cg) - Odin’s son, and leader of the ‘Odinson’ Mafia Family.

Loki (Cg/Little) - Odin’s son, right hand man of the ‘Odinson’ Mafia Family

Frigga - Odin’s wife, the voice of reason to Odin’s ruling, the mother to all.

Valkyrie (Cg) - Trusted member of The Odinson Family

Carol (Cg) - Trusted member of the Odinson Family

Barnes-Rogers Family (Brooklyn/Queens) - Bucky and Steve have never done anything apart, so when each of them were given the opportunity to move rank and create a Mafia family, on their own, they chose to merge together, creating a strong empire together. The Barnes-Rogers family is known for it’s kindness to allies as well as the community, but it’s harshness to it’s enemies, second chances are hardly ever handed out.

Steve (Cg) - Co-Leader of the Barnes-Rogers Family

Bucky (Cg) - Co-Leader of the Barnes-Rogers Family

Sam (Cg) - Right hand man of the Barnes-Rogers Family

Peter (Little) - The newest recruit to the Barnes-Rogers Family

Ned (Cg) - The newest, and only, tech guy, and member, of the Barnes-Rogers Family

Romanov Family - (Manhattan) Run by the best Russian assassin, turned Mafia leader, her ruthlessness and ability to see through lies allowing her leadership to never be questioned and instead be praised. The Romanov family is known for loyalty and shady deals, the leader keeping family close, and enemies unknowing closer. Though the Romanov Family is newly established, it’s value is heavily recognized by the others around them.

Natasha (Cg) - Leader of the Romanov Family

Clint (Cg) - Right hand man to the Romanov Family

Kate (Little) - The newest recruit of the Romanov Family

Yelena (Cg) - Trusted member of the Romanov Family

Wanda (Cg/Little) - Trusted member of the Romanov Family

Stark-Potts Family - (Staten Island) Tony, Howard Starks son, was destined for political greatness, his fathers standing as Mayor on New York opened the door to corruption above the sewers for his son. In a act of, seemingly, rebellion, Tony ended up fallowing in his uncles footsteps, taking over his Mafia Family and beginning a name for himself on his own terms. Pepper’s family was always the right hand to Tony’s uncle, helping him run the business successfully, she took on that role and more when it came to Tony, him giving her a true standing, a label that properly represented what she did within the family.

Tony (Cg) - Co-Leader of the Stark-Potts Family

Pepper (Cg) - Co-Leader of the Stark-Potts Family

Happy (Cg) - Right Hand Man of the Stark-Potts Family

Bruce (Cg) - Trusted Member of the Stark-Potts Family

Vision (Cg) - Trusted Member of the Stark-Potts Family

Rumlow Family - (The Bronx) The newest, and least trusted, as well as least established, Mafia Family.

Brock Rumlow - Leader of the Rumlow Family

Y/n Rumlow (Little) - Sibling of the leader

[ejzah]

Busted, Part 3

***

“I knew this was a terrible idea,” Kensi said, arms crossed as she stared down at the superintendent. He’d just informed them that Deeks was not only recognized by a man he helped convince, but was his bunkmate.

“Kensi.” There was a warning note in Sam’s voice and he shook his head minutely. She clenched her jaw to keep back anymore comments, fixing her eyes on a certificate played above Superintendent Reyna’s desk.

Callen leaned against the far wall of the office, across from Sam, his arms folded casually. Beneath his laidback demeanor, she saw the tension and tension around Callen’s eyes.

“How exactly does something like this happen?” he asked, and the judgment was obvious in his voice. “You were supposed to control the situation to make it as safe for Deeks as possible.”

Reyna had the good grace to look chagrined as he shifted in his chair. It was an look on a man so large.

“I intended to be there for his arrival and processing, but there was an incident in a different part of the facility that required my attention,” he explained, glancing between Sam and Callen. Possibly for approval. “By the time I got back, Deeks had already been placed in his current cell with Jeremiah Keizer. I explained all of this to your detective.”

“Great, how is he?” Sam asked.

“He’s a little banged up, but assured me he was alright to continue.”

“I think we should speak with him and see if that’s true,” Kensi spoke up. It was killing her that she couldn’t see him. She remembered him getting into character that morning. Now he was out there among hundreds of dangerous men, many of whom had additional incentive to want him dead.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Reyna said. “He’s already caused quite a stir what with the fight between him and Keizer, being taken to the med bay, and being brought to my office. It might make him a little too noticeable.” There was a tense silence as they all looked between each other, excluding Reyna from the wordless conversation. “So, just what is Detective Deeks and Jeremiah Keizer’s history?” he finally asked.

“From what one of our analysts gathered, Deeks was one of Keizer’s arresting officers following a violent burglary. Even though Deeks wasn’t the only officer on the case or to give a testimony at his trial, from the court record, Keizer personally blamed Deeks. As he was leaving the court following his sentencing, he promised he’d pay Deeks back if he had the opportunity,” Callen told Reyna.

“I wish I’d known that before you placed him here.”

“We gave you a full list of Deeks’ former arrests and possible enemies,” Sam reminded him. “Besides, Deeks has been a successful law enforcement officer for years. You should have known something like this could happen and prepared better.”

Kensi was mildly surprised; it was unusual for Sam to praise Deeks at all, let alone in front of a man like Reyna. She also thought it was a bit hypocritical given the way he shut her down just a few minutes ago.

“Agent Hanna, do you know the size of our population here? We are already overworked as it is,” Reyna said, his voice tightening. “Now, I don’t want anymore harm to come to Deeks, but you also knew there were a certain amount of risks involved when you agreed to send him in undercover. I gave him the opportunity for an out and he declined. Now it’s up to you to decide if you agree with that decision. Either way, it won’t work if you think I can keep him away from everyone who might recognize him.”

“Unfortunately, the Superintendent has a point,” Callen sighed. “Like any dangerous cover, if we micromanage him, Deeks can’t do his job and we might put him in more danger. I guess we just have to trust in his skills.”

Kensi kept her lips pressed together to stop an onslaught of comments but inside, worry gnawed at her stomach.

***

Deeks nodded to the inmate in front of him, who was currently in charge of serving breakfast, which consisted of toast, cereal, and completely over cooked eggs.

“Bose,” he said, nodding briefly as he scanned the room. It was partially a protective measure and an opportunity to plan where he would sit. He’d spent the last two weeks carefully establishing acquaintances and reinforcing his cover. His injuries had mostly healed in that time and he was allowed to participate in regular exercise, but his ribs still twinged occasionally, especially when he ran for more than a few minutes.

“Max,” Bose returned, mouth narrowed grimly. It was his usual expression, so Deeks didn’t take it to heart.

His history, or Max’s at the very least, had traveled quickly amongst many of the inmates, propped by some additional charges to make him stand out. Some kept their distance, not wanting any more trouble, while others saw it as a challenge.

Deeks chose his battles wisely; he knew he needed to catch Morgan Dentz’s attention among a crowd of men who had done varying levels of terribly things. However, he couldn’t be too reckless or he’d be branded a troublemaker. Not to mention, he received the same treatment as any other prisoner when he broke rules.

So instead, he built relationships, or at least what passed for them in a prison. Even on the streets, Max Gentry could be incredibly charming when he wanted to. Admittedly, it was a rough kind of charm, but it appealed to the type of people Max dealt with.

Like so many aspects of Max’s personality, Deeks had used his father as inspiration. From his dim recollections before Gordon was a full drunk, he made his mother laugh and never had a problem getting free drinks when he went out. After the alcohol took hold, he used that same charm and innate affability to convince cops that it was just a little argument and doctors to look the other way.

Taking his tray, Deeks nodded to Bose, and headed for a table a few left of center where a couple guys he’d become friendly with sat. It also happened to be right next to Michael Dentz’s favored spot. Deeks let his eyes linger on Dentz’ bowed head for a moment before moving on.

He was of medium height with a muscular build, his hair closely cropped. On either side, several of his posse were spread out, discouraging anyone who might want to mess with Dentz.

He’d watched the man and gathered whatever gossip he could without being too obvious. From what he understood, Dentz at least one person from his ring working in every department in the prison, as well as an unknown number of guards.

Approaching him directly would only make Dentz suspicious, so instead, Deeks put out feelers and waited for Dentz to come to him. It wasn’t the fastest way to get things done, but it might be a lot safer.

“Max,” one of the two men at his table greeted. He had shoulder length hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, his skin grey and particularly unhealthy looking, even for prison.

“White.”

The second, who only went by Hands, gave a grunt, which Deeks accepted as the only hello he was going to get.

While Deeks ate, White went into great detail about a woman who’d been writing him for the last month. Glancing around to make sure a guard wasn’t watching, White pulled out a wallet sized picture to show them.

When Hands saw the picture, he scoffed, shaking his head, and turned the picture for Deeks to see. It showed a pretty blonde woman.

“You believe this idiot has a girlfriend?” he asked, chuckling at White when he grabbed the picture back and shoved into his pocket. “No way she seen what he really looks like. No way in hell.”

“I guess it’s true what they, say,” Deeks commented, grinning despite himself. “There’s somebody out there for everyone.”

“Screw you, Max,” White said. “You ain’t got nobody writing to you.”

“I could if I wanted to, but I got standards.” White snorted at that and shoveled a spoon of eggs into his mouth as he mumbled something was almost certainly extremely offensive.

“What about you, Max?” Hands asked. “You got a lady waiting for you when you get out?”

Deeks huffed out a laugh, letting it turn bitter.

“Nah. I had a girl. We were even talking about getting married, but she said she’d break up with me the last time I got picked up for distribution. She didn’t even come to visit me when I was in holding, so there’s no way she’s waiting around for me to get out,” Deeks said with a shrug.

“That sucks man. How long did you get?”

“Seven years. Should have been just a couple years, or less, but my boss pinned the whole racket on me. Made it look like I was the one making it, selling it, everything. Funny thing is, that wasn’t even my full-time gig. I just helped out on the side when I needed the extra cash.”

“Well, maybe when you get you, you can pay him back then,” Hands suggested, flashing Deeks a disconcerting grin.

“Mm, definitely thought about it,” Deeks said. An alarm sounded, signaling the end of breakfast and everyone started gathering their trays. The guards barked at a few stragglers, who reluctantly fell into line. Michael Dentz’s table was the last to move and as Deeks passed, he saw Dentz watching him.

Though he was careful not to give any indication that he’d noticed, Deeks silently allowed himself a moment of satisfaction.

***

A/N: Hope this chapter was enjoyable. And once again, despite watching many procedurals, I truly do not know what occurs in a prison beyond my limited research.

[rodneymckays]

stargate episodes that should have been, part 52: cam mitchell, bounty hunter (my beloved). while offworld, sg-1 discovers someone has been using cam’s criminal alias (“it’s not an alias when it’s literally your name, cameron” says vala, noted expert in criminal aliases). they discover this when cam tries to use his criminal alias to get out of a sticky situation (involving vala, a merchant, and some allegedly stolen goods that vala claims she is simply borrowing), but ends up making the situation stickier because apparently the cam impostor has pissed a lot of people off. sg-1 is cut off from the gate and they’re forced to flee into the woods, where they meet none other than… cam mitchell, bounty hunter. (cue spider-man pointing meme.) cam is like “this is NOT okay. you can’t have my NAME” but the impostor (who, and i mention this because it is a key part of his character, wears too much hair gel to the point where it’s clearly hair gel and looks terrible) tries to argue that it’s his name now and he’s actually trying to get it trademarked, so ha. cam’s like ??????. they start to really understand why this guy has pissed so many people off. they debate the merits of turning him over to the angry townspeople (cam is all for it, aside from the fact that he kinda wants to shoot the guy himself, but vala is praising his entrepreneurial spirit) when the guy is like “wait no don’t shoot me i am busy doing Important things like sabotaging one of ba’al’s. uh. thingies. whatchamacallits. uh. secret bases.” (“i don’t trust this. who forgets the words ‘secret base’?” “sam. look at him. he’s clearly not the smartest guy in the galaxy.”) so they agree to not shoot him so long as he takes them to ba’al’s secret base that apparently exists on this planet. (they only came here because vala wanted to go shopping, honestly. and also to see if the ori had a foothold with the population but only because vala said they might be a likely target because she wanted to go shopping at the markets.) they go to ba’al’s secret base and find out that it’s not really as much of a “secret base” as it is a “trap”, and it probably never belonged to ba’al either. what, you’re telling me that cam mitchell (bounty hunter) betrayed them?! no way! so here’s sg-1. they’re in a building that i guess could pass as a secret base from the outside, but on the inside it’s obviously abandoned and all the exits are guarded by newly-activated tacluchnatagamuntorons. (teal’c nods sagely. “tacluchnatagamuntorons.” there is silence for an entire second while everyone looks at him, broken by cam saying, “what the fuck?”) they defeat the tacs fairly easily because the imposter didn’t take their stuff, just locked them in the building, so they toss a flare into the open then, using zats, fire on the tacs that just revealed themselves. (vala had a different plan that she didn’t tell anyone about that involved going up onto the roof and doing Roof Things. they go outside and see vala standing on the roof. instead of walking back down the stairs like a normal person she jumps and makes teal’c catch her. it’s in slo-mo for some reason.) they head after the impostor but discover that the townspeople have already caught him and are pretty mad because he had destroyed several of their market stalls in a shootout with the wrong guy, who was an innocent shopper. sg-1 sorts out the cam mitchell name mixup, then they all go home (before vala gets to do any more shopping).

moral of the story: never trust a man with excessive hair gel. and never ever use your real name as your alias, cam!!!

vala getting missions to planets approved because she wants to do some shopping...DID I MENTION I'M IN LOVE WITH HER? i'm convinced the team are all aware of this and just...don't tell landry ('cause hello. fun!) and teal'c carrying vala in his arms will never not be the cutest most deadliest thing. they should just charge into battle with vala on teal'c's shoulders for maximum intimidation & badassery.

[starshipsofstarlord]

Aim | Part Two

Warnings; treachery, threats, mentions of torture, mentions of smut, implied smut, mentions of death, cliffhanger.

A/N; I made Bucky a bit more self aware for this imagine, just thought that it would fit a bit better.

The fight was fair, frighteningly so. As the soldier threw you, you collided with a car, leaving Steve to defend himself. Their combat continued, as you slithered up and around the car, you were waiting. Waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

The soldier clashed his metal condiment against the vibranium shield that was in Steve’s tight grasp, and then the captain flung the hitman over its circumference. He landed fine, and without his all concealing mask.

A look of a soloist shock grasped the blonde’s features. This was his friend before him, the boy he had grown up with in the past, alive, even after that lethal fall from the train. “Bucky?” He asked with a frown, however the opposing man’s face remained stoic.

“Who the hell is Bucky?” He truly did not know, you were aware of that much, however you made a move to stand, stumbling closer to the confused and tortured soul.

“Barnes.” You growled at him, his head turning to focus on you, encouraged by your voice and not the surname that had surpassed your lips.

His head tilted at the sight of you, he was about to disappear, however he remained as Brock and his men closed in. “Good to see you again y/n.” He squinted at you, his voice monotone.

“I’d that what Pierce told you to say?” You barked back, standing strong against the super soldier. But it appeared that wasn’t the right move, as his blue eyes flickered between you and his former friend.

“I know that he put you in the avengers for a reason, and it sure as hell wasn’t to make friends.” His statement made you freeze and gulp all at once. “Say it, and I will spare your life, draga.”

It was a weight on your chest, a burden that you had been cursed by, and so you lowered your head, all to aware of the fact that Steve, Nat and Sam were in close enough range to hear you.

“Hail HYDRA.” It was practically poison leaving your mouth, a line that no longer spoke truth to this version of yourself. The soldier’s blue eyes latched onto your own, and it practically hypnotised your, urging you to come forward, and follow him into the depths of the deadly organisation.

“Y/n.” Steve called out your name, you were obliged with him as your captain to answer, but you couldn’t bare to face him. He had taught you how to fight for the right things, rather than just follow orders that were handed out. But here you were, treacherously walking away from him, and presumptuously your team also.

Bucky began to walk, and as the trophy of HYDRA, you followed after him, knowing that he would lead you to Pierce, the one who had put you in this set up from the beginning.

🏹

“I think the sight of him, threw her off track.” Nat spoke, after they had escaped with Hill, and it was revealed that Fury was indeed, alive. It was both a shock and a relief, as Steve was feeling about a couple of things himself.

“That’s ironic, considering that she had planned for things to go in the opposite direction.” The captain sighed, confused and hurt by all the new revelations. “She knew all along who he was, and she knew that she was placed as an avenger for a cause that did not serve the one that she pretended it to.”

“She’s never trusted anyone because of Barnes.” She felt awful, knowing that all along you had been used as a pawn, she knew how that felt, and it made her sick to her stomach. “But maybe he’s the only one that she has trusted, even despite what he did to her. They’d all have hurt her, and as she said, he gave her that scar when she was nineteen, there’s been time before and after that.”

He was aware that Natasha was trying to reason with him, and although you were quite and secured in secrecy, he wanted to save you, the same as Bucky.

🏹

“Well done indeed y/n.” Pierce greeted you, the soldat hovering over your shoulder silently. “Without you, we’d have never knew where Fury was in the first place, nor would you have intel on each of the individuals that wish to take us down.

Simultaneously , you nodded and gulped, awaiting approval to speak. He never gave you any, so you stood beside the soldier, until the message and confirmation of your allowance was received.

“Thankyou dad.” You turned once you were dismissed, gripping onto Bucky’s arm, and dragging him to a private destination. You needed a distraction, and so did he, albeit he was confused by the man on the bridge, and the fact that he would most probably not remember the interaction afterwards.

It was a bleak room, with a cot; the luxury of your room. As you walked in, the stench of guilt filled it, and you knew why that feeling resonated from you. You were disappointed in yourself, for betraying those that were allegedly your own team. But that had been the mission from the start, this ending was inevitable.

“You did good out there.” The winter soldier closed the door to the room, standing beside you and brushing your hair to the side to reveal the skin of your neck. His breath ghosted over the flesh, making it tingle as you awaited for him to make a supplementary move. “For a moment, I was convinced that you were on their side.”

You remained silent, knowing that it should have been the one that you chose, however you leaned back into the hardy chest of the super soldier, and licked your lips. “I would never be, SHIELD took everything from me, and the avengers, well they’re basically their pets.”

“Good.” He praised you, grasping onto your hips, and pulling them flush against his hardness. “Otherwise, you know I’d have to kill you, and none of us want that.”

It was a threat, and for some reason, it happened to turn you on more. So you turned, lacing your fingers into his wavy hair, and pulling his lips to your own. “I know what I want, and it sure as hell isn’t your teasing. So unless you want me to tell my father that you were making advances on me, then you’ll get on with it.”

It was always the same pattern, whenever Pierce knew of Barnes’ intimacy with you, his brain would be shocked into submission, and he’d forget. But somehow through his recovery he always gravitated towards you, and the inevitable would play out.

With your command spoke, the soldier ripped your shirt from your body, his one cold, and the other warm hand brushing over his flesh. It was as though he were trying to engrain every feature into his mind, so that Pierce could not wash it away.

In a lack of patience, your lips collided with his. This was the only thing that made the man feel human, rather than a commanded robot, that was used as an assassin, and a high level threat.

“Don’t forget me this time.” You told him, brushing your nose against the bridge of his own. Since he had seen Steve, you knew that they would try and remove his memories once more, but you feared that you wouldn’t be alive after his refreshment.

You were thinking of doing something stupid, something that would probably get you killed. It was a cause you had learnt to believe in, it would make you an avenger, a hero even after your death.

[thequeenofsastiel]

You know, I think Dean would bother me a lot less if the narrative and the characters acknowledged his faults. But everyone bends over backwards to sing his praises, more and more so as the series has progressed. Castiel's speech to him in 15x18 was especially egregious. Don't get me wrong, I understand being blind to the faults of the person you're in love with(trust me, I do 🤦‍♀️), but given their relationship in s15, it's shocking that Castiel is still so incapable of seeing Dean clearly.

Dean is far from the most caring man on earth. And he's almost never selfless. And while it may be true that he does at least some things for love, it's usually been a selfish love. He raised Sam because his dad told him to, and he wanted his father's approval. And it's clear from Sully's existence in Sam's life that he did the bare minimum most of the time. He paid so little attention that Sam was able and willing to run away. He brought Sam back from the dead because he didn't want to be alone. He saves the world because he wants to continue to exist in it. He hunts because he enjoys killing. The way Castiel said Dean saw himself? Driven by hate and anger? Assuming he's capable of that level of self awareness, he sees himself that way because that's exactly who he is. He's abusive, he's cruel, and he's deeply self centered.

Don't get me wrong, not everything Dean has ever done is evil, but he's fundamentally not a good person, and it's so frustrating that the only characters who ever point that out are villains. I've been able to enjoy watching characters who aren't good people before, and, while I don't think I'd ever be able to enjoy watching Dean(honestly, his presence in Supernatural makes it nigh unwatchable, and I'm only continuing because I love Sam and Jack so much), I think I'd hate it at least a bit less if how awful he is was acknowledged by the narrative and the other characters who aren't villains.

[hello-im-not-a-possum]

21. Redemption

The Ink Demon cannot redeem himself in his apostate prophet’s eyes, but luckily for him, Allison does a good job keeping it from killing him. (Set in FIFE, immediately after the Sin prompt.)

The Ink Demon, making what had to be one of the stupidest decisions ever, popped out of his Inkwell and stood to his full height, which while it was tall compared to human beings, the Ink Demon was rather short compared to the towering behemoth Sammy had become.

“Sammy, listen, I know I should’ve told you this way, WAY earlier but.. I’m Sorry.” The horrifying creature wrapped its body up in its largest pair of wings, steadying itself on a single arm as Inky tried to read the creature’s body language for either signs of approval or disapproval. Not knowing if he was getting through to it or not, he continued. “I know I really, really, really %#@!ed up with everything I did to you, I know that I don’t deserve your forgiveness at all...  Maybe if I was a better person back then, I would’ve earned the praise you’ve heaped on me, but instead… *sigh* I’m sorry for how I treated you back then, I’m sorry that I pretty much… brainwashed you into worshiping me and then threw you to the side once I had what I wanted. I’m sorry that I hurt you and your loved ones for fun, And I’m sorry that I made you feel like you were nothing… I should’ve known better than to do any of that $#*!, Joey put me through similar stuff and I knew that it was &%#@ing awful when I was going through it, but I was too much of a Jack@$$ to-”

“Shhhh…” The otherworldly musician put a shushing finger over the Ink Demon’s lips which he retracted back into his wings. “It’s alright, little one. All is forgiven. No sin you have committed has been an infinite one, thus, you shall not receive infinite punishment.”

“Y-you really forgive me?! This soon?! H-how?! I hurt you the most out of everybody I’ve wronged, people who I’ve done a lot less to still avoid me because they still haven’t forgiven me… ...Does this mean you’re coming back home?”

Instead of answering him, a deformed arm shot out of Sammy’s form and straight through the Ink Demon’s chest, tearing out his heart in one fell swoop. The mouths on its arm already began chewing away at it like ravenous piranhas.

“Your sins are forgiven… but not forgotten…”

The Ink Demon ducked back into his inkwell to prevent further damage from happening to him, Allison gripped onto the inkwell tightly and ran like hell out of the ritual room. Partly to help protect the Ink Demon from the eldritch musician’s wrath, partly because she feared the beast, and mostly because the blessed bleach on the floor would eat her alive if she stayed in there any longer.

The being sped after her, moving its many distorted arms like the legs of a spider as Allison narrowly ducked and dodged incoming strikes from it, preferring to evade the eldritch monster as opposed to attacking it as like the Ink Demon, it could not be harmed by normal weapons, but unlike the ink demon, every time she cut off a hand, the stump grew and branched off to give it two more hands.

“D-don’t you think… *Cough* *Hack...* that we should try to reason with him?”

“Maybe we should,” she offered as she felt like it was too dangerous to argue with Inky during this. “But not while he’s trying to kill us in a maze filled with holy bleach!”

“Don’t flatter yourself, false angel...” The pursuing entity sounded like it was rolling its limitless eyes. “You may serve the divine, but you are not among their ranks... You will be spared, even if you believe you do not deserve it.”

“Gee, thanks Sammy...” She muttered under her breath while also rolling her eyes. “I totally believe you.”

Shortly after another close call with one the hands narrowly catching the inkwell, Allison grabbed her rope with the intent to tie the Inkwell to herself but then got a better idea.

“Inky, hold onto my waist as tightly as you can!”

She took a sharp turn, tied a lasso out of the rope, and swung it around to get momentum. Once she felt she had enough of it and sensed the upcoming pursuer, she turned and threw it behind her at the eldritch horror, almost stunned with shock and pride as she saw the rope perfectly hit Sammy’s muzzle. But luckily for her, adrenaline overcame shock and she ran between the entity’s arms and yanked the rope as hard as she possibly could.

As half-planned, the action slammed the beast to the ground. While it was still dazed by the action, The brave angel tied more of the rope around the horror’s muzzle, and jumped on its back as if she was riding a horse- -err a sheep, the creature was closer to a sheep than a horse. She jumped on its back as if she was riding a sheep made out of nightmares.

“HOLY *HACCK!* *WHEEZE!* $#*! ALLISON! WHERE THE %#^& DID THAT COME FROM?!”

“I panicked, and well…” She gestured at the rope and the beast. “When I trusted my gut, this happened.”

The beast shook the dizziness out of its head and rose on many unsteady limbs that swayed and staggered as it stood back up, almost as if the body remembered that it was supposed to be human, or at least humanoid, not whatever it was now.

One of the arms felt around its back for the Angel, and she drew her blade and put it against the musician’s throat while grabbing tightly to his left horn.

“You’ve won the battle, but the war is over. C’mon, Sam, we’re going home.”

She felt a heavy sigh come out from the beast, specifically, out of the tied up muzzle.

“Do you truly trust him? After all you have seen him do? After all he’s put everyone through?”

“We’ve all hurt people back there, all of us.” She lowered her blade off Sammy’s neck. “We’ve all done one terrible thing or another and tried to justify it to ourselves, and all of us regret them… I Don’t fully trust the Ink Demon, not yet… But I do trust that he regrets what he’s done too, and that he wants to change for the better as much as everyone else does, as much as you do.”

“I had no intent for changing for the better, I had valued the deaths of the false gods more than my own life. I expected to have my soul destroyed by the ritual, and yet, almost annoyingly, I still persist.”

“Because you believed that by destroying them, you’d set your flock free! You’re still here, because you know that you have people who want you back, people who love you and miss you, people who you inspired by your own redemption among them to change themselves for the better.”

“Including me!”

“...Including him.”

“...”

“So, would you like to see them again and go back home?”

“No. America never was and never will be my home, not even then, and especially not now.”

The angel and demon deflated partly.

“But… I’m sure I will make some visits here and there, everybody knows how to call me when they want.”

“Say Sammy… *HACKK!* About you wanting me to *COUGH* free you from an ‘Inky dark abyss you call a body’... Would… would you like me to try that, or do you have a sweet deal going on with the whole nightmare-abomination-god-thing?”

“...Well…”

-----

Weeks later...

“How’s progress going so far?”

“Uuuurrrrgghhh...!”

The Ink Demon pinched the nonexistent bridge of his nonexistent nose in frustration as his patient/canvas gave a so-so gesture.

“It’s terrible! Just terrible! I’ve managed to carve it back down to LOOKING human (most of the time), but every time I turn my back on this mother^@!&er, its got something ELSE going on, and the second I fix it, it’s got a new problem: First it was that its pectorals were replaced with a giant mouth filled with fangs that belonged to a sea monster, THEN there was the wasp problem, and THEN eyes are popping all over it like chicken pox spots, and THEN...”

“I have accepted that Eldritch demigodhood may be a chronic condition that I’ll have to deal with for the rest of my life. At least most of my humanity is restored... and this condition is one that has its perks from time to time...”

“Well, according to the tests, you’re a human being, so at least you two on the right path.”

“Yeah… Still frustrating as &$@! Though. What makes it worse is that COULD’VE done better if I did this sooner! I could’ve saved it back at the studio but Nooo, I had to wait until AFTER getting freed from that place before getting a redemption arc. #%#@ing son of a...”

“While it’s not the most... Ideal, but it’s a lot better than it’s ever been before. Thank you for your assistance.”

“No, thank you for giving me another chance.”

[realm-sweet-realm]

Lasting Melodies, chapter 1: You Were Always There

I thought I’d make a story for Jack Fain and Sammy Lawrence, showing their snippets of their lives together from their first performance to Jack’s untimely death.

The first chapter is mostly going to be fluff. In the second chapter, ink-related angst kicks in.

I hope you all enjoy this.

---

In the backstage of a little theatre, Jack Fain sat in anxious silence, waiting to be called out alongside Sammy for their Vaudesville routine. During their practices together, he’d been able to push down the idea of dozens or hundreds of people staring at him for their entertainment, but now it was all he could think about. He looked to Sammy, who seemed much calmer, and offered him a little smile and a nod. Sammy had done many performances before, beginning with concerts as a child and teenager showcasing his prodigal talent. Sammy was the reason Jack didn’t simply shed the flashy vaudevillian getup and make a run for it- Sammy had never, at least as far as Jack knew, had a humiliating performance, and Jack wasn’t about to waste all the effort they’d put in and make it his first.

The announcer finally called them out. “Just focus on the routine,” Sammy said, leading Jack onto the stage.

The routine was no different than practice- in fact, the adrenaline of doing it before an audience made it easier if anything. It would have been poor performance not to look at the crowd, so Jack did, but they didn’t terrify him like they expected. They weren’t bored, or annoyed, or vicious, they were having fun. And Jack was having fun with them.

When the routine was finished, the crowd cheered.

“They love us, Sammy,” Jack breathed. Of course, the crowd had cheered for every performer that night, and Jack knew that. But it felt so good. People loved him! All their skill and effort had made people cheer.

Jack felt a little tug at his sleeve and followed Sammy’s lead backstage, slightly embarrassed that he’d almost overstayed his welcome.

“That was amazing!”

“Good!” Sammy replied. He was smiling, too. “I was starting to think you weren’t cut out for this, but you’re actually a real stage personality. Would you do it again with me?”

“Next chance we have.”

“Great. I’ve been meaning to ask you something, actually- I want to do shows like this for a living someday, but I'd want a partner for it. So, will you be my partner?”

“Wow, that’s an awfully big choice. I wanna say yes right away, but give me a little time to think about it. Okay? And thank you. I would have never been able to do this without you.”

“Heh. No problem. No one I’d rather be on stage with than you.”

Jack blushed. It was a touch awkward to have his crush and best friend praise him like that. “Thanks,” was all that he could manage.

---

As soon as Sammy walked in to their apartment, Jack could tell that he was in a bad mood. Jack put down the book he was reading and went to him. “Something up, Sam?”

Sammy sighed deeply. “I think we need to have a little house meeting.”

“Sure.”

“Okay. Well, I was fired by the movie theatre for,” Sammy made air quotes with his fingers, “‘unhinged and unprofessional behaviour.’ And let’s be honest- we’ve been at the musical thing long enough, and our names aren’t taking off. Remember that Joey Drew guy who offered to hire us as a pair? I think we should do that. It’s a way for us to be working on music together.”

“Well, it’s too bad that you want to give up on the performances, but hey, writing music for a living sounds like an improvement on working at the record store. Sure, let’s do it.”

Sammy smiled and nodded, then looked away. “There’s something else I want to tell you as well. I... well, I found your love poem.”

Jack was stunned. “What?”

Sammy took the folded piece of paper from his pocket. “Uh, here... sorry. You told me it was a song you weren’t finished with, and I took a peek, even though you told me not to, and it was probably an accident you left it in the open.”

Jack's heart raced, afraid of what this would mean for Sammy’s perspective of him. “Okay,” he began, in a tone one might use to calm an animal, “Now that you know about this, I understand if you want to set some new boundaries with me-”

“No! No- I found it months ago. Sorry I didn’t give it back- I just don’t think I convince myself it existed, otherwise. And I didn’t think I wanted to pursue this, but I just thought, you know, if I couldn’t pursue musical performance the way I wanted to, maybe I could have the other thing I wanted.”

Not quite stunned by disbelief, Jack cupped Sammy’s face with one of his hands, forcing Sammy to meet his eyes. “I love you too.”

Sammy pulled him into their first kiss. It was just how Jack had always imagined it would be.

---

Jack sat in Henry’s old desk, waiting for his turn to be called into Joey’s office. Joey had, for no obvious reason, scheduled Sammy in for a fifteen-minute meeting at nine, with him having a similar meeting right after. Finally, Sammy came out, not looking any more upset than usual, thankfully.

“You’re not getting fired, don’t worry,” Sammy said. “We’re gonna have plenty to talk about over lunch, though.”

“Okay.” Jack’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Any idea what his reason is for calling us in like this?”

“Frankly? I think you’re sitting on it,” Sammy said, rolling his eyes. Then he left.

This just confused Jack. There had been no secret that Joey was sore over Henry’s departure a couple days ago, but what could that have to do with Joey wanting to see them?

As soon as Jack had entered Joey’s office, Joey had sat him down with a nice cup of coffee. “So, this is just going to be a casual meeting, Jack. Just you and me talking- one artist to another, alright?” There was an air of longing and desperation in Joey’s eyes.

“Alright.”

“Alright! Excellent! So, as an artistic man, I’m sure that you understand that an artist needs a partner, right?” Joey reached out and stroked Jack’s hand with his finger. Jack took his hand off the desk.

“I’m actually with someone else.”

Disappointment was evident in Joey’s eyes. “Oh, I meant nothing of that sort. I meant a person I could share my dreams and my ideas with. To be loyal and dependable to me.”

“Okay. Sure. I can do that.”

“Alright, great. First thing- you spend a lot of time with Sammy. Tell me about him- what he likes, what he dislikes, what he means when he says ‘please give me space,’ and so on.”

The fifteen minutes passed, and subjects such art, dreams, and ideas went unmentioned. Jack and Sammy truly did have a lot to talk about over lunch, which they took in Sammy’s office for privacy’s sake.

“Wow. He was really that direct with you?” Sammy couldn’t say he was surprised. Though he hadn’t been that obvious about it, Joey had clearly been chasing Sammy’s approval.

“Yep. But the second I told him I was with someone else, he went right on to talking about you. I could just see him taking notes on how to impress you.”

“Pathetic. Well, maybe I should tell him that I’m interested in complete control over my department, who works in it, and when he visits it. Who knows, I might get it. And then you’ll have eternal job security.”

“And maybe I could tell him that you like something goofy to see how far he’ll go.”

Sammy smiled. “Please do. This I must see.”

The next day, Jack told Joey that Sammy’s favourite flower was a white carnation. When Jack came in the next day, there was a vase containing three white carnations on Joey’s desk.

Now knowing his power, Jack resisted the temptation to use it for about a week before he decided to wax poetic to Joey about Sammy’s supposed lifelong love of reptiles. The day after that, Sammy walked into their morning meeting to see Joey with a medium-sized snake around his shoulders. “Her name is Vivaldi,” Joey explained. “She’s a Bullsnake. Wanna pet her?”

Sammy did not, in fact, want to pet her.

After the snake incident, Jack’s daily meetings with Joey became more professionally-focused before ending entirely, and within a few weeks, Vivaldi’s tank, along with the snake herself, had disappeared from Joey’s office.

---

“What? Why...?” Tears were forming in Jack’s eyes. He couldn’t believe this.

Sammy ground his teeth. This wasn’t easy for him, either. “Because you’re the anchor that’s keeping me at Joey Drew Studios. I’m turning thirty in a month, and I… I don’t know whether to accept that I’m going to be working here forever or if I should move on to other options. But “other options” probably wouldn’t let me keep working with you. I need to remind myself that I can live without you, and look at what other opportunities are out there. So, yeah. We can still live together, and we can still talk as the job or as being roommates requires, but I’m going to try not being your friend or your boyfriend for a while, okay? It probably won’t be for more than a month or two.”

Jack wanted to say something- something like, “but I need you, too!” but he didn’t. “Okay,” was all he said. “I hope you get what you want from this.”

Sammy cringed at how defeated Jack sounded. He wanted to hug him, but he didn’t want to break their “no being friends or lovers” agreement within the first five seconds, so instead he left for his room.

Jack and Sammy soon found out that they were very bad at staying away from each other. People still used Jack as a go-between to get messages through to Sammy, and that alone meant they interacted almost on a daily basis. The two of them still needed a discerning eye to look over their music, and while there were others, there was no one they trusted as much or enjoyed the company of quite the same. Sometimes Jack would forget (or “forget”) about their break period and try to bring Sammy coffee and snacks, or check to make sure Sammy was doing alright during the deadline crunch- and sometimes Sammy would send him away out of principle, but just as often he didn’t have the willpower. Jack found himself entertaining fantasies of them drifting back together within a matter of weeks.

Then one day, Jack caught sight of Susie Campbell kissing Sammy’s cheek in the music room. “Other opportunities” indeed. Jack wrestled with himself over whether to say anything, but ultimately chose to keep it to himself. If that was what Sammy wanted, there was nothing he could do about it.

[imagine-organization-xiii]

Org XII reacting to s/o wanting to peg them and vise versa maybe as well. Male and or female s/o no pref.

The Xaldin one was written a long time ago because Sam and I both agreed that Xaldin needs to be pegged, but Sam just recently got into a writing mood and decided to finish up these prompts. Give her a big round of applause and get ready for a wild ride - Warning for NSFW

EDIT: @imgonnachangeit - we left out all of the babies from this one, including Zexion. Sorry about the confusion!

-

Xemnas

Xemnas would think you’re joking at first, and while he usually isn’t one for humor, would probably give you a deep rumbling chuckle. “It’s amusing to even think-- err- what? You were serious? Hm.”  Upon realizing your request was not a joke, he would actually give it some thought.

At first he probably would not be interested, not because he was afraid, but because Xemnas is not one to give up the control he has. And Pegging would require a lot of trust that, honestly, would be very difficult for him to relinquish. But, with time and a LOT of deep conversation, he might just give in and let you try. (and he MIGHT just like it more than he bargained for)

Xigbar

Xigbar is a man of dubious doings. He usually is up for just about anything. And when you bring up pegging him, he is down. He’s eager. Almost too eager. That man loves anything that can get him off and the power of a prostate orgasm is just too much temptation.

He immediately asks when you plan to do this and if the event isn’t soon enough he’s going to push it sooner. And through all of this, he’s going to try and play it cool. He will act like this isn’t the most important thing to him right now but it totally is.

Xaldin

LISTEN. L I S T E N. THIS MAN. LOVES. GETTING. PEGGED. If his SO is willing to peg him, he is HERE. FOR. IT. We have mentioned before how much Xaldin adores his SO and loves being in their control when in the bedroom, but he just really loves the intimacy of having his beloved having their way with him. If you bring it up with him, he keeps his cool on the outside, but on the inside he is totally thrilled.

His enthusiasm comes less from the act of the pegging itself but more about the trust and intimacy that comes with it. Its slow and passionate and all in all an amazing experience. Every thrust is laden with words of adoration and praise that seem unparalleled in comparison. You feel the lust linger in the air as the passion engulfs you both and it almost feels like you have left this world entirely. While he may not have a heart, something is there and it moves through you both as you rock his world. This is what the poets say when they describe great love.

Vexen

Vexen is a man of vast knowledge and could easily spew a river of knowledge that you never knew or possibly never even cared to know. But you may have found the one topic in this world that he knows absolutely nothing about. And of course, being a man of science as he is, would certainly demand that you tell him, but as soon as you do, Vexen’s face would pale immediately. He would put his foot down so fast, your head would spin. Of course, this was to be expected. You are his S/O after all, and you know the man pretty well, so you drop the one word that you know would change his tune.

“Oh but… it would be such an interesting experiment.” And the moment his ears perk up, you know he’s putty in your hands. He will agree to try it once. For science. And unlike some of the other members, taking things slow in this would be a must. Every touch and motion is slow, careful and tender, so much so that you worry it all is too boring for Vexen, but just as you are about to say something, you hear the softest, most broken moan you had ever heard. The experiment may have been going better than you had expected.

Lexaeus

He doesn’t say much when you ask him, but his expression told you right away that he knew what you were asking. His face darkened from it’s normal color to a deep sunset color all the way up to his ears in a matter of seconds. While Lexaeus isn’t one for words, his reactions are something that always seemed to melt your heart. He won’t reply right away, he might even wait until later that night to give you his answer. But know that when he does give you your answer, he will have thought about every aspect, pro and con, and will probably agree to try it.

At first you go slowly, making sure to take all the necessary steps, but soon you both get really into it. For you, taking charge allows you to choose the pace as you go, and for Lexaeus, not having to control the pace means that he can stay still and not worry about hurting you which allows him to relax and enjoy the love making even more! It’s a win-win for you both!

Saix

Your initial mistake was asking him during the day. He is much less agreeable during the work day; too much to do and even less time that he can spend in personal manners. You ask anyway.  The first word that leaves his lips would be a “what?” that comes out closer to a growl than a question. He heard you, he just wants you to see if you’re brave enough to ask again. And of course, you do. And he immediately replies with “No.” before walking away. Went as well as you could expect.  Like Xemnas, Saix is not one to give up control of his body easily. You bring it up to him again at a later time, but this time, you have a serious conversation about the prospects of what you were suggesting.

You take time to discuss how it would happen, what the preparation would be like, and every detail imaginable. You would think it would be sexy to talk like this, but something in Saix’s demeanor seems to make it sound more like a business transaction than something fun. But at the end, Saix agrees, which is something you did not expect. It seems he trusts you more than you expected, which is actually kind of nice. And when it happens, it goes the exact way you had discussed. No surprises. But something inside you gets a little thrill as he snarls into the pillow. You feel a power that surges through you as you tame this savage beast. And you absolutely love it.

Axel

He almost spit takes his drink as you ask him, choking on the water and air a moment before pulling himself together. It’s not that he doesn’t approve of your suggestion, but more that he didn’t expect you to bring it up, and so directly at that. After his coughing fit subsides, however, he asks you a few questions. Do you know what you’re asking? Are you prepared? Do you know how to do this safely? And of course, you’re no fool, you’ve done your research. Nd after talking out the basics, Axel is pretty fucking game. He’s not eager as some others would be, but he is curious about the experience.

He even jokes about it the entire time. And when you actually get into it? Oh boy is he vocal. Not just in the moaning and whimpering, but the sass on this boy is astounding. He seems to love goading you on to fuck him harder more than the sex itself. But of course, you can’t seem to resist the little sounds he makes, as each one passes his lips, a little shiver runs through you. Soon you tease him if only to wipe the smirk from his face and he folds instantly, begging for you to get him off. Needless to say, it was a fun time for all.

Demyx

Demyx all but screams when you bring up pegging. His voice even cracks a little bit when he replies. You can tell however that he’s really nervous about you bringing it up, so you start to backtrack a little bit and try to pull back on the offer. You tell him it’s okay if he isn’t comfortable with something like that, but when you do, Demyx says he would rather think about it on his own. Of course, to Demyx,  “thinking on your own” really just means turning to the one person he knew he could trust with sex advise; and that would be Xigbar. And of course, when asked about pegging, Xigbar laughs in the poor boy's face but also advocates it immediately, going off about how great a prostate orgasm is and basically doing all the sales work for you. So guess who comes back more eager than ever?

Well, when you get to it, you can still tell that Demyx is nervous, so it takes a lot of prep work and trust building before you can actually get to the main event. And of course, it’s fun, but it becomes increasingly clear that this kind of sex is just not Demyx’s cup of tea. So you both are proud of yourselves for trying but go back to making love the way you love best. No shame in not liking something after trying it!

Luxord

As soon as you ask, a smug grin appears on Luxord’s face. He was always a debaucherous man, and a rather huge fan of anal, this much you knew already. But it seemed that anal in his end was very well on the table and you didn’t even know. He is pretty much down instantly, but certainly tries to downplay his readiness with some of that smokey british charm of his. Running a hand over his platinum hair, he chuckles. “Well, my dear. I am most certainly amenable to that.. But I didn’t think you would be so eager…” he would purr into your ear in that way that gives you chills. And once you are prepares and ready, the sex is pretty freaking fun.

Since he normally enjoys anal, Luxord is a bounty of information and tips to help you do a better job, and he is one hell of a teacher. And it isn’t always you on top, but instead a long night of passionate lovemaking in all sorts of positions and means. It ends up becoming one fantastic night. 

Marluxia

Oh Honey YES. You are not the first to be enjoying his forbidden garden and Marluxia is more than agreeable to play. He isn’t so eager that he is jumping up and down, but you can tell by the way that his eyes light up that he is thrilled to bits that you brought this up. On the night of, you can already tell that he spent a lot of extra time that way, preparing himself for you so that you could get right to the nasty. And boy, do you two really enjoy yourself.

While his prep work and effort is nice to see, you do take a little extra time to prepare him yourself before making love to your sweet rose. The sex almost feels like it is happening in a movie; everything just seems to go perfectly, and the love in the air mingling the scents of rose oil and bergamot sends you both into a tizzy of ardent affection. It’s all absolutely perfect. And Marluxia makes some of the most melodic sounds you had ever heard in your life.

Larxene

Larxene is pretty fucking down to peg anyone and everyone. If you want to peg her, she is also open to it, but she definitely wants her turn. So you strike a deal. You can peg her if she can peg you in the same way. It’s just equal exchange, baby, and Larxene is all about equality if she can benefit from it. The sex is pretty great, though whenever you top, she is all power bottom energy, telling you exactly where and how she wants it. And well, you can listen to her, or you could be in for getting in trouble later.

Oh but when SHE TOPS, LARXENE TOPS WITH A POWER YOU HAVE NEVER WITNESSED BEFORE. The girl straight up goes on a power trip that may as well get her off more than the sex. And you know what? You’re good with that. The way she makes you feel when you’re under her care is out of this world and when its all over, you both are so tired all you do is curl up together and relax

[thanksjro]

More Than Meets the Eye #9- Cops is Filmed on Location With the Mechs of Law Enforcement

It’s time for some gotdang origin stories, y’all.

Back before the war, when Functionist ideology was really just rocking the scene hardcore, Nightbeat stood outside of Maccadam’s New Oil House and had a chat with Quark.

No, not that Quark, the other one.

Quark’s reading an article at Nightbeat’s request about an attack on something called a relinquishment clinic, by a member of the Decepticons. Quark’s not a huge fan of the Decepticons, because he’s got a good thing going on Functionist Cybertron as a rare proton microscope, and even if things aren’t perfect, they’re pretty okay for him personally. At least he’s aware of his privilege.

Don’t be so quick to judge, Quark. Some Decepticons are into microscopes.

He’s pretty convinced that if the Decepticons get their way, they’re going to murder anyone who’s never handled a shovel. This is the same sort of misconception a lot of people have about the phrase “eat the rich”- it’s more about those who benefit from the social structure by way of oppressing others as opposed to those who flourish within it by their own work ethic and talents.

Granted, we as the reader know that shit is absolutely going to go sideways for everyone once the war kicks off, but Quark as it currently stands shouldn’t be nearly as worried as he is. He thinks Rung of all people is a threat, so you can tell he’s really feeling the paranoia of the times.

Hi Rung! Hope you’re enjoying your you-time. It’s important to have that, good for mental health.

The conspiracy convo gets cut short as Quark’s drink gets dripped in.

I mean, it’s all the same stuff, right? He could probably still drink it. Waste not, want not.

In the present day, we set up our framing device, with all of our friends welcoming Ratchet into the fray, as he shows off the fact that he finally color-matched his hands to the rest of his body.

Here’s a little joke for you: a spiritualist, two doctors, an archivist, a sentient marshmallow, a victim of ritualistic mutilation, and the hottest guy on the ship watch a third doctor walk into a bar.

Gentlemen, please, I haven’t even gotten to the punchline yet.

Anyway, Rewind’s set up this little hang sesh for medicinal purposes, after consulting Chromedome on the nature of the brain.

Rung’s looking a lot better than the last time we saw him, in that he’s got a head again, but he’s not really… functional right now. Hence this little meet up- everyone here has had their paths cross many times in the past, whether they realized it or not.

Except Tailgate, who took a six million year dirt-nap. He’s just here for shits and giggles.

And Swerve, but it’s his bar, and he’s lonely, so of course he’s going to stick around for this.

Anyway, those assembled will be taking turns in telling the story they all played a part in, in an attempt to kick-start Rung’s brain back into letting him do literally anything. Thanks to his obscenely large collection of historical documents and footage, Rewind more or less knows the structure the story will take- as shown by his conspiracy bulletin board that maps out everything that will be covered in the Shadowplay arc. The central pin in all this? Well, it’s Transformers, and it’s been a hot minute since we’ve seen the face of the franchise, so you tell me who it’s going to be.

Rewind sets the scene, giving everyone the skinny on the setting we’ll be in for the next little bit.

Way to see the silver lining, Swerve.

Chromedome starts the story off, because he’s a main character in all this, and also if you think Rewind would pass up the chance to listen to this capital-T-shaped dweeb talk, you’re deluding yourself.

In the past Chromedome worked mechaforensics- y’know, forensics for mecha- under a different name, which we will not be learning at this current time because it’ll muddle the already-convoluted narrative we’re about to get going here. Chromedome had the displeasure of working alongside then-desk jockey, Prowl.

Awful geared up for a desk jockey, ain’t he?

Yep. Chromedome used to be a cop, he partnered up with Prowl, he looked even more like a koala than he does now, and he was on the case of the assassinated Senator Sherma. What they don’t tell you is that if Sherma had turned out to have survived the ordeal of being strung up from a bridge upside-down, he would have been charged with food and health code violations for that little stunt he pulled on Quark’s drink.

Skids breaks the narrative flow to get the low-down on Prowl’s whole deal, because he doesn’t know who that is. Swerve breaks it down real quick, while Rewind provides visual aid.

A for effort.

The boys get a little distracted discussing Prowl’s anger management practices, until Drift asks that they move on, because Rodimus is sending him insulting messages on his tiny and paper thin comm because he can’t handle being ignored by his #1 fan. It’s just as well though, because it’s Drift’s turn to spin the yarn.

So, once upon a time, Drift wasn’t doing so hot. It wasn’t the whole “I’m a murderous Decepticon” thing- that was later on- but rather a horrific drug addiction, sense of self-loathing and being homeless. On the day of Sherma’s assassination, Drift was so out of his gourd on circuit speeders, he didn’t even register the fact that he was approached by a pair of robots and promptly beaten by the two of them for money.

Things looks bad for poor Drift, but not to worry, because the main reason for this arc existing just showed up.

There he is, in all his pin-up art glory.

Orion Pax, the mech who would become Optimus Prime, proceeds to arrest Sonic and Boom- yeah, it’s the two guys from Delphi, we aren’t wasting the brain power on creating two new characters for this one scene, that’s crazy talk- and then calls for a bus to keep Drift from biting it due to drug overdose.

Listen to the professionals, folks. They know more than you about the shit that can kill you. It’s why they get paid the big bucks.

(I have no idea what Ratchet’s salary is like.)

Drift is taken to Ratchet’s super-secret, please-don’t-tell-the-Senate-about-this clinic in the Dead End, where we get a taste of Drift riffing on Ratchet in the present, as he paints a picture of a spiritual young doctor who actively and loudly praises Adaptus as he works on a ODing patient. The Ratchet of the here and now doesn’t appreciate this twisting of the truth, and makes it known by smearing his still-wet hand paint all over Drift’s face.

Shane McCarthy slipped James Roberts a twenty to set up a slowburn between his OC and Ratchet back in issue #4. Here, Roberts tends to the seeds of their shared past that were planted in the Delphi arc.  

Drift didn’t take Ratchet’s advice back then, something that is and will continue to be a running issue for the two of them, and the sudden downshift in tone lets Tailgate ask about just what in the sam hill a relinquishment clinic is. Chromedome fills him in, Rewind providing visuals.

A relinquishment clinic was a place where a Transformer could sell their body- not in a sex-work way, but literally, as you let someone else have their spark planted into your vacated frame for a short period of time, just to try out different modes and looks. It was expensive, and only used to get around the fact that only the most elite of cybertronians could alter their bodies, because only they had enough influence to have the Functionist Senate look the other way. Ratchet never approved of the practice, and this is where he takes over the story.

Too bad we don’t get to see what all that’s about just yet, because there are more pressing matters at hand, like the fact that Nominus Prime is dead.

Seems like there’s a conspiracy at hand, and Orion is considering introducing Ratchet to a friend on the inside- and in the present time, Drift leaves to go meet with Rodimus so he’ll stop being a pest. Chromedome picks his story thread back up, bringing us to Prowl’s requested autopsy.

The boys in the lab broke Sherma down to his base parts, labeled each part, and laid them out on the floor in no discernible order. Maybe it’s based on the Cybertronian alphabet. I suppose we’ll never know.

The autopsy revealed that Sherma was shot several times, which we’d already managed to suss out at the scene of the crime, without getting half the forensics team involved, but we did get a little something for our troubles.

More evidence for Rodimus’ Uggs.

No, I’m never letting this go, don’t even bother asking.

The kind of glass that they found is only found in one specific area of Iacon, known as Translucentica Heights, and how about that! Prowl just so happens to have a search warrant for Translucentica Heights. Wow. Way to go, Prowl.

Meanwhile, Ratchet and Orion are hanging out at the monument for the Ark-1, which is the ship that fucked off into space and got eaten by the Dead Universe. Cyclonus remembers. I bet he kind of wishes that he didn’t, but he remembers.

Orion’s very good friend the Senator shows up, and Orion introduces him to Ratchet. The Senator was first introduced in Chaos Theory- he’s convinced that Orion is a very special individual, and had his body altered without permission while he was passed out, so that he might one day carry the Matrix.

Orion is maybe just a touch too trusting of authority figures, unless that figure is god himself.

Ratchet helps create a visage of not-plotting, as Orion and the Senator discuss whether or not Nominus was assassinated by the Senate. Dear Senator says “fuck yeah he was” and it was in no small part due to the fact that the Matrix he was carrying was a fake.

There’s also something that’s going on between Sentinel and the Decepticons, which leads Orion to ask about Megatron and how he’s doing. He’d probably be doing a hell of a lot better if you hadn’t given the Senate that he directly opposes his full name and occupation, Orion, but it’s sweet that you’re worried.

Back with the wonder cops, Chromedome and Prowl are shooting across the sky to the tune of Shooting Star as they make their way over to Translucentica Heights. They discuss the validity of claims that the Institute exists as they make their way over to Sherma’s apartment building, when someone gets thrown out the window from roughly 4000 stories up.

Trailbreaker was right, Fort Max having guns in his legs doesn’t make him special, if these losers are doing it too.

In the present, Drift’s finally caught up with Rodimus in the oil reservoir, where he’s coaxing Grapple like a wounded baby deer through pulling something out of the muck.

It’s Red Alert, and he’s seen better days.

I mean, sure, that seems like the most likely option, seeing as he’s the only non-Autobot aboard this giant stupid ship, and you haven’t done anything to actually gather evidence on what’s happened to our pal here. It makes sense for the knee-jerk reaction to be to blame the dude who blew up Kimia.

We’ll see where that line of thought gets us next issue.

[yhs-silly]

Kneel

They were on their way home from school, Sam and Taurtis were just messing around and swinging off the lampposts, the usual. Grian seemed a little grumpier then usual, maybe he'd gotten a low grade on his test, he wouldn't say. But he was adamant that they had to get home as soon as possible, so when Sam and Taurtis started doing their checking both ways gag he was ready to snap.

He groaned and pushed them aside. "You guys are idiots! There are never any cars on this road!" He rolled his eyes and stormed into the middle of the road and stood there with his arms out, glaring at the duo. "See! There's nothing here! I'm perfectly sa-afe..."

He trailed off at the sound of a car horn, turning to face the speeding car, his face falling in horror.

Sam's hands tightened around Taurtis's arms, Taurtis hadn't even realised he'd moved to rush into the road. He just went still and just stared, with wide, tear filled eyes as the car came closer and closer.

Grian was right, there were never any cars on the road. It was very rare that a car came down the road, and if it did, it was usually at night- and always speeding. That was the unwritten rule; speed past the school zone, with luck you might hit one nof the crazy kids. The other towns around were never fond of the academi students, not used to such diversity, neurologically or otherwise.

Ironically, it was most likely the least mad of the students being hit, all the others looking on, glad it wasn't them. The acidemi students were never known for their empathy, only a few students really cared for the Brit. Those that did care already had tears welling in their eyes at the sound of flesh against metal and the grinding of the breaks as the car came to a halt.

The guy driving the car didn't even get out, he just sat there in a state of shock as Taurtis and Sam raced over to Grians side. Taurtis had tears spilling freely down his cheeks and even Sam was panicking, Sam gently lifted Grian off of the floor and checked his vitals. He was still alive, but struggling.

Okami had seen the whole thing go down and had called and ambulance as soon as she'd heard the car, it didn't take long for it to turn him. Sam threatened the emergency response team to let him and Taurtis ride with Grian in the back.

They were so worried, Taurtis had begun sobbing uncontrollably, this was just like before, just like with...

Salex.

Why did everyone he love have to die? Why was it always a car? He pauses, did he love Grian? As a friend of course, he's one of his best friends... he's still hung up on Salex...he hoped and prayed beyond his belief that Grian would not follow her. He couldn't loose someone else so close to him, he wouldn't know what to do.

Sam wasn't as affected but he was still terrified of loosing Grian, he'd never really dealt with a death close to him since his mother passed. He watched as Taurtis fell to his knees, sobbing. He felt so awful, if it wasn't for his and taurtis's insisting that the road wasn't safe, then Grian would be safe. For once Sam didn't feel pleased with being proved right, he wished he was wrong. For once he wished it had been Grian who was right, he could just see Grian's triumphant smirk, the sparkle in his eyes at the idea of being right.

Sam had noticed how much Grian reacted to a little bit of positive reinforcement, he'd used it to get his way before, but now all he wanted to do was tell Grian just how highly Sam valued him. Grian deserved to glow like he always did when praised, Sam was just scared he'd never get the chance.

After a while Grian got better, he still hasn't spoken but the doctors had said he was free to leave. One their way home, Sam and Taurtis had done nothing but pamper and adore him. It was the least they could do for him, but something was off with Grian, his behaviour wasn't normal.

Taurtis was worried about him, he hadn't said a word to either of them since he'd gotten out of the hospital. Sam wasn't as worried, but it was clear he was concerned by how little he'd been mocking Grian lately. But neither of them seemed to be getting through to him.

He's been taking naps lately, it was almost all he did. He never did any of his work and Okami was on the brink of pulling him aside for a quiet word. Everyone was growing increasingly worried about him, they figured he had gained some sort of brain damage.

This all culminated in that one night, Taurtis had stayed up late gaming. Sam was asleep and Grian was probably also sleeping, or so Taurtis thought. He'd turned his head at the sound of footsteps to see Grian standing there, clutching the mop like a staff. He glared intently at Taurtis, a strange fire behind his eyes that made Taurtis shudder.

"Taurtis." Grian's voice was rougher, darker then his usually was. Even his posture seemed heavier, he held himself in a higher sense of pride and power then the anxious, drawn back Grian that Taurtis knew and loved. "Remove yourself from the magic mirror, I require your counsel."

Taurtis was slightly confused, but he'd played enough fantasy games to understand what Grian meant. He switched the tv and game crab off, concerned as to how Grian seemed.to have forgotten what a tv was. He shifted to the side and patted the sofa next to him, with a gentle smile. "Ok Grian, what do you need buddy." He was really happy that Grian was finally speaking again, although those subtle changes did worry him.

Grian didn't sit down however, he continued to stand and just stare at Taurtis expectantly. "Well?" He began to tap his foot. "Stand."

Taurtis was surprised but did so without thinking, watching in confusion as Grian nodded in approval and moved to take his seat. Grians posture while sitting was also more confident Taurtis noticed, how hadn't he noticed before? He goes to sit down but Grian raises his hand to stop him.

"No, kneel." Grian spoke with a command, more adept at control then Sam. But Taurtis wasn't just going to obey, he just frowned at Grian in concern. Then his eyes widened at Grian put the mop to his shoulder and forced him down, Taurtis would've been impressed by Grian's control on the mop if he wasn't currently being forced onto his knees. He stares up at Grian in concern as the blonde nods in approval.

"Grian..? What the hell..?"

Grian raised his eyebrows a little at that, smiling gentle. "Oh? Is something the matter Taurtis? I must admit, I am also a little thrown off by our predicament but it is alright, you have your king to guide you."

Taurtis frowned deeply, king? Grian wasn't a king? He now had concerns about Grian's sanity, he had to play this carefully. He just quietly nods, smiling up at him gently. "No, nothings the matter Grian. You said you wanted to talk about something?"

Grian smiled back and nodded. "Ah yes, it was actually about this predicament... I'm unsure as to what happened but these clothes aren't mine? And I've never seen such powerful magic then there is here, it rivals even the likes of me... that's another thing. I've found myself unable to perform spells recently, I attempted to harness the power of this strange looking staff but it doesn't seem to like me."

Taurtis just nodded. "Alright...well what do you want to do?"

"I wish to return home, is that not obvious?" Grian scoffed. "My kingdom needs their king."

Taurtis nods and slowly and cautiously gets to his feet. "Okay...so I think the best thing to do right now is go back to bed and figure out what to do in the morning."

Grian nods and stands. "That does seem like the ideal plan, I trust you to gaurd my chambers?"

Taurtis just nodded in response, watching Grian head back upstairs. His knees where shaking, he sat on the sofa, feeling horrible.

Tears bunched in his eyes as he thought about how his poor sweet friend had completely lost his mind, Grian was supposed to be the responsible one! Now he seemed to believe he was some magical fantasy king... Poor guy was always a nerd, Taurtis figured that he must've latched on to a favourite fantasy story as a coping mechanism after the accident.

He felt so bad for poor Grian, he didn't ask for this, the poor guy didn't even understand what was going on. He felt the hot tears run down his face and looked down at his shaking hands, he realised that he had to tell Sam, he had to.

He slowly got to his feet and crept upstairs silently, knocking gently on Sam's door. "Sam? Sam wake up."

Sam eventually came to the door, looking sleepy. "Taurtis..? What's wrong?" He was surprised to see how worried Taurtis looked, he instantly also began to get worried.

"It's Grian." Taurtis spoke quietly, as if he was afraid of disturbing said blonde. He speaks slowly and carefully. "He's gone mad...he thinks he's some sort of wizard king..." He sniffles and wipes some tears away. "I'm just so worried about him..."

Sam felt his heart pang, he didn't know this feeling, it was almost guilt, almost responsibility, but it was neither- and it certainly wasn't pity, Sam knew what it was like to be the mad one. Only thing is, Sam was never really mad, just not normal. He nodded slowly, brain working harder then it ever did before at this time of night, heart hammering in his chest just like that day. "Alright...so what do we do?"

They made eye contact, the best thing to do would be to call the authorities, tell a teacher, get him to the hospital, to do something. But they both knew they couldn't do that, they didn't have the heart. Taurtis slowly began to speak. "Well...his delusions aren't tha-"

Sam put his hand up to stop him. "No, we can't go along with his delusions, that wouldn't be fair on him." He sighs and hums in thought "Is there really anything we can do..? I think he might be fucked."

"Don't say that!" Taurtis squeaked, quickly lowering his volume quickly. "We have to do something, we can't just leave him to his delusions." He was getting choked up again, Grian might not have died, but Taurtis still felt that he'd lost him.

They barely slept that night, simply discussing what they could do. They didn't really come up with anything that hadn't been said before, but eventually they decided they'd treat his delusions like how a parent treats a child's fantasies, playing along to a certain point.

And so they did, they managed this for around a week, but unfortunately people began to notice that Grian was behaving strangely. Eventually, Okami pulled the trio aside to talk to them.

Sam was glancing around and making sure there were exits, Taurtis was wringing his hands and glancing at Grian every five seconds. Grian himself had his arms crossed and was glaring daggers at Okami for being so rude.

Okami sighed softly and smiles at the boys. "Now, I'm sure you know what's going on. But none of us do, so could you please explain why Grian is behaving like that."

Grian scoffed and begun to speak, before Taurtis gently shut him down and spoke instead. "We're sorry Sensei, he's just a little banged up from the accident still..." He shrugs and smiles awkwardly.

Sam glances at him nervously, Okami frowns and then Grian speaks up. "What accident? I am not 'banged' up? Taurtis what are you talking about?"

There are gasps from both boys as Taurtis glances at grian nervously and Sam quietly hisses. "Grian, shh!"

Grian glares. "Don't you tell me to shh!" He stomps up to Sam and gets real close, getting up on his tippy toes trying to look intimidating.

Okami sighs and looked concerned. "Grian, sweetie, what do you mean 'what incident?'? Do you not remember what happened?"

Grian looked at her in confusion, his face a mixture of confusion and annoyance. He goes to speak when Taurtis steps in and clears his throat.

"Sensei? We're so sorry for trying to hide this...but he's gone mad."

"I am not mad! How dare you!"

Okami pauses and looks at Grian, seemingly looking for something, but whatever she was looking for, she didn't find it. She sighed and gently put her hand on Grian's shoulder. "Grian, sweetie? Can you calm down for me? Try and explain what you think is going on."

Grian began to speak, about a magical kingdom he rules over and how Sam and Taurtis were loyal to him. Okami turned to the boys and mouthed at them to go and fetch Rowan.

Taurtis's heart was hammering in his chest, that was so impulsive of him, but at least Grian was going to get the help he needs. He looks at Sam, seeing the obvious pain his friend was trying to hide, he sighed. He never expected to have to be the normal one, it was too much pressure for him. But if that was what it took to keep his best friends safe and happy, then that's what he would be.

It was Taurtis who explained the situation to Rowan.

It was Taurtis who comforted Sam as Grian was taken away.

It was Taurtis who knelt besides the bed that night, and for the first time in all his life.

Taurtis prayed.

[dlwritings]

Call Him Hers | Dean Winchester | pt 6

series masterlist found here

general masterlist found here

pairing - Mark-of-Cain!Dean x plus-size!reader word count - 2,769 warnings - language, someone is an asshole to (Y/N)

(A/N) - find my Office reference lol

summary - (Y/N), Charlie, and the Winchesters are headed to the reunion! With a new friend and a hot outfit, (Y/N) is feeling pretty optimistic. Like Dean says, the night’s just gonna be fun. What could go wrong?

(previous) (next)

Charlie insisted on (Y/N) and Dean getting ready separately, just like she had the night they went out to the bars. (Y/N) knew now that Charlie was right and she couldn’t wear jeans and a flannel, so she reluctantly asked her what else she packed for her. “Well, your school colors are blue and white, right?” she asked. (Y/N) nodded. “Well, then I got you this.” She went in her bag and pulled out a short blue wrap dress with spaghetti straps and a deep neckline. (Y/N) clenched her jaw and raised her eyebrows.

“Seriously?” she said.

“You still don’t trust me?” Charlie said back. “Even after how Dean looked at you the other night?” (Y/N) groaned and surrendered, knowing she was right, as usual. She went to the bathroom to change, curl her hair, and add a bit of intensity to her makeup. She had only been in there for all of ten minutes when there was a knock at the door. She opened it, one hand still on her curling iron, to reveal Charlie. She immediately started wolf whistling at her, gawking and pretending to drool like she was a piece of meat.

“Get out before I suffocate you with hairspray,” (Y/N) said to her. Charlie blew her a kiss.

“Sam texted,” she said. “Dean’s gonna be ready in twenty. Me and Sam have to head out to get ready for the catering thing.”

“Okay,” she said. “Leave the door unlocked for Dean then. I’ll probably still be getting ready when he gets here.”

“Okay,” Charlie said with a nod. “Good luck tonight.” (Y/N) furrowed her eyebrows.

“Yeah,” she said slowly. “You too?”

“You know what I mean,” Charlie said.

“I really don’t,” (Y/N) said back.

Charlie groaned in annoyance. “If you don’t make a move on Dean, I’m gonna make one for you.” (Y/N) held her hands up with a short shake of her head.

“What does that even mean?”

Charlie opened her mouth to say something only to close it again.

“Right,” (Y/N) said with a slight chuckle. “Go. I’ll see you at the school.”

Once (Y/N) was alone, she grabbed her phone to play some music as she got ready. She had a playlist called Dean Approved that she would play when Dean was in the room. It wasn’t that she wasn’t a fan of the same music he was, but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t have some Demi Lovato marathons from time to time. But if Dean walked in and heard her playing Cool for the Summer, she wasn’t sure he’d ever let her live it down.

She finished adding some curls to her hair and braiding a headband across her head with a few sections just as her favorite Night Ranger song, Sister Christian started to play. She bounced on the balls of her feet as she danced around the bathroom, singing along to the song.

“Motorin! What’s your price for flight? *na na na na na na* And finding Mr Right?”

“Really?” (Y/N) jumped out of her skin and turned around to see Dean. She hadn’t been looking in the mirror, too busy going through her makeup bag, which was why she hadn’t seen him walk in.

“What?” she asked once she caught her breath.

Dean laughed. “Na na na na na na?”

“I like to sing to the instrumental,” she said, sticking her tongue out at him when he mocked the way she mimicked the guitar tune.

She leaned over the counter a bit, trying to get closer to the mirror as she applied her eyeliner. Dean had to bite his lips just so he wouldn’t moan at the way the fabric hugged her ass. He knew if she bent over anymore, he’d have a perfect view of her underwear.

Unless she wasn’t wearing underwear.

“Well,” Dean said, clearing his throat. “You are boner-ific.”

He made the joke to get his mind off the truth behind it.

“Ew,” she said, scrunching her nose up with a grin as she looked at his reflection. “Please don’t ever say that to me again.”

Dean laughed. “I’m just saying. You look good.” She capped her eyeliner and turned to look at Dean. He must’ve known her school colors too, because he was wearing royal blue slacks that perfectly matched her dress, a white button-up dress shirt, and some brown dress shoes.

“Well,” she said, composing herself a bit and reaching out to brush her hand across his shoulder. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

She passed Dean to leave the bathroom and saw Charlie left her a pair of shoes. They were gold, strappy heels, and she sighed as soon as she saw them. “If I have to kick any ass tonight in these heels,” she said, “I will not be happy.”

“Don’t worry,” Dean said. “Tonight’s just gonna be fun. I can feel it.”

“Oh you can feel it?” she repeated sarcastically. “Well then I’m ready.” Dean rolled his eyes at her with a grin and grabbed her hand.

“C’mon,” he said. “I’m ready to show off my smokin’ wife.”

“You know,” she said, “your positivity is really ruining my cynical mood.” Dean just laughed, and the two of them headed off to school.

On the drive over, they ran through their game plan. They had talked with Charlie and Sam, and they split up the targets amongst themselves to observe throughout the night. She’d keep an eye on Jennifer and Chris, Dean would watch Ryan and Jojo, Charlie would watch Danny, and Sam would look out for anyone else who might look suspicious. The other two suspects (Jamie and Natasha) weren’t at the reunion, so they were really banking on one of these five being their vamp.

(Y/N) couldn’t lie. After her whole interaction with Jennifer, she was feeling more comfortable about going to the reunion. Nicole and Stephanie were nice to talk to, and it looked like things between her and Jennifer weren’t as horrible as they once seemed. Now that she could actually relax about the whole event, she hoped she’d be able to achieve a little bit more in terms of the job.

She and Dean walked inside the school and were immediately met with loud music. They were playing all the tunes that were the biggest hits when she graduated in 2005. After only being there for 15 minutes, they heard Beverly Hills by Weezer, Sugar, We’re Goin Down by Fall Out Boy, and My Humps by The Black Eyed Peas. There were some similarities to her prom, except she was much happier and had the best looking man on her arm.

The two of them got some drinks and made their way through the gym, looking at all the photos and paraphernalia Jennifer had managed to get together. Just like she had told her earlier in the day, Jennifer had done an awesome job organizing the event. Her senior class picture was blown up and hanging on the wall, and there were some other blown up prints that were scattered throughout the room. She recognized some of the events: the homecoming football game, her senior prom, the school’s musical, and spirit week. Some people had a great high school experience.

“(Y/N)! Dean!”

They both turned around and saw Nicole and Stephanie sitting at a table, so they smiled and headed over. “(Y/N) you’re looking hot,” Nicole said as they sat down. “Dean, you’re a lucky man.” Dean smiled -though it didn’t meet his eyes- and nodded.

Sure, he was a lucky man, but only until this job was over.

“I know,” he said. (Y/N) cocked her head to the side and looked at him, silently trying to ask him if he was okay. He just leaned forward and placed a kiss to her lips. She was a little caught off guard, but she hid it well. She knew her cheeks turned pink as he pulled away. She took a large sip of her drink and smiled at Nicole and Stephanie.

“So this looks great, right?”

The four of them chatted for a long time. Jennifer and Alec came over at one point to join them, and they all praised her on how well it was turning out. Most other people didn’t pay them any attention, and (Y/N) truthfully didn’t mind. Dean at one point stepped away to get more food (in actuality, just to chat with Sam) and Nicole and Stephanie both gave her sweet smiles. “What?” she asked with a laugh. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

“Okay,” Stephanie laughed, holding her hands up, “I may not be attracted to men, but even I’ll say it. Dean’s smokin’.”

“And the way he looks at you,” Nicole gushed. “God. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“You know,” (Y/N) said, gazing over at Dean, “Jennifer said the same thing. I just don’t see it.”

“Well,” Nicole said, “he only does it when you’re not looking. Sometimes he looks away like you’re two nervous teens and he doesn’t want to get caught. It’s completely endearing.”

As they were gazing over at Dean, (Y/N) caught a glimpse of Chris. He was looking around, and something about him was putting her off. When she saw him head for the exit, she excused herself from the table and casually went to follow him. She cursed her heels for clicking against the linoleum, and there was a part of her that was grateful when he left the school so her footsteps wouldn’t be as loud.

When Chris made his way down to the pool house, she felt her thigh holster just to make sure her knife was still where it needed to be. She couldn’t exactly carry a machete with her, so her knife soaked in vampire poison would have to do. She snuck into the pool house and grabbed her flashlight from her handbag, holding it up as she crept through the dark building. Rookie mistake, she thought, the minute something hard hit her over the head.

-

When Dean got back to the table, he was confused when (Y/N) wasn’t there. “Oh, I think she ran to the bathroom or something,” Nicole said with a wave of her hand. “She just stepped out, like, a minute ago.”

“Great,” Dean said. “Thanks.”

He left the gym, knowing the bathroom was probably the last place (Y/N) actually was. When he stepped out of the gym, he checked his phone and saw that he missed a text from her: Tailing Chris. Looks like pool house.

“Fuck,” Dean mumbled. He shot Sam and Charlie a quick text explaining what was happening and jogged down to the pool house.

He opened the door and walked in, keeping his flashlight off and his machete in hand, grateful he could hide the latter in his coat at the event. He knew she only had a knife with vampire poison, and he hoped she was able to survive with it.

Before he knew it, he was out cold.

-

She woke up tied to a pole in the pool house. Beside her, Dean was still unconscious. “Shit,” she mumbled to herself, fighting against the ropes she was tied with. “Dean.” She tried to speak loud enough to wake him up but quiet enough that whoever had captured her didn’t hear.

She heard someone come into the room and tensed, looking in the direction of the sound.

“How long have you been turned?” she asked as soon as Chris crept out of the shadows.

“Well,” he said sarcastically, tapping his finger against his chin, “how long has Amanda been missing?”

“Three weeks,” she answered.

“Then three weeks,” he said with a smile.

“How many are in your nest?” she asked. She was just trying to bide her time before Dean woke up and managed to get out his pocket knife and cut through his ropes. This was why she hated wearing dresses. No pockets for hiding tools!

“You really just want all my secrets, don’t you (Y/N)?” he asked with a grin.

“I guess so,” she said.

“Well, I hate to break it to you,” he said, “but I’m the only one left. A couple other hunters came by and killed off the rest of the nest.”

“Who were they?”

Chris shrugged. “Didn’t bother to learn their names before I killed them.”

Dean woke up then, and she and Chris both turned to look at him. “Well, good morning, Mr. Winchester,” Chris said, crouching in front of Dean. “I’ve heard so much about you. I’ve been dying to meet you.”

“Look man,” Dean said, shaking his head a bit to clear away the fuzziness in his brain, “I don’t swing that way.”

“Mm,” Chris said, standing up. “Just as charming as they say.”

“So what’s your play here, Chris?” (Y/N) asked as Chris fished his phone out of his pocket. “Are you turning these girls? Trying to build a new nest?”

“No, no,” Chris said casually, waving his hand as he put his phone back in his pocket after typing something out. “I’m just killing them.” He sauntered over to her and crouched in front of her. “But you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Because if I turned you, you’d have a family.” She swallowed thickly and clenched her jaw, refusing to break eye contact with Chris. If she did that, he won. “You see, you’re so desperate for love. You cling to guys like the Winchesters here-” He waved offhandedly to Dean. “-in a pathetic attempt to make up for your dad. You remember your dad, right?” She bit her tongue and breathed heavily through her nose. “You think we didn’t notice? All of us at school? Think Shawn didn’t tell us about how your daddy used to hit you? We’d have a nice laugh about it, because you might not’ve been able to see it, but we all could.”

“See what?” she asked. She couldn’t help it. He was saying all the things that would get her to cave. She knew she fell into his trap, but she wasn’t sure she cared.

Chris grinned. “How no one could ever love you. How Shawn was always pretending. How your dad couldn’t handle pretending anymore. We saw your present, (Y/N), and it sure wasn’t hard to see your future.” He looked over at Dean before turning to her again. “And we were right, because Dean here? Dean doesn’t love you either. How could he? How could anyone love a girl like you?”

She felt tears pooling in her eyes, and she hung her head so he wouldn’t see them. Her action just made him laugh and lift her chin with his fingers. “Get away from her before I break every bone in your body,” Dean suddenly growled. Chris looked over at him with an amused smirk. “I’ll fucking kill you, man, I swear to god.” Chris stood up and walked over to Dean.

“I really think this is bullshit, man,” he said, motioning between her and Dean. “I just don’t get it. You’re obviously pretending for her, but why go as far as marriage? Why pretend you love her that much? Unless-” He gasped like he cracked the whole case. “Oh! This is all fake! You’re not actually married, are you?” He started laughing, resting his hand on his stomach as he threw his head back. “That is hilarious. God, you-” He turned to her again. “You really are pathetic.”

Chris grabbed a knife from the inside of his jacket and walked back over to her. “You know, Dean,” Chris said, crouching in front of her again. “I think (Y/N) over here might really love you. I think you might be pretending, but for her, she thinks she can make it real. Because I know for a fact-” He gently ran the tip of the knife against her chest. “-she’s not wearing a bra. And her underwear?” He grinned. “Practically see-through. I think she was hoping for some action with you tonight.”

Her cheeks were bright red, and she knew there were tears falling from her eyes. She was embarrassed, and if Dean hadn’t broken out of his restraints yet, she wasn’t sure he was going to. Was she going to die after getting humiliated by some loser from high school?

“You know,” she said, sniffing to stop her tears, “you used to be an alright guy, Chris. A little creepy, but not an asshole. Not like this.”

Chris shrugged. “Well, people change.”

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

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[idgaf-what-you-call-me]

This is the first time, outside of therapy, that I am opening up fully my past, I ask that you remain respectful.

Trigger warnings: Suicide, torture, neglect, alcoholism, … a lot listen you’ve got to be well resourced before you read this. 

I know Dean, because I was Dean. I was raised to be “perfect”, I am so much like my dad, I didn’t have a childhood, I was tortured, I have lost time (dissociation not possession by an arc angel), I am fairly closeted, and I’m finally starting to get better. 

Ever since a very young child, I was raised to be perfect. To look at a 99 and learn what I got wrong before I brought the grade home, otherwise, I was sent to study. I was raised to not be heard and taught to stay in my room. I was raised to not show emotion because anything more than stoic meant that I was an inconvenience. I had “fend for yourself nights” where I had to sort out what I would eat for dinner, and at inexcusably young ages, 5-6 years old. I learned to shoot at 8, and was taken fishing anytime my dad went. I was brought to the construction sites, learned how to use power tools, and eventually had my own set at home. While I wasn’t trained to hunt demons or other things that go bump in the night, I was molded to be just like my dad. My mom wasn’t around much when I was a kid, so I idolized my father. He was like a god to me. As I got older (legal), I even would drink things that my dad approved of like scotch and I smoked cigars. Often praised, “that’s my girl! Look guys, my daughter drinking scotch and smoking a cigar! Where are your kids?” The validation was like a high to me. I was desperate for his approval. Just like Dean. Talked like his dad, walked like his dad, drank like his dad, I get it. 

I was blatantly ignored including being told that I was invisible by siblings. They would hold up a remote to me and say, “you’re invisible” and ignore me. I could leave the house and they would not come look for me. With my mom and dad often gone (usually working or partying we were quite poor), I didn’t have anyone looking after me since I was 4 so when my dad was around, much like Dean, all I wanted to do was make him happy and proud of me.

I was a closeted bisexual, who made so many gay jokes towards my cishet brother that I feel quite a bit of shame as an adult. I repressed every facet of desire I had for the opposite gender because being bisexual really meant that I must be gay. At least that is what Will and Grace told me, and I did not want to be gay. Things were bad enough, I didn’t need to add to my shit pile. By the time I was 12, I had no idea how to feel emotions and I had no idea how to love myself. Most days, now at 29, I still don’t know how to love myself. I am not out to everyone in my family. I don’t feel safe with everyone. All the gay jokes between the brothers, all the Dean is bi subtext, I lived a lot of it.

Torture can take the shape of many different forms but they fall under two umbrellas: physical and psychological. I was subjected to sound torture and sleep deprivation forms of physical torture that have lasting psychological effects. When you live through something like that, you don’t “rebound” in the traditional sense, and I would dissociate. My consciousness would retreat back into itself until it was safe enough to come back.

I dreaded Thursday nights as that is when it would begin. My father would bring home several cases of Michelob Ultra, from the store, and then he would start drinking. My dad didn’t measure his consumption in beers, instead he measured by the case. A form of extreme binge drinking that to this day I still don’t completely understand. While he would drink, his music would get progressively louder and louder until the whole house vibrated with noise. 

There are some songs and artists that I cannot listen to anymore. They’re not songs by Metallica or Black Sabbath, instead they’re by Credence Clearwater Revival, Bob Dylan, Van Morrison and the like. Songs that people dance to at their weddings, sing at funerals, and enjoy on a road trip with the entire family. They are generally described as lively yet not heavy, yet this music was the conduit of 5 years of actual torture for me. I used to say that these were my favorite songs, but it was a way to cope with hearing them at home, and then hearing them play in the car on the way to school the next morning. In my house, the music was played so loudly that walls and floors shook and overwhelmed my senses and ability to sleep, think, do anything but have a heartbeat and breathe. It would last all night. I never learned to “fall asleep” I would pass out. To this day, I can be desperately tired, and able to drive for several hours without being a dangerous driver. Like my body learned to ignore fatigue. “I just need like 4 hours every couple of days,” yeah Deano, I’ve been there.

I would freeze mentally. Almost like a zone out but on steroids. Then I’d look around and things wouldn’t feel real to me. I would look in the mirror and see a stranger. Now I understand that I had developed dpdr as a way to cope. I don’t wish it on anyone.

My mother? She would leave the house and go clubbing. My siblings were 8 years older than me and lived on their own a great distance from where I lived. Besides, I had school to go to on Fridays. So I cooked, I monitored myself, I had to become an adult. I didn’t get to be a kid. My catharsis was angsty and fluffy Harry Potter fan fiction. You can find it on FF.net, RandHrFan I no longer post with that handle. Dean’s were movies, movies that my dad, and I’d wager his dad watched. I also love westerns just like my dad and my grandfather, there is something about them.

When Dean cries and opens up to Sam about his hell experiences, I get it. I’m so proud of him for telling Sam. To some it seems like he’s closed off but he’s not. He’s opening up as much as he mentally can. And Sam listens. Just like my sister eventually did. When Dean gets mad and yells at John and Mary, I’m proud of him, because he is fighting for himself. He knew he deserved better and he didn’t let it go. Just like I have done in my not so distant past.

All the while my parent’s marriage was fracturing and I was mentally declining. My mom began sleeping in my room and in my bed, and I was basically left to sleep on the couch. On days when my dad would drink, and my mom would go out, I could get to be in my room again. I could be on the computer (laptops weren’t a thing yet) which lived in my room. I could connect with the two other friends on AIM, but the reality of my situation I couldn’t escape. I was isolated, didn’t trust my family and I didn’t know how to ask for help.

One day I attempted to take my life. I saw no value in it. What was I doing with my life. I was a broken human who didn’t deserve love, who didn’t deserve safety, who didn’t deserve well anything. So I downed a bottle of pills. I had an iron clad stomach, I wasn’t too worried about not being successful. Except, I sent a goodbye message to a friend, and that friend saved my life. He got a hold of my sister who got to me in enough time to make me throw up. (She was a champ at that, having suffered from bulimia and taught to throw up from no other than my dad.)

I didn’t receive help afterwards. I signed a paper saying that I wouldn’t attempt again and was taken home. (I hope this isn’t how hospitals roll anymore.) I left my house, I went to school out of state and found stability, created stability for myself. But my past still haunted me whenever I went home. So when Dean has a death wish, and gets discharged from hospitals before he’s stable, I get it.

My parents eventually divorced, and I came home to a place where I couldn’t live anymore for a solid couple of months, I couch surfed, and again my mental health took a nosedive, but nevertheless, I persisted. I got my head back in the game, and finished my degree. Chemistry. I couldn’t go back home, because if I did I’d be working for my dad. I couldn’t do that, it was too painful. So I went to grad school. I got my Ph.D. I began to chart my own path. But there was a rage in me that I couldn’t escape. I lashed out at anyone and everyone to hide the pain that I felt all the time. People were afraid of me. I was great at what I did but I couldn’t make lasting connections with others.

When I was 27 suicidal ideations became dangerous, and I got about as dark. I tried to harm myself, and wanted my world to burn. It didn’t matter that I was married, with pets, and owned a home. Nothing mattered. I finally had to decide between life and death, I couldn’t continue in that state. I can say confidently that I would be dead if I didn’t get help that day. I wish Dean had this chance. He gets close to this in moments with Cas when he is honest about his feelings and experiences, he cries, he gets angry, lashes out, but Cas is there for him. From someone like Dean, I’ll tell you Cas being present holds more weight than gold for Dean.

I have been in intense therapy for a year. By intense I do mean more than once a week, regular check ins with her, and the occasional group session. She sends me articles to read, homework, and we do EMDR work, emotional integration therapy, mindfulness, etc. 

It was then that I began to learn that all the rage that I had built inside me was hiding intense fear, loss, and disappointment. The rage gave way to tears, and the tears gave way to a new anger that I could make peace with. That anger comes from the person I am today. The person who fights for herself. Who doesn’t take shit from anyone. The person who says, humans don’t break, vases break, and I am a human. I see a lot of that in late season Dean. He is a fighter. 

But I am still the person who receives a compliment and shuts down, there is still a side of me that doesn’t believe that I deserve nice things, good things to happen to me, but that person is getting smaller. My therapist likes to hit me with compliments when I am vulnerable as I am more likely to believe them. I still react like a dead fish when she says them, and then after the session sob for hours over it. One day my head and my heart will believe the same things about myself. I would have reacted the same way as Dean to that confession. 

When the cards fall, I still know that I can depend on myself before anyone else because I had to. My life as an impoverished, unstable, depressed, neglected, and abused kid says I should be dead or amounting to nothing, but hear I am. I’ve now closely mentored about 20 undergraduate students, a handful of graduate students, and have helped them find their paths in life. I have taught nearly 1000 students. I made a difference with the life that I tried to throw away. 

I have come to a place where I can love my dad. He is sober again, and yes, my love for him does depend on his sobriety. When he is drinking he is not the same person. I wouldn’t call him an A+ dad by a long shot, and hell I am so much like him that at times it makes me sick, but I do love him. I have been able to forgive him. Forgive in the sense that I can make peace with what happened. It doesn’t change what happened or how much it affected me, and I certainly don’t forget, but that isn’t what forgiveness is. I don’t hold the rage anymore. The fact that Dean is able to is personal for Dean, as it is for me, and it isn’t some “family that is what you do” type reason.

I do experience flashbacks when there are fireworks, I can’t go to a movie theatre because of the volume, when people play really loud music in their cars I typically have to peel off into a parking lot and meditate for 20 minutes to be able to drive again. There are some stores that I don’t shop at because their music triggers me. So when Dean experiences those flashbacks, I get it.

There is a belief in the psychology that monster shows help us become comfortable with our dark sides. My dark side saved me over and over again. My dark side told me to be better than them. My dark side told me to fight for me, to adopt a survivor mindset. (If you can’t tell I am a green veined Slytherin and have never been sorted into any other house even by random house generators.) The things I delight in are a bit off color. I cultivate a poison garden, consume way too much true crime, to gore I say give me s’more and so on. Dean gets to experience his dark side, and he has to make peace with it. He makes inappropriate jokes, laughs at it, but he also does talk about it. 

This is the hard part: Just like Dean, I am also light. I love people (vomit), seriously though, they are more precious to me than any earthly possession. Plants bring me serenity. Animals are a comfort and companion in the worst of times. There isn’t much I wouldn’t do to protect living things. My motivations come from a place of love and a need to protect others from what I have been through. I know I can survive, but I don’t know if that is true for everyone else.

I know Dean. I was Dean. I see that every episode. Moments when he yells and screams for himself, I cheer him on. Moments where he tries to waste his life away, I understand, and am crying right with him. The purgatory apology guts me, I’ve had to make that apology more than once. The dead fish reaction, hell that is me at the end of a therapy session. I am here to say: Dean is not broken. Dean is strong. Dean is resilient. Dean doesn’t just fight for himself, he fights for the whole of creation. Dean is not a vase. He is a human. 

Oh and John’s taste in beer, much like my fathers, is crap. Don’t drink shitty beer. Also, I don’t drink scotch anymore. I'm a gin girl and I drink *okay* beer. 

I’m the same blogger who does drunk blogging regarding Supernatural on Saturdays. It is a lovely bit of comfort and joy for me and I won’t be stopping any time soon. We will get back to the lovely and light “Dean is Bi he he” commentary this weekend. 

[the--sad--hatter]

Mischief, Meet Your Match - Chapter Sixteen (Loki x Reader)

WARNINGS: Graphic Violence and Gore, Swearing, Smut, Angst, Idiots in Love, Loki

SUMMARY:

Being caught in the cross hairs of The God of Mischief would scare a saner person but not you, you enjoy it. There’s just something about Loki that draws you to him, and you couldn’t help it even if you wanted to. Tricking the Trickster is exhilarating but you quickly find yourself becoming attached to him as you’re unwillingly dragged on the adventure of a lifetime.

While The Avengers race to get you out of Loki’s clutches, you find yourself teaming up with him to try and defeat an enemy who threatens everything you hold dear.

When you’re tangled up with the God of Chaos, there’s no way of winning and it’s anyone’s guess which you’ll lose first, your heart or your life?

Masterlist

Chapter Sixteen - Gladiator 

There was a thin stripe of purple through the green of your band, signalling you were set for the Arena. It was what allowed you wander around the Green’s pits without being shoved into one yourself. You’d already explored the living quarters, small windowless rooms that held two beds each and been to a heaving, foul-smelling canteen where had been served some kind of vile, vaguely fish like pule of mulch.

 “Why are you here?” A Kree asked you with a frown, studying your band.

 “The survivors here will be my competition in the arena, and my fellow soldiers in the wars to come. I’m here to assess them.” You said, standing up straight in what you hoped was a show of respect.

 “Tactical thinking, well done.” He praised.

 You bowed your head deferentially and he wandered away. Ignoring the rotten feeling it had given you, you walked around the pits, taking note of the fighting techniques. Mostly though, you were watching the different races and how they died or got hurt. Your lack of knowledge about your last opponent would have probably gotten you killed if it weren’t for Gun and you needed to be better prepared next time.

 “Runner!” Someone yelled.

 You turned around in the direction the shout had come from and watched as a green skinned humanoid reached the top of the stairs, looking around wildly with frantic desperation. There was a glowing red band on his wrist.

 “Wonder if they’ll kill it or make an example of it?” Someone muttered behind you.

Judging by the way the guards holstered their guns and pulled out thin metal rods that you could hear the electricity crackling off of, you were betting that they weren’t just going to kill the attempted escapee. If they were willing to throw their soldiers into pits and make them kill each other, what would they be willing to do to someone who crossed them? The runner sprinted forwards, into the crowds of Green’s. turning in all directions until he saw a path that didn’t have any guards.

 But he wasn’t thinking straight. That direction would put him up against the wall. If there even was a way to escape from this place, that wasn’t it.

 Every cell in your body was screaming at you to help him, to grab him and push him behind you while you fended off the guards. Your instincts were telling you to save him, that you needed to save him.

 But a voice in your head that sounded more like Loki than you these days was telling you he was going to die no matter what you did, and unless you did something drastic, he was going to die slowly and painfully.

 A voice that sounded like Natasha reminded you that even if you couldn’t save this individual, you could save thousands more like him.

 A voice that was unmistakably Steve’s told you that you would never forgive yourself for what you were about to do.

 The dagger you’d pulled from your belt sailed through the air and landed firmly in the back of the runners head, piercing under his skull and killing him instantly. As his body thumped onto the floor, all eyes turned to you.

 Outwardly, you maintained a cold demeanour but on the inside you were falling apart. You’d just murdered someone in cold blood. He hadn’t been your opponent, he hadn’t even been armed. You’d killed him.

 You couldn’t have saved his life, there was no way you could have saved him. You spared him a painful death.

 You didn’t do it to spare him, you did it to further your cause. This wasn’t mercy, it was a calculated act of deception. You sacrificed him for your own gain.

 The Kree who had addressed you earlier pulled the dagger from the corpses skull and studied it as he walked back over to you. Then deliberately, he held it out to you with a nod of approval.

 “Kit? Just Kit?” He asked, glancing between your band and the screen in his hand.

 “Yes Sir.” You affirmed.

 “Disloyalty is severely punished here, but loyalty is appreciated. And noticed.” He crooned.

 You took the dagger from him and felt a part of your soul die.

 “I’m Private Ra-Thrall. I’ll be keeping an eye one you… Kit.” He mused with an intrigued stare.

 “Thank you Sir.”

 You had achieved what you needed to achieve, but at what cost?

  ~~~

 The space around Earth was still void of any threats, and there had been no more signs from you.

 There were militaries all around the world standing at the ready for that to change, thanks to Rhodey, Sam and Bucky’s efforts. The Inhumans had all been warned and some of them had broken the Accords by scattering and going into hiding while others had turned up at military bases, UN offices or the Avengers Tower itself and declared they were ready to fight. The whole world was on edge, waiting for a war.

 And yet nothing was happening.

 “Captain Rogers you have the entire planet on alert, for what? A rushed warning from a woman who by your own admittance is working with Loki? Do you have any idea the scale of the mess you’ve made? And I’m here for you to tell me that we need to pardon the Inhumans who have broken the Accords?”

 “That’s exactly what I’m saying. They were warned that an alien race might be coming for them, can you blame them for hiding? If you want them to re-appear when this is over I highly recommend you assure them there will be no sanctions or punishment when they do.” Steve said stiffly.

 “And what about the ones that don’t re-appear?”

 “I would rather have to track down a few rouge Inhumans than watch them be killed. My job, my purpose is to protect people. I’ll do that by any means necessary.” He reminded Ross.

 “Do I need to remind you that you have not yet earned back the trust and respect you carelessly threw away when you went rouge?” Ross hissed.

 “You pardoned us. You really want to take it back? Just because we’re trying to protect the planet?” Natasha cut in.

 “If this is all for nothing…” Ross began.

 “If this is all for nothing then we know our girl up there has stopped it and you can thank her when she gets back. Maybe just send a muffin basket though, I don’t think she’ll appreciate an in person visit.” Tony said with a disarmingly charming smirk.

 “You’ve demanded a Global response team be at the ready and you have broken more protocols and laws than I can count by directly contacting every Inhuman on the index. If and when your ‘girl’ returns I will be paying her an in person visit and I’ll be bringing the full weight of the United Nations with me. We have a lot of questions for her.”

 “Well we’ll call you when she gets home. Until then, do we agree that the Inhumans should not suffer for trying to keep themselves alive?” Sam asked.

 “Before you answer that, think about what happens if we do have the fend off another attempted invasion. We’ll want the Inhumans fighting with us, we can’t afford to risk alienating them.” Steve warned.

 “For now, we agree. But this is not indefinite.” Ross warned before he gave one last hateful glare at them and stormed out.

 “Love that guy, it’s always so much fun when he comes to visit.” Tony said sarcastically.

 “We only have a couple more days, three at best before people start questioning if there’s really a threat.” Rhodey sighed.

 “If no intergalactic army turns up we’ll look like idiots but I’ll take that over having to fight.” Clint said.

 “If the army does come, it means she failed.” Steve reminded them, snapping out the words.

 It would mean you were dead.

 “This would be easier if she would just come and get us, pick us up in her fancy new ride and take us to the fight.” Tony pointed out.

 “And she would have done that, if we could have promised mercy for Loki. But we couldn’t so she threw her lot in with him and who can blame her? Who better to fend of an invasion that they guy who already tried once before.” Sam sighed.

 “Ross does have a point. We are resting a lot on her word. Not that I don’t trust her but… are we sure we’re making the right moves here?” Natasha asked, looking at Steve.

 “I trust her. So we need to be ready. And if this is all masterminded by Loki, don’t forget that we have a way to take him down now. We’re prepared for either option and any number of things in between.” Steve reminded her.

 “Thanks to yours truly, and Gandalf the sassy.” Tony chimed in.  

 “Speaking of, don’t you need to go?” Sam asked.

 Steve nodded.

 “Strange is expecting us. Wanda’s getting better at getting inside my head.” He said.  

 “So we’re ready, for whatever comes next. All we can do now is sit around and wait and hope to hell that Kitten knows what she’s doing.” Sam said.

 ~~~

 You were completely lost. Evening had fallen and someone had told you to get to the Arena and then walked away before you realised you had no idea how to get there. You’d followed a group of people with Green bands but managed to lose sight of them when they turned a corner and now you were just stood in a hallway like an imbecile.

 “Little One?” Someone called out behind you.

 “Gun?” You called back happily, walking quickly towards his familiar frame, pausing in surprise when you saw the green band on his wrist.

 “You’re not the only one who’s moved up a colour.” He chortled.

 “Congratulations?” You said as you fell into step beside him and let him guide you through the maze of a fortress.

 “And to you little one. You fought well.” He praised.

 “And yet I still would have lost, if not for you.” You reminded him.

 “I think you may have still won, just not as quickly. You’re skilled, though you fight like someone of your size, not like someone of your strength.” He noted.

 “Out of the one’s who trained me, one used to be a lot smaller than he is now and one is of a similar size to me.” You explained vaguely.

 “No, no it’s good. Didn’t expect you to be that strong when I saw you fight. You keep switching styles as well. It’s hard to get a grasp on you or what you are going to do.”

 “Jack of all trades, master of none.” You said quietly.

 Gun cocked his head with a quizzical expression.

 “It’s a saying in my world. It means it’s alright to be ok at lots of different things than amazing at just one.” You elaborated.

 “What a strange saying but, a wise one.”

 “Why are you fighting for honours Gun?” You asked, nodding at his band that was marked with the same line of blue yours was.

 “I have my reasons.” He said cryptically.

 “You don’t approve of the killing and the blood sport, so your reasons, whatever they are, are curious.” You said softly.

 “Those who enter the Arena are not under duress. They are bloodthirsty, egotistical murderers. I feel no guilt in killing them.” He said.

 “And everyone you kill in the Arena is one less warrior for the army?” You guessed.

 He looked nervous and you knew you were right. He hadn’t come here with a plan like you had, but he was here to save his world and do as much damage as he could before he died.

 He stopped at a large set of doors and pushed them open, waving you in front of him.

 It was another holding area, a large circular room filled with people sharpening weapons and gearing themselves up to fight. There was a dark, ominous looking doorless hole on the opposite wall.

 Ra-Thrall, the Kree who had taken notice of you earlier in the day spotted you and immediately made his way over.

 “If you’re as skilled as I hope you are, you’ll do well here. Impress us and we’ll put you into the main arena.” He said enthusiastically, ignoring Gun.

 You weren’t confused as to why he’d taken such a special interest in you, you’d done something awful to ensure he would. But he was thrumming with excitement and you wondered why he was so invested.

 “Do well tonight and you will impress Glahn-Betn himself. I’ve marked you down as someone with potential, prove me right and we’ll both rise in rank.” He said with what he must have thought was a conspiratorial grin.

 It made your skin crawl.

 “I won’t let you down Sir.” You told him respectfully.

 “Clegane is getting a lot of attention down here. I’m going to pit you against him. He’s an Epsiloni.”

 Were you supposed to know what an Epsiloni was?

 “Kill him and you’re certain to be given an enviable rank.” He instructed.

 “Yes, Sir, Understood Sir.” You said.

 His head bobbled up and down as he nodded excitedly and scarpered back to his post.

 “Gun!” You hissed, tugging his sleeve.

 “What’s an Epsiloni?” You asked when he looked at you.

 He visibly paled.

“Epsiloni are parasites. They drain the life-force of their victims, becoming stronger and stronger. When I was a child, one landed on my home world. Just one. It took a bomb that destroyed an entire city to kill it.” He explained fearfully.  

 “Oh.” You gulped.

 “I doubt this one is as strong. They’re utterly ruthless and despise all organic life forms. If one is in this army, it isn’t here by choice. If it were strong enough it would have turned on it’s captors by now.” He tried to reassure you.

 “Then why are they letting it get stronger?” You asked and Gun shrugged.

 It didn’t sound like something you’d want in your army. The stronger it got, the more chance of it turning on you. So it was effectively useless because you wouldn’t be able to use it to it’s full potential.

 Unless…

 “It’s only here so they can find out who’s strong enough to kill it.” You whispered, horrified.

 Which meant that every opponent it had already faced were the strongest and most promising, and they’d all failed. Their strength hadn’t been enough and all that power now belonged to the Epsiloni.

 “I don’t suppose you have a bomb on you?” Gun asked, only partially joking.

 “Only blades.” You groaned.

 You were so screwed.

 “Are they impervious to damage?” You asked.

 “No, but it takes a lot of it to put them down.” He told you.

 “Weak spots?” You asked hopefully.

 “None that I know of.”  He said, shaking his head.

 “How do they drain life-force?” You sighed.

 “They leech it through prolonged skin contact.” He answered.

 “I need a pair of gloves.” You said, looking down at your bare hands.

 “I’ll see what I can do.” He responded, looking around before he slipped away.

 Despite his noble intentions for being here, he was acting as an ally to you. As far as he was aware, you were one of the monsters he wanted to destroy and yet he couldn’t seem to bring himself to treat you like one. He was a good man, too good.

 It wasn’t long before he came back over, subtly slipping a pair of leather gloves into your hand. You pulled them on, noting they weren’t a perfect fit but they would do.

 “What did you do?” You sighed, nodding towards the empty sheath on his hip.

 There had been a short sword in it a few moments ago.

 “Made a trade.” He shrugged.

 Aside from Mischief you had an array of daggers on you, and two of them on either side of your hip were longer ones. You unsheathed one and tossed it in the air, shaking your head at Gun and slipping it into his empty sheath. Like the gloves, it wasn’t a perfect fit, but it would do.

 “Kit! Come.” Ra-Thrall yelled.

 “Good luck little one.” Gun whispered.

 “See you on the other side Gun.” You whispered back.

 Ra-Thrall was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet he was that excited and he quickly ushered you into the tunnel.

 “Don’t die.” He warned.

 “I’ll try not to let you down Sir.” You promised.

 “If you do as well as I hope, Glahn-Betn will be thrilled with me for spotting you. This could mean big things for me. You as well I suppose.” He muttered.

 The tunnel was dark and practically vibrating. If this was anything like the gladiators pits of Ancient Rome then you guessed the crowd was above you. All too soon you came to the end and to a metal grate. Through it you could see a large circular arena surrounded by black stone walls.

 “Kit of Clarius.” You heard someone yell from the inside and then the grate was rising.

 You stepped onto the sands and took it all in. The blood stains on the sand, the cracks and dried blood on the stone walls, the thousands of spectators and on a podium some 30ft above the crowds…

 Glahn-Betn.

 It had to be him, there was no doubt about it. He was sat forward in his seat, resting his hulking forearms on his knees as he surveyed you. You both assessed each other from a distance and hatred spewed up inside you. This was the man responsible for the atrocities you had witnessed. All this injustice, pain and death, all of it could be laid at his feet. He had taken this planet and who knows how many others, he had ravaged them and taken anything he might have use for, without care for the devastation he was leaving in his wake. He would lay waste to your planet as well if he had the chance.

 You wouldn’t let him have the chance. If it weren’t for the towering , curved stone wall, you would have already drove your blade into his chest and carved him up, even if it meant being slaughtered by the revenue of soldiers behind him.

 His dark eyes were pulling you in and you break away from his gaze if you wanted to. He’d bespelled you and you could feel the rage and loathing growing inside you until your body just felt to small to contain it. Your rage felt like a living breathing entity inside you, moving under your skin.

 Then he looked away, turning to say something to one of his companions and the spell was broken. The world swam back into focus and you wandered when you’d stopped hearing and seeing everything around you as the noises from the crowd drew your attention.

 Apparently, they weren’t impressed with you.

 “It’s a child.” Someone tittered and there was amused chuckles of agreement.

 “1000 Lye on the child.” Someone announced confidentially, loudly.

 “I’ll take your bet.” Someone roared back gleefully, but you ignored that one.

 At the announcement you had looked up into the crowd, immediately spotting who had bet on you. The woman stood behind the stone barrier, gazing back at you. Her raven hair tumbled over her shoulders as she flipped it back and turned to her betting opponent and you knew who she was straight away. It would take more than blue skin and red eyes for you not to recognise Loki. You’d know that twinkle of mischief in her eyes anywhere.

 When she looked at you again you winked at her, tapping your staff subtly and turning back to the arena as Clegane was announced and the grate on the other side of the sands ascended.

 Clegane had the basic shape of a human but that’s where the comparison ended. He was pink and hairless, wearing nothing except a sleeveless one-piece jumpsuit that ended at the knees and showcased his long, flat, toeless feet. And when he snarled maliciously at you, you got an eyeful of the long sharp fangs.

 Judging by the fact that your adversary’s kept being dentally blessed, the universe was really working overtime in an attempt to get you bitten.

 He didn't even wait for anyone to tell him to begin, as soon as he stepped through gates he was rushing for you, his feet barely touched the sands and he leapt nimbly across them. You barely had enough time to lean back, away from his grasp.

 His fingers had been millimetres away from you and you were literally bent over backwards to get away from him, so when his legs kicked yours out from under you, you flopped onto the ground uselessly.

 It was only hours of sparring with Bucky ‘I’m gonna knock you on your ass’ Barnes that allowed you to use the momentum from your fall to roll onto your front and rise to your knees.

 You reached back with one hand, grasping for Mischief while your other arm was busy grabbing onto Clegane’s left wrist to hold him back. His right hand slammed into the side of your face with inhuman strength and the second his skin made contact with yours you went from adrenaline fuelled, blood pumping battle ready to feeling like you were about to faint.

 You managed to unsheathe Mischief and get the blade out, sliding it between his ribs. You felt the blade go in, you could feel the blood spurting from the wound and covering your gloved hand, dripping under your sleeve.

 Clegane didn’t seem to notice or care, he just kept leeching the life out of you.

 You let go of your beloved weapon, dropping it on the ground and grabbed both of his arms and pulled him into you as hard as you could, smashing your head into his face. You heard the sickening crunch of bone as you crushed his nose and felt the sharp sting as his fangs shredded through your flesh but it had been enough to knock his hand away from your face.

 You’d never moved so fast in your life as you scrambled away from him, your severely depleted energy making you stumble into the wall. You held yourself upright and straight away, you felt your energy start to come back.

 It was like any other injury, you could heal it. And because there was no physical wound, you could heal it fast. The crowd didn’t seem to be aware of that yet because you could hear the mocking laughter and them calling out for Clegane to finish you. Pushing away from the wall you turned around to face him again, standing tall.

 He paused in confusion and you could feel the palpable curiosity coming from the crowd as you wiped the blood from your face and smirked. When they realized there was no wound they started cheering for you and Clegane sneered.

 You ran at him, unsheathing a long dagger from your hip and throwing it ahead of you. It embedded itself into his chest and he ignored it like it was little more than a buzzing insect landing on him.

 You knew that stabbing him would have no effect, that wasn’t why you had done it. You used it as a foothold as you leapt at him, planting your knee into his throat and wrapping your other leg around the back of his neck and used every ounce of your super strength to twist your body around while you squeezed his neck between your legs. His neck snapped in your hold and you pushed away from him, flipping in mid-air and landing upright on the ground behind him.

 You executed it perfectly. Natasha would have been so fucking proud.

 If it had done a damn thing.

 He just half turned around and backhanded you, sending you reeling backwards so you crouched on one knee and slammed your open fist into his sternum, sending him reeling back this time. He curled his fist and swung at your head but you caught it in your hand and held it, blocking his other fist with your forearm. Your muscles trembled with the effort of holding him back, he was that strong.

 Maybe you really did need a bomb to win this one.

 Or maybe you needed to lose this one. If he was this strong already, how much stronger would he be if he drained your life-force? For a second, you really considered it. You knew you were willing to die for this cause, this was your chance to prove it. Clegane would slaughter the Kree if he had the chance, you could give him that chance. All you had to do was die. All you had to do was give up your life and with it, any chance of seeing Steve again, any chance of begging his forgiveness. All you had to do was give up Loki.

 You looked up into the crowd, your eyes searching for the one person in the universe you knew beyond a shadow of a doubt you wanted to spend your life with.

 And then you let go, you let Clegane slam you into the sands.

 The second your back hit the dirt Clegane was leaning over you and stabbed the sword firmly into the sand, through the palm of your hand. You grit your teeth to contain the grunt of pain as his hand grasped painfully at your jaw, squeezing as he absorbed your lifeforce. As the seconds ticked by you blocked out the sound of the crowds, concentrating only on two things.

 The feeling of your life-force leaving you, making you weaker and weaker. And slowly pushing your hand up, wrapping your fingers around the blade and ignoring the bite as it shredded your flesh. You pulled it from the ground and you managed to free it from your hand. With all the strength you had left you grasped the hilt and swung it.

 Abruptly, your life-force started returning to you and Clegane’s arm fell uselessly aside, no longer attached to his body. His shock gave you a chance to push him away from you and you shakily pulled yourself to your feet as he stumbled back. He looked dumbly down at the stump where his arm used to be and the blood that was gushing from it. He was surprised but he wasn’t weakened and moving quickly you raced towards him, dropping to your knees and sliding across the sand with the long dagger held out to the side.

 As you slid past him you heard his yell of frustration as the blade sliced through the muscle and bone of his leg and you were sprayed with blood as you lopped off yet another limb. You glanced over your shoulder to see him trying to maintain his balance and satisfied, you dropped the dagger onto the ground and stood up.

 You calmly walked over to Mischief, like you had all the time in the world and kicked it into the air and catching it before you made your way back over to a seething Clegane. You turned your back on him and looked at the crowds, focusing only on Loki who was looking back at you with pride. Sliding your thumb upwards you released the blade and holding Mischief out in front of you, you spun around.

 The blade sliced through Clegane’s neck like butter, the cartilage and muscle providing no challenge for your trusted weapon.

 And as his head fell to the sand and rolled away, the seconds stretched into what felt like an eternity.

 You had done it, you had won. And if you were really as unselfish and heroic as you said you were, you would have let him drain your strength and use it to destroy the army. But he was dead and you were the victor and as what was left of his body hit the sand the crowd surged to their feet and time started moving again.

 You raised Mischief into the air and pointed the tip of the blade at Glahn-Betn. It could be seen as a mark of respect, you honouring the General you wanted to fight for.

 But it was a silent vow, that he would suffer the same fate as Clegane and everyone else you had to kill to get to him.

 He grinned ferally and pushed himself to his feet, roaring.

 “You say she is a mere child, but this child is a warrior! Feast your eyes on our new champion!” He yelled.

 The crowd was screaming and clapping and stamping their feet and you could feel the beat of your heart thumping in time with it all. It was savage and primal and under all your rage and fear and shame you were terrified to realize you had never felt more alive.

 The cheered for you, cheered for ‘the warrior child’, their champion, until someone screamed something and one by one they all picked up on it, gradually building in pace and tone until as one they were all chanting it.

 War child.

 It took on a life of it’s own, their frenzy increasing until the words blended together and your heart was beating too quickly in your chest. Glahn-Betn raised his hands and an immediate hush fell over the crowd.

 In all your time with the Avengers you had yet to receive a superhero moniker. Here, on an alien world with the blood of your victim still drying on your blade, your enemy stared down at you and bestowed your new name on you.

 “WarChylde!” He roared.

A/N - Oooft, it was so painful to write a lot of these scenes.

Hopefully it wasn't as painful to read them or you'll have hated this chapter. 

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