#and the list of sins he thinks he has to atone for just keeps getting longer

[wholoveseggs]

girrrllll, i got another idea! how about Elijah proposing to a reader? it could be angsty in the beginning, maybe they got into a fight because she feels like he always puts his family before her, so he proposes to her to show her she is his family too (and cause he was planning on doing that for a while anyway). and it’s all emotional, she’s not believing what’s happening and she’s thinking he doesn’t really mean it. meanwhile he’s almost desperate to show her how much she means to him. Smut cannot be absent of course. thank youuuu🫶🏻🫶🏻

Forever

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Elijah loves you with all his heart, but his commitment to his family and his loyalty to Klaus keeps him from acting on his feelings. But when he almost loses you, he is determined to prove that you are the only woman he has ever truly loved, and wants to make you his, forever.

♡♡ Thanks for the request @msveronicag! Who doesn't want to be Elijah's wife? ♡♡

6.8k words - Warnings: smut, fluff, angst, slight violence (a classic Elijah & Klaus brawl), shower sex, rimjob {f!receiving}, oral sex & the Italian coast ♡

Everyone says that Elijah Mikaelson is the best of his family. A loyal, charming, considerate man that holds himself to a standard not many can accomplish. In essence, perfect. He loves his family deeply, despite their constant misgivings and betrayals. Nothing would get in his way, if it meant he could protect the ones he loves.

Well, that's what you wanted to believe.

There was a reason Elijah held such devotion to his family. He was one of them, and no better than the worst of them, having sinned over and over to the point where atonement was simply not a viable option.

He didn't want you to see him that way, the dark side of his polished exterior. He wanted to shed his past and become a new man with you by his side.

You were unlike anyone he's ever known or had a passing connection to. Your empathy and kindness was beyond measure, it had captivated him the very moment that your eyes met.

He always wanted to be married, there were even a few times he almost found someone to spend eternity with. Something always stood between that moment and himself, usually in the shape of some great threat. But things had now settled in his life, he had a niece and a proper place to call home. He was no longer on the run from one demon or another.

He wanted this. To settle down with the woman of his dreams, build a life together, and maybe even add to it.

Perfect. Simple. Domestic bliss.

You had come for a small party celebrating Hope's third birthday. Or, as far as you were concerned, a get together amongst those you considered family.

Although, sometimes you worried they didn't see you as family in turn. Deep entrenched history often kept you away from the inner workings of their family life. You understood that you had to earn your place in their lives, and you had done so time and time again. But they never seemed to truly accept you as one of their own.

You got along with nearly all of them except Klaus, who saw you as just a passing phase Elijah was going through. A dalliance, nothing more.

He certainly knew how to poke at your insecurities about your relationship.

"So, tell me," he asked as the two of you waited in the kitchen. "When will this little thing with you and my brother end?"

"Excuse me?" you asked, trying to keep your voice light.

"Don't take it personally, sweetheart. You're not the first pretty face he's lost himself in," Klaus explained with a shrug.

"You don't think he's serious about me?" you questioned, trying not to feel hurt.

Klaus just shrugged and gave you a wicked grin. "Why would he be?"

"Because I love him, and he loves me," you replied, keeping your voice low. "It's been four years, and it's serious."

Klaus let out a bark of a laugh. "Four years is nothing in the life of an original. When will you stop living in this fantasy you've built in your mind? This will end and you will move on."

You were about to respond with a few choice words when Hayley came in carrying hope.

While your relationship with Klaus was contentious and you thought him to be cruel and cold. There was no doubt that Hope loved her daddy with all of her tiny heart. She reached out to him, and he happily took her into his arms.

"There's my little one," he cooed, holding her close. "I love you, my sweet girl."

He began to place kisses all over her, and the three year old giggled loudly.

You had baked the cake for her, and placed a number 3 candle in the middle.

"Let's light her up!" you announced.

The cake was placed on the dining room table, and Elijah stood by you. He slipped his hand in yours and squeezed.

"I want auntie y/n to light it," Hope said.

You smiled wide and kissed her on the head.

"Okay," you whispered, your voice soft.

You lit the candle, and everyone began to sing as the little Mikaelson happily ate a slice of cake, messily covering herself. You laughed, taking a cloth to wipe her little face and hands. Elijah watched you with adoring eyes, you were such a loving soul and he was so lucky to be the one to call you his own.

The cake was enjoyed by all and soon it was time for gifts. Hope was handed a large package by her father, and she eagerly tore open the paper.

You were cuddled up to Elijah, and he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. "Thank you, my love."

"For what?" you asked, glancing up at him.

"For being here. It means a lot to me," he told you.

You looked back up at Elijah, and kissed him lightly.

"I wouldn't want to be anywhere else," you told him.

Hayley helped Hope unwrap the gift from you and Elijah. It was a wooden dollhouse, and it was a miniature replica of the compound, complete with a little Klaus, Elijah, Hayley, and Hope.

Hope hugged the dollhouse to her chest. "I love it!"

"We made it ourselves," you said with a smile.

"Look, daddy!" Hope squealed. "Auntie Y/N and Uncle 'lijah got me a house."

Klaus gave you a tight smile, and you looked at Elijah. He wrapped an arm around your waist, and held you close. This only seemed to annoy Klaus more, but he turned his attention to his daughter, and the gift that she had received.

"That's amazing, little love. Now, why don't you open the rest of your presents?"

"Okay!"

The evening winded down, and eventually Klaus and Hayley took Hope upstairs to get her ready for bed and the rest of the family retired to their rooms. You had left the dining room table a mess, and wanted to help clean up.

You had picked up a few discarded wrapping papers, when Elijah's arms came around your waist.

"Don't worry about that, my love," he whispered, pressing his lips to your neck. "Leave it, we can do it tomorrow."

"You're sure?" you asked, leaning against him.

"Very," he whispered, taking your hand and leading you towards his bedroom. "I have other plans for you."

"Oh?"

"Mmm," he replied, nipping at your ear. "You know, I've been thinking of you all day. All the things I'd like to do with you."

You flushed,  biting your lips and smiling shyly. He never failed to make your heart skip a beat when he looked at you with that seductive gaze. He never had to force it either, his stare was simply alluring and attentive, it pulled you into its grasp like a siren's song.

Elijah shut the door, and the moment you turned around, he grabbed you and kissed you passionately. His hands held your hips tightly, pulling you against him. He kissed down your jawline, and down your throat.

He pushed you gently onto the bed, kissing down your neck and inhaling the smell of your skin, pulling your clothes off as he went along.

His love, his entire world, right here in his arms. If he were a more possessive man, he'd keep you in this room until his love was imprinted in your very bones.

He kissed you softly, wanting to take his time and express how deeply he cared for you with each touch. He moved down your body, worshiping your skin with his hands and mouth, and the soft sounds that escaped you only urged him on.

His bliss was quickly broken by the sounds of his brother yelling for him at the top of his lungs- an unnecessary use of volume, considering everyone had supernatural hearing.

You reached down and cupped his face, drawing his attention back to you.

"Please don't," you whispered, a pleading look in your eyes. "Stay,"

Elijah's breath left his lungs. You were not the clingy type, in fact you were rather understanding and independent; letting him go and do whatever it was the family needed, always supporting him.

He should stay, finish what he started with you, love you, the one he can't live without. But there was clearly something going on downstairs, his family needed him.

He pressed a soft kiss to your lips. "I'll be back."

"Sure," you said flatly, pulling away. You didn't quite meet his eyes as you turned on your side, facing away from him.

You were clearly upset, but he didn't have time to be swayed by his emotions. He leaned in to give you a quick kiss, but you turned your head away.

"I'm sorry, my love," he said, stroking your hair.

You didn't respond, and he had to leave you there, curled up and angry. He felt a deep pang of regret, but the thought of his family's safety was at the forefront of his mind.

As soon as Elijah left, you let your emotions come to a boil. It hurt how he was constantly running away to deal with his family. It hurt you when he put them over you, their arguments over little things always dragged him in. It made you feel undesired, and second best.

You had no doubt he cared for you, and you did believe he loved you. But did he truly love you the way he loved his own family?

No, not really. He was always holding back, never showing all of himself. He wanted a relationship, but not a true partnership. Not with you, anyway.

Your insecurities bubbled to the surface. The way Klaus acted around you, like you didn't belong, he always treated you as if you were an outsider. Perhaps he was right, that it was a fantasy, that you should move on.

It didn't matter that you were with Elijah. It didn't matter that he called you his love.

He could love you, but not be in love with you. And maybe he wasn't. Maybe this was all a lie, a ruse. 

Just too good to be true.

Klaus was pacing around the courtyard, clearly worked up and ready to take it out on the next person who walked through the door.

"Is it necessary to yell?" Elijah asked, his voice calm and collected.

"I had to make sure to get your attention, since you've been so distracted lately," Klaus snarked, a pointed look on his face.

Elijah let out a sigh, this wasn't the first time they've had this conversation. He was growing tired of Klaus' attitude. "What is it that's so important?" he asked, trying to keep the annoyance out of his tone.

"Y/n is a distraction," Klaus began. "You are blinded by her, and you've become weak and weakness will get us killed." He was speaking quickly and with anger. "You are no longer the man that I've known for a thousand years. You have forgotten where you came from, what you are, and who you are meant to protect."

"Are you suggesting I cast her aside?" Elijah questioned, his voice cold.

"Yes, exactly," Klaus answered, his expression unchanging.

"No," Elijah stated simply.

"She acts far too familiar, and is clearly not one of us," Klaus continued.

"She has proven herself time and time again," Elijah countered. "What more does she need to do?"

"I don't want Hope getting attached to someone that isn't family," Klaus said.

"You can't control who Hope gets close to," Elijah snapped, his anger finally rising.

"I can certainly try," Klaus replied, his tone icy. "And I will. Because you've allowed this woman into our home, our family, and now she's acting as if she belongs."

"She does," Elijah said, his voice steady. "You just have a hard time accepting that."

"If you really care about her, then you will do what is best," Klaus replied, his expression changing. "We both know what happens to your dalliances, they come to tragic ends. I'm trying to spare her from that, brother."

"This isn't some fling, Klaus," Elijah growled, his eyes flashing with rage.

"No, she's just a girl you enjoy fucking! And now Hope is calling her auntie, and she's acting like she's Hope's mother-"

Elijah laughed coldly, his brother was so painfully transparent, his paranoia endless and ever growing. "Is that what this is about? You're afraid of her taking Hayley's place? That I would take yours? Have you officially gone insane?" he mocked, his anger at a breaking point. "Have my actions in the last few years not been clear?"

"She will not be welcomed here once you've tired of her. Once she's gone, Hope will ask for her, and I will not allow that," Klaus stated, his voice rising. "You will have broken a little girls heart because of some stupid infatuation."

Elijah's patience with his brother had worn thin. He had to remind himself that Klaus had suffered so many losses in his long life, that his paranoia had grown into something monstrous. But in times like this, his brother could be utterly cruel, and it was impossible to see him as anything but.

"It's not some stupid infatuation," Elijah seethed, his hands clenched into fists. "I love her, and that's something you will never understand. She has been good for me, and has done nothing but support us. She's not a threat, and you know it. This is the problem with you, you want everyone to suffer as you have."

"That is not what I'm doing-" Klaus began, his voice rising. "She's not one of us, and will never be. You just keep her around as a trophy, to remind yourself that you are capable of caring for another. She doesn't belong here, and it will be her undoing."

Elijah lost his control and snapped. He grabbed his brother and threw him against the wall. Klaus' head hit the stone and cracked loudly. His face contorted into an expression of rage, his eyes flashing gold. He moved forward and punched Elijah in the face, sending him stumbling back. He rushed at his brother and grabbed him by the throat, squeezing tightly. Klaus' anger grew, and his grip tightened.

"Enough!" Hayley screamed, grabbing Klaus' arm and pulling him back. She looked between the two brothers, her eyes wide. "Why are you two fist fighting when my daughter is trying to sleep?!"

Klaus' eyes were wild, and his face was covered in blood, Elijah looked the same, and neither was ready to back down. The only thing stopping them was Hayley's presence. She stood between them, and looked at Klaus. "What did you do? What could you have possibly said to him?" she demanded.

"Y/n isn't family, and never will be," Klaus spat, glaring at Elijah. "I have to protect our daughter."

"Our daughter? You're unbelievable, Klaus," Hayley said, shaking her head. "Go. To. Bed. Both of you," she commanded.

She grabbed Klaus's hand, and dragged him away. Elijah sighed, rubbing his forehead. He looked up and saw you on one of the upper balconies with an unreadable expression on your face.

Had you seen that entire argument? Did you hear the awful things his brother had said about you?

He rushed up the stairs and met you at your bedroom door. You had your bag in your hand, and he knew immediately what was happening.

"You can't," he told you, shaking his head.

"I'm not welcome here," you whispered. "I have to go, Elijah."

"You are always welcome here," he said, reaching for you. "Please, let's talk."

"We have talked," you told him, pushing his hand away. "I've heard everything I needed to hear, Elijah. You keep choosing them over me. It's always your family first, and I understand that, but you have to see how it hurts me. I can't just keep coming second in your life."

"You aren't," he whispered, trying to draw you close, but you gently pushed him away. He felt his heart shatter at the action, and he knew he had lost you. "I want you, I choose you. Don't do this, my love."

You pushed past him, unable to hear anything else he had to say at the moment, you needed space to think, to figure out what you wanted. If this was a fight you could win. "Goodbye, Elijah," you said, giving him one last glance.

He stood there, and he was frozen. How could this have happened? He thought that he had made you understand that this was permanent. That you were forever.

But he had failed to show his love properly and he had to fix what he broke. You were his greatest love, his everything, and he couldn't live without you. He was nothing without you. So he would do whatever it took to bring you back.

Because if you were gone, so was he.

You were staying with Marcel, the only person who understood what it was like to be in the Mikaelson shadow. He wasn't thrilled that Elijah had hurt you, but he did understand that relationships weren't always easy, especially with the Mikaelsons.

He poured you a stiff drink, and let you wallow.

"I shouldn't have gone," you muttered.

"It's Hope's birthday," he pointed out.

"But I should have known better than to get involved like that, it only makes Klaus jealous," you sighed.

"Klaus is a notorious asshole, and Elijah is...well, he's not good with his emotions."

"That's putting it lightly."

You drank the whole glass in one gulp, and poured yourself another.

"I don't know why I thought that he was serious," you grumbled.

"He's serious, but he's also scared," Marcel replied. "It's a lot easier for him to push people away, then have the chance to hurt them."

"It's a terrible feeling, wanting to be a part of a family that doesn't want you," you admitted.

"I know the feeling," Marcel replied, sitting down next to you.

"He told me he loved me. He told me that we were going to spend forever together. And yet, his family still doesn't accept me." You looked up at Marcel, your eyes filled with tears.

"It's just Klaus, the rest of them adore you," he told you.

"How do I get Klaus to trust me? I'm not trying to take his daughter," you insisted.

"Just be patient, give him some time," Marcel advised.

"I've given him four years," you said. "And he's not willing to accept me even a little."

Marcel nodded, and handed you another drink. "Don't worry about Klaus, he'll get over himself."

"And Elijah?" you asked.

Marcel frowned. "That's not my area."

"Yeah," you said, nodding slowly. "Me either."

You and Marcel had a few drinks and talked the night away. By the end, you had almost completely forgotten your heartache, and were simply enjoying the company.

Marcel had fallen asleep, and you were dozing off when your phone buzzed. You opened it and saw a message from Elijah.

We need to talk.

You sighed, and sent him a simple reply.

Tomorrow.

You were far too exhausted to deal with his bullshit right now. You tossed your phone on the coffee table and fell asleep.

The next morning you woke up on Marcel's couch, a blanket thrown over you. You stretched, and grabbed your phone, heading into the kitchen.

Elijah had texted you back.

Meet me outside, I have a car waiting for you.

You frowned. He was sending a car for you? You quickly responded.

Why are you sending a car?

A response came instantly.

It's a surprise.

You shook your head, but smiled a little and texted him back.

Fine, give me 10 minutes.

Hurry, we're on a tight schedule.

You showered, and got dressed, grabbing your bag, and heading out. You gave Marcel a quick goodbye, and hopped into the town car.

Elijah was sitting there, and smiled softly.

"Good morning," he said.

"Morning," you replied.

He looked you over, and you were surprised by the intense gaze. You blushed under his scrutiny.

"What?" you asked.

"You're beautiful," he said softly. "And I'm sorry, for all of this. I never meant to hurt you, or make you feel unwanted."

You shook your head. "I know you didn't," you said. "And it's okay."

"It's not," he told you, reaching for your hand. You let him take it, and he pressed a kiss to your palm.

You flushed, and looked away. "Where are we going?"

"The airport," he replied.

"What? Why?" You were completely confused.

"You are right, I'm not putting you first, and I will not allow that anymore," Elijah replied. "And to prove it, we're going somewhere, just the two of us."

"Where are we going?"

"Italy, we're going to spend a month on the Amalfi Coast." he said, a soft smile on his face.

"A month?" You asked, a hint of excitement in your voice.

"Yes," he nodded, and pressed his lips to the back of your hand. "I've been neglectful, and I need to remind you of how I feel about you.

"Eli, you don't have to do all of this."

"Yes, I do," he replied. "You deserve the world."

He had rented a private plane, and had arranged everything. You were incredibly impressed that he managed to pull it all off in the span of a night.

You sat beside him on the plane, his hand intertwined with yours, and a soft smile on his face. You couldn't help but relax, the last couple of days had been so tense, but you couldn't stay mad at him, and a romantic getaway was exactly what you needed.

As the plane took off, Elijah reached over and brushed your hair out of your face. You lifted the arm rest and cuddled up against him, resting your head on his chest. He held you close, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You missed this, the way he was so attentive, the way he was gentle with you.

"I am sorry, for making you feel second best," he said, his voice low and full of regret.

"I know," you said, reaching up and stroking his cheek. "It's okay, your dedication to your family is part of what I love about you."

You looked up at him and kissed him softly.

"Let's not dwell on the past," you said. "We have a whole month to make new memories."

"I am going to spoil you so much, my love," he said, kissing your nose.

The flight was nearly twelve hours and you immediately fell asleep when the plane leveled out. When you woke up, the sun was starting to set.

Elijah was reading a book, and had his free hand resting on your hip. You smiled, and snuggled closer. He put the book down and looked at you, his eyes soft and full of affection.

"Good morning, or rather evening," he chuckled. "Sleep well?"

"Yeah," you yawned.

You looked out the window, and saw the city below. It was like something out of a dream, colorful houses all stacked up, the sea sparkling as the sun set.

"Welcome to Positano," he said.

"Elijah," you whispered, awe in your voice.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

"It's magical," you gushed.

"Yes, it is."

The plane landed, and a car was waiting. Elijah had rented an entire villa for the two of you. It was stunning, with a view of the ocean, and a private beach.

You walked through the villa, looking at all the art and antiques. It was very much Elijah's taste, and you could see yourself spending a month here.

The moon was out and it cast a soft glow over the sea. Elijah took your hand and the two of you walked down the stairs to the beach.

The sounds of the waves gently lapping on the sand soothed you. You walked down the shoreline, your hands intertwined.

"You didn't have to do all this, you know," you said, leaning against him.

"I know, but I wanted to. I needed to. It was a selfish thing, really," he replied, wrapping his arms around you.

Up ahead you saw something on the beach, it was too dark to make out, but it looked like a bunch of neatly shaped debris.

You walked a little closer, and you could make out the shapes. It was a heart, surrounded by lit candles, and flowers. The words "I love you" written with rose petals on the sand. Suddenly a bunch of twinkle lights were turned on, and the whole scene was lit up.

You turned around to ask Elijah if he had done this, but the words died in your throat. He was kneeling on the ground, a ring box in his hand.

"Y/n," he began, his voice soft and loving.

"What are you doing?" you asked, a bit breathless.

"I should have done this a long time ago," he said. "I should have married you years ago, but I was afraid. I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to give you everything you deserve."

"Eli-"

"No, let me finish," he insisted, and continued. "I've spent centuries on this earth, never truly belonging anywhere. Always searching, never finding. Until I found you. My home, my heart, my family."

You were crying, tears streaming down your face. You couldn't really process what was happening, here was the man of your dreams, pouring his heart out, telling you how much he loved you, how much he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you.

"You are my world, my everything. And I want to spend eternity by your side," he said, opening the box and showing you the ring.

The ring was absolutely stunning, a large ruby surrounded by diamonds. It looked antique and must have been worth a fortune.

"I found this ring almost five hundred years ago, right here in Italy. I knew that when I finally found the right person, I would give it to them," he said, smiling up at you.

"You can't be serious," you said, not intending for it to sound as harsh as it did. You were in complete shock.

"I have never been more serious in my entire life," he replied, his voice firm.

"What will your family say?" You asked, worried about Klaus’ reaction.

"Niklaus can go fuck himself," Elijah grinned. "As for the rest of them, they will be thrilled."

You nodded slowly, letting the words sink in.

"This is insane," you whispered, unable to stop staring at the ring.

"Is that a yes?" He asked, looking nervous. "Will you be my wife?"

"Yes," you breathed, and he took your hand and slipped the ring onto your finger. It fit perfectly, as though it was made for you.

He stood up, and kissed you. You threw your arms around him, your fingers tangling in his hair, kissing him back with every ounce of love you had for him.

"You're my family, you're my home," he whispered, spinning you around. "And I vow, from this day on, you will always come first. I love you."

"I love you too," you murmured, cupping his cheek. "With all my heart."

He pulled you close, kissing you deeply. You lost yourself in his embrace, in the way his hands felt on your body, his lips on yours, his tongue in your mouth.

You both stumbled to the villa, tearing each other's clothes off. Your back hit the wall, and Elijah pushed your skirt up. His hands found your thighs and he squeezed the soft flesh, lifting you up, your legs wrapped around his waist. He kissed along your neck, leaving little marks in his wake.

"My fiance," he muttered against the flesh. "My darling love."

"I like the sound of that," you moaned.

"Then you're going to absolutely adore being called my wife," he grinned, moving his lips down to your breasts.

His kisses turned bruising, biting at the flesh of your tits. He was rough with you and you relished it. It was like he was finally unleashing his feelings, letting out all the love he had for you.

You tugged on his hair, bringing his lips back to yours, hungry for his kisses, drunk off of his affection.

"Bed, Eli," you murmured, but instead, he picked you up and carried you into the shower.

He set you on your feet and turned the water on.

"We are covered in sand," he grinned.

The steam was rising as the water heated up, and the moment it was hot enough Elijah pulled you in with him. You squealed as the warm water washed over you, cleaning you off.

The water was the perfect temperature, a delicious warmth, but not as delicious as the feeling of him pressing into you, pinning your front against the tile.

He reached up, taking your hands and pinning them to the tile wall.

"Keep your hands here," he commanded, pressing a kiss to the back of one.

You nodded, a small moan escaping your lips, he kissed his way down your back. He ran his tongue down the length of your spine. Soft and gentle, teasing over the top of your ass. His hands ran over your legs, and he bent you slightly, opening your cheeks to reveal the most intimate part of you.

"Beautiful," he murmured, before lapping at you.

Your knees nearly buckled as he pressed his face into your flesh. His hands spread your cheeks wide as his tongue dipped into your core. The way his mouth touched every part of you left you dizzy with need. Your thighs clenched, your clit pulsing, ready to be touched.

But you did what he told you, and kept your hands above your head. The porcelain felt cool on your heated skin and he tugged you closer, your hands moving further down as your body was pulled back. His tongue darted into your center, teasing around your hole, his saliva coating you, trailing up, finding your puckered hole, and slowly circling the muscle.

"Elijah," you whimpered, gasping as his tongue worked you open.

He slipped a finger into your dripping cunt, working it inside, pulling it out and sliding it up, moving to replace his tongue on your tight entrance. He swirled around your asshole before pushing the pad of his finger into your tight heat, his mouth sucking on your ass, soft moans escaping him, vibrating against your flesh.

You struggled to keep yourself upright, your hands against the wall, bracing yourself, wiggling against him. The warm water of the shower cascading over you, the sensations were too much and not enough. You were panting, your head tilted back, eyes closed, as you were overwhelmed by his touch.

He pulled back and stood up, kissing along the back of your neck, he placed his hands on your hips and pulled you close.

"Do you want more, sweetheart?" He murmured in your ear, his voice low and seductive.

"Yes," you breathed, arching against him.

His cock was hard, trapped between the two of you. You ground against him, rubbing yourself on his length, desperate for the friction.

"How much more?" He asked, a smirk in his voice.

"All of it," you said.

"Right here, up against the shower wall?"

"Yes, Elijah, please," you begged.

He hummed and reached between the two of you, taking his length and teasing your core with it. He loved making you beg for him, and he loved hearing the desperation in your voice. But you were now to be his wife, and he was going to take care of you.

He eased himself into your center, groaning at the tightness of you, how good it felt to be surrounded by your warmth. You moaned as he pressed inside of you, the thickness of his cock filling you.

He placed his hands on top of yours against the wall, intertwining your fingers.

"I love you," he murmured, his hips moving against you.

"I love you," you moaned, rocking your hips with him.

He took his time with you, savoring the feeling of your body. He had almost lost you, and he needed to remind you how much you meant to him, how he cherished you.

His slow, languid movements were torture, the heat building inside of you, his thick cock rubbing every inch of your pussy. You moved together, the two of you in sync.

Your orgasm started to build, a slow burn deep within. You had never been so turned on, or so loved, the way he held you, the way he whispered your name like a prayer.

"That's it, baby, come for me," he encouraged, his hips picking up the pace.

He could feel the change, and he knew exactly how to push you over the edge. His thrusts became harder, more purposeful. His lips found the sensitive spot on your neck, and he sucked the tender flesh.

Your walls clenched and you fell apart, coming undone for him, moaning his name, over and over. He smiled against your skin, he could stay buried inside of you forever, and never tire of the way you made him feel.

He turned off the shower and pulled you to the bedroom, his lips never leaving yours. He laid you down on the bed, his body on top of yours.

"I can't wait to make love to you every day, for the rest of our lives," he smiled.

"That's a long time, Eli," you teased.

"Not long enough," he smirked.

He took your legs and spread them, kneeling between them. He guided his length into you, and pushed all the way in.

He groaned, loving the way your body opened up to him, the way you felt like home.

"Elijah," you gasped, your hands reaching for him, needing to touch him.

"I love the way you say my name," he smiled, leaning down and kissing you, his tongue licking into your mouth.

He rocked into you, slowly, the feeling of you was addictive. You were his drug and he would never be able to get enough of you. He pictured all the ways he would make love to you, the ways he would please you, worship you.

"My beautiful girl," he groaned, his body on fire, his desire burning, and it only fueled his need.

His hips snapped against yours, and you gripped the sheets, the pleasure coursing through you. Another orgasm was building, the feeling of him deep inside of you, the way he looked at you with such love.

"Come with me, my love," he pleaded, his hand moving between the two of you, finding your clit, his fingers gently rubbing the bundle of nerves.

He was so close, and he was determined to have you come with him, to fall apart for him, together.

You whimpered and moaned, your hips lifting to meet his, chasing the feeling, knowing it was so close. He pressed his lips to yours, and the dam broke, crashing over the both of you.

You came together, moaning, his cock twitching as he emptied inside of you, your walls clenching and milking him, taking everything he had to offer.

You collapsed, boneless, spent, completely and utterly satisfied. He smiled at the sight of you, blissed out and glowing, your hair wet and splayed out over the pillows. . He had never seen anything so beautiful in his entire life.

He laid down next to you, making sure to keep you close. You curled into his chest, and his arms wrapped around you, holding you tight.

"So, tell me more about this wedding of ours," you grinned, holding your hand up to look at your ring.

"I'll arrange everything, don't you worry about a thing," he said softly, nuzzling your neck.

"Is that so? I don't get any input?" you teased, turning to look at him, your lips brushing against his.

"I mean, you can make suggestions, if you'd like," he smirked, his hand running along the curve of your hip.

"Hmm, well, I do think we should get married in Positano," you smiled, and his eyes lit up.

"It’s perfect here, isn't it?" he mused, a soft smile on his lips.

"I want it to be a small wedding," you said, tracing patterns on his chest. "Family and close friends only."

"Of course," he replied. "I want it to be something just for us."

The two of you talked until the early morning, dreaming up your future together, and making plans for your wedding. It would be a simple affair, a celebration of your love, in a beautiful location, with the people who cared about the two of you the most.

The month spent in Italy was something out of a dream, the days filled with long walks on the beach, picnics in the gardens, and nights filled with dancing and drinking. You made love in the most luxurious beds, and in the most unorthodox places, including the rooftop patio one night. You even made it a bit of a game, seeing who could find the best spots to fuck in. Elijah always won, and was very proud of himself, you loved seeing him so carefree, so happy.

There was no talk of his family or what was going on at home. It was like you were in your own little world, just the two of you. But it was time to return home, the news of your engagement was something you both wanted to share in person.

When you entered the compound, Hope came running up to her favorite uncle, Elijah scooped her up in his arms and spun her around.

"Uncle ‘lijah! Auntie y/n you're home!" she grinned, and you smiled at her, ruffling her hair.

"Have you been behaving for your mother?" Elijah asked, carrying her towards the courtyard, letting her tell you both all about what she had been up to while you were away.

"I see the trip did you both some good," Klaus said, walking towards the three of you. His eyes darted to the ring on your finger, the red ruby catching the light. "Is that what I think it is?"

"What is?" Hope asked, looking confused.

"I asked aunt y/n to marry me," Elijah told Hope, smiling sweetly at her.

"You did?" She exclaimed, her eyes wide.

"Yes," you nodded, laughing at the excitement.

Hope hugged Elijah tightly, and Klaus looked at his brother, a hint of a smile on his lips. The sight of his daughter so happy warmed his heart.

"Well, I wish you both every bit of happiness," he said, giving you a tight smile.

"Thank you," you replied, knowing his words were sincere and it was probably the most enthusiastic response you would ever get from him. It was progress and that was enough for you.

Elijah put Hope down, and she took off running, the news of your engagement clearly something she was very excited about. You could hear her yelling the news as she ran through the compound. Rebekah was the first to appear, pulling you into a tight hug.

"Congratulations!" She beamed, and you hugged her back, her enthusiasm contagious. "I better be a bridesmaid."

The rest of the Mikaelson's slowly came and offered their congratulations. Hayley and Freya both hugged you, Marcel shook Elijah's hand and Kol gave you a warm smile. Hope was thrilled, talking a mile a minute about all the ways she was going to help with the wedding.

"Can I be a bridesmaid?" she asked, her cute little face pleading.

You knelt down so you were at her level, taking her hand. "How about something even more special? No one else at the wedding is going to have such an important job."

"What is it?" She asked, her face completely in awe.

"Will you be my flower girl?"

She squealed and jumped into your arms, squeezing you tight. "Really? Yes! I'd love to!"

You laughed and hugged her back.

Elijah watched the scene, a warmth in his chest. You were his family, his home, the missing piece that had made him whole. He had finally found the love he had been searching for.

You caught him staring, and walked over to him, his arm wrapping around your waist. He kissed the side of your head and let out a contented sigh. You were everything he ever wanted and so much more.

"I can't wait to call you my wife," he smiled.

"Neither can I," you said, your lips meeting his, sealing the promise, always and forever.

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[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

Are you now or have you ever been (Sam Winchester x female reader)

Fic masterlist

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Chapter 1 - The Angel

Gadreel, fallen angel of the Lord, the lowest of the low, who allowed the Garden to become corrupted, walks towards the old farmhouse, intent on washing at least some of his sins clean.

It’s the middle of the night, only the stars keeping him company. The old wooden floor creaks beneath his feet, and not for the first time, Gadreel is reminded of the limits of the human body. How a wrong step can make a sound that will give him away, or a bone can be broken with barely a snap of his finger. How an essence can be burned out, the eyes melting, the pain unimaginable.

No wonder this vessel let him in so willingly. The man was ravaged by alcoholism, so deep in debt that he saw no way out. Gadreel found him with a gun in his mouth sitting at the foot of his bed, offered him another chance. He took it without a second of hesitation.

Gadreel felt bad when he left him, but he needed to. He didn’t enjoy tricking Sam Winchester, either, but Gadreel is one thing above all others: someone with a mission. Someone who has to make up for a crime that might be as old as the stars above, but has not lost any of its severity.

Of course, as these things go, the atonement he was trying to make led to more sins, more pain. He keeps trying to make up for them, but somehow he can never catch up. The tally always rises, and he cannot pay quickly enough. Maybe that’s why this vessel called to him. Because he’s the same.

The floor of the old house is dirty and there’s wind coming in through the broken windows. Gadreel will have to fix that, he thinks. He doesn’t mind, but a human won’t be comfortable here. And he wants you to be comfortable.

He kneels in the middle of what used to be the living room. He reaches into his jacket pocket, pulls out small pouch with the powder it’s taken him weeks to create. He had almost all the ingredients together when the man who was supposed to sell him the tears of a saint started haggling. Gadreel couldn’t risk not getting the last ingredient. He got carried away. Just another sin to add to the list.

There was a time when dragging a soul from Hell would have been easy for an angel. He would have shot downward, like a diving bird, grabbed you and simply been gone again in the next second. But that was before the Fall. Now, Gadreel needs to use spells and tinctures and powders like some low-class witch. It doesn’t matter. He’ll do what’s necessary.

He opens the small pouch, pours the powder out over the floor. Then he lays his hand flat on the cold wood. His right hand. The one he used only a little while ago to kill the prophet Kevin Tran.

He closes his eyes. Says the incantation. This needs to work. He knows what he’s done, knows how many people he’s hurt. He’s seen inside of Sam Winchester’s head. Seen the turmoil, the pain. The lies and regrets and the doubt. The shame.

But he also saw you. Gadreel thinks, no, knows, that your presence in the hunter’s life will heal him. And it will make Gadreel feel like he has done something right.

He doesn’t expect the glaring light, the feeling of a jet of flame briefly enveloping him, filling out the room. It’s not real fire, which is good, considering he’s basically standing inside a pile of kindle.

Back in his glory days, hellfire couldn’t touch him. Still, now, he coughs at the intense smell of sulfur. Many people think it’s the smell of demons, but it’s actually what Hell smells like. The demons only carry the stench to the surface.

You’re on the ground, naked, knees pulled up to your chest. Your eyes are closed and you’re shaking. There’s soot covering large patches of your body, your hair, your face. Streaks of tears have washed some of it away.

Gadreel takes off his jacket, lays it over you and you flinch at the touch, a small whimper coming from between your chapped lips. Like waking from a long sleep, you slowly blink your eyes open, and look up at him. Gadreel’s never met you, but your face feels as familiar to him as his own.

“Welcome back,” Gadreel says.

Sam’s staring at the book on the table before him, but he hasn’t been reading for a while. This happens to him, more often now than it used to. He’ll zone out, drift away, and then a sound or sensation will bring him back. He doesn’t like it. Sam’s not one to lose concentration. It reminds him too much of what it was like when that angel possessed him. Coming back to himself, unsure where he had just been.

He clears his throat now, reaches for the beer standing on the table. It’s a little too warm to still be enjoyable, but he takes a sip anyway. Not that he’s ever really enjoyed drinking as much as Dean, but even less now. He doesn’t like how disoriented it makes him, and if it doesn’t make him disoriented, it makes him sad. He puts the beer down, wipes his mouth. He’ll pour it out or Dean will drink it later.

Speaking of, his brother walks in with his usual noisiness. Sam leans back, arm going behind his head, half stretching, half just a gesture to show that he is awake, that he’s here. His right hand scratches at his neck, kneads the skin there. The hand he can remember killing Kevin with. He quickly puts it back on the table.

Since Dean’s been back in the bunker, he and Sam have done their best to be courteous with each other, but things have been weird. There’s a distance between them that’s different that anything they’ve ever gone through, not even the previous times they’ve been apart. Dean’s mad at himself and looking for redemption down a self-destructive path. And Sam is hurt, he’s angry too, but more than that, he’s just tired.

Things have always been hard. Being a hunter and a Winchester both isn’t a recipe for a long, happy life. But the last years have been harder than all the years before, and it just seems like they can’t catch a break.

Sam nearly going crazy, Dean going to Purgatory, the trials, Kevin. And you. Sam clenches his hand into a fist. No. He’s not in any condition to be thinking about you today.

“What’s up?” Dean asks, coming towards where Sam is sitting at one of the library’s tables. Sam breathes in, then shakes his head.

“Nothing much,” he says, his tone aiming for neutrality but coming out somewhat dismissive. Dean nods, says nothing. Points at the beer next to Sam.

“You finished?” he asks. “Want another one?” The gesture feels loaded, and Sam should say yes just to keep the peace. But he shakes his head.

“I’m good,” he says, and a look passes over Dean’s face like somehow that’s a personal insult. Like he’s wondering why Sam can’t just have another beer, for Christ’s sake. Why he can’t just do things the way Dean does them.

That’s where their conflict started – Dean not understanding why Sam didn’t look for him. Because Dean powers through trauma and loss like a high-powered steam train through a herd of cows – blindly, violently and speeding up even as the collateral comes into sight. But Sam’s not like that. He’s never been like that. The time he spent on his own while his brother was in Purgatory proved that to him over and over.

With you gone and Dean gone, Sam slipped into something that could barely be called living. For those months that he was on his own, he was a shell. He traveled but never went anywhere. He just needed to keep moving, needed to be somewhere else, somewhere different from where he was.

When he stayed too long in one place, he always wound up sitting at the side of his bed, gun in his hands. So he never stayed. His grief and depression were so thick and intense that he had no idea how to do anything else.

Dean being back lightens the load somewhat, and it also makes everything harder, because now Sam knows he can’t end it – he can’t do that to his brother. Sam has tried to explain, tried to make Dean understand but then he always stops, because he tires of touching that dark part of him. Dean doesn’t need to know, and never does, what those months were like. What Sam thought about doing. He can never know.

He had a chance to end it all, when he tried to close the gates of Hell. But even then, Dean couldn’t let him go, an act Sam knows, in all his love for his brother, wasn’t entirely unselfish, same as letting an angel possess Sam to heal him. But Sam can’t say these things because they go against the very nature of who Dean believes he is.

What’s right is wrong, and what’s wrong is more wrong, Dean said a little while ago. It’s true in ways he can’t even imagine.

Again, Sam finds his thoughts are far away, and when he comes back to himself, he’s worried Dean has asked him something, noticed that he isn’t listening. But Dean’s still where he was, looking at his phone, reading a message. The beer is still there, condensation making the bottle drip wet. Suddenly, Sam needs to stand up. Dean looks up at the scrape of the chair.

“Left a book in my room, I’m just gonna get it,” Sam says. Not that he needs to justify himself. But he still does.

He walks down the hallway of the bunker to the room he sleeps in. This place is strange, wonderful and weird at the same time. It’s the first place he’s stayed for longer than two weeks at a time since he was in college. Sometimes it makes him feel restless.

He walks into his bedroom, closes the door behind him and sits on the bed with a deep sigh. God, he’s so tired these days. He rubs his hand over his eyes. He just wants a goddamn break. Something nice, something soft. To lay down to sleep and for once wake up rested.

He knows he shouldn’t do it. Knows that no matter how good the immediate relief feels, he’ll pay for it later. Pay for it in the darkest thoughts a person can have, debilitating grief and longing making his body feel heavy. But he can never stop himself.

He stands, goes to his dresser. Opens the middle cupboard, gets the little cardboard box out, then sits back down. He looks at the content, and immediately he feels that soothing wave come over him.

“Hey there,” he says, taking one of the pictures out. He took it when the three of you had to hike into that reserve where you suspected some werewolves were nesting. You were a little annoyed at him when he took the picture, saying you were sweaty and gross, but Sam couldn’t disagree more. There’s a light blush to your cheeks, and you’re squinting in the sunlight. He thinks you look absolutely beautiful.

This is all the things of yours he has. There’s some clothes he kept, tugged into their own little drawer, slowly losing the smell of you. Not for the first time, Sam wonders if getting rid of them would help him move on. But the truth is, he doesn’t want to move on.

There’s a thin gold chain in there that you always wore, that used to be your mother’s. The delicate band ripped on the night you died, but Sam kept it anyway. Kept meaning to get it fixed, but never did. The comb that was in the bathroom. It’s a silly thing to keep, Sam thinks, but he has so little of you that it feels important.

The next picture he takes out of the box is of the two of you. Sam remembers he was sitting down, and you came up behind him to pose, which is why he isn’t looking at the camera but you are. Garth took that photo – the only hunter Sam knows to do something like that regularly, who knows the importance of mementos like this. He sent it to Sam after he heard about your death, along with a letter telling him how sorry he was, how good you were, always seeing the best in people, always fighting for what’s right. Sam doesn’t know what happened to the letter. There’s long stretches of that time he doesn’t remember.

He puts the box down and leans back until his head hits the pillow, holds the picture up over himself. He’s terrified he’ll forget what your face looked like, what your voice sounded like, what you felt like in his arms. It’s been over two years, maybe this is just what happens. But if he can do anything to stop it, he will.

So he indulges himself, just a little. Lays the photo on his chest, closes his eyes. Thinks of your laugh, your earnestness. The way your voice sounded when you fought with Dean over something trivial. The way you told him, back when the two of you were only friends – although the truth is you were never just friends – that he better get a move on and ask you out on a date, before someone else had the same idea.

That’s what he tries to focus on. But when he closes his eyes, that’s not what he sees. He sees your face in front of him, tears running down your cheeks in the moments before you knew you were going to die. He sees you on that motel room floor, empty eyes staring at nothing. He sees a rerun of all the times in that year before you died where you seemed distracted, sad for no reason. And he had no idea. Had no idea what you’d done for him.

What he sees when he closes his eyes is how utterly he failed.

The small mirror in the bathroom is dirty and you wipe at it. There’s no electricity so the man – Ezekiel he says his name is – has brought you some candles that you can clean yourself by. There’s water, quickly cooling in the night air, a few towels. You locked the bathroom door, but the guy is big – you’re pretty sure he wouldn’t have any trouble breaking it down if he wanted to. He seems like he doesn’t want to hurt you, but you know not to trust appearances. You’ve been in this game for too long.

Which is why, when you put on the clothes he brought you – a man’s work shirt and jeans that are roughly your size – you also tug the shard of glass that has fallen out of the mirror’s frame into the back of your pants.

Quietly and carefully, you step out of the bathroom. There’s candles in the living room too, and Ezekiel is kneeling by a small camping cooker, heating something from a can. The smell makes you queasy. You wrap your arms around you as he looks up.

“Are you feeling better?” he asks, regarding you carefully. You nod slowly, take a careful step towards him.

“What day is it?” you ask, voice scratchy. Then you shake your head. “I mean, what’s the date?”

Ezekiel stands up, still looking down at where the food is cooking. You’re not sure if he heard you but then he speaks. The way he talks is strange. Like he needs to think about the words before saying them. Like he hasn’t talked in a long time.

“It’s been two years,” he replies, his eyes going up to you. He doesn’t need to clarify what he means. You remember perfectly. Still, the impact of what he says makes you feel ill.

“Two years,” you repeat. Two years. It’s nothing. It’s an eternity.

Ezekiel watches you, maybe waiting for you to speak. He’s almost unmoving when he’s not talking. It’s unnerving.

“Where is everyone?” you ask, not sure if he knows who you’re talking about. “Where’s… where’s Sam?” Ezekiel takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly.

“You can see him soon,” he replies, which doesn’t answer your question. “Dean and Castiel, too. I just first want to make sure you’re…” His sentence tapers off. You narrow your eyes at him.

“Make sure I’m what?” you say, unable to hide the suspicion in your voice.

“Make sure you are… whole,” Ezekiel says, and the words make a shiver run down your spine.

“What does that mean?” you ask, hating that your voice sounds so quiet. Ezekiel looks down, thinks about what he wants to say, maybe.

“The magic I used to bring you back is complex,” he finally answers. “It’s violent. I want to make sure you are alright before you see them.” You wrap your arms a little tighter around yourself.

“And what if I’m not alright?” you ask. Ezekiel takes a small step towards you, and it takes you everything not to move backwards, away from him.

“You are,” he replies, then adds: “You will be.” You just watch him. The light of the candles dances on his face. He doesn’t look convinced.

“Who are you?” you ask, the question that’s been burning in you this whole time. He told you his name, or told you a name, but you have no idea who this man who claims to have brought you back from Hell is. He takes another step forward, his features softer.

“I’m a friend,” he says, like that explains anything. Still, you nod.

“I want to leave, Ezekiel,” you say, knowing that this might be the turning point. That now you’ll find out who he really is. “I want to see my family. I need to know that they’re okay.” You see him raise his chin a little.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he’s either a good actor or he, in some messed up way, actually is. “You can’t.”

“So I’m your prisoner?” you ask, but Ezekiel has the nerve to shake his head.

“No,” he answers quickly. “This is… like a stay at the hospital. I’m keeping you under observation to make sure you’re alright. And when I know you are, you can go. You can go to Sam.”

The mention of his name from this stranger’s mouth makes you tense. Sam. He’s out there somewhere. You try to swallow down the lump in your throat.

“Why can’t Sam come here?” you ask, noticing you’re trying to haggle with this man, meaning you’re already accepting the reality he’s proposing to you. “Is there… is there something wrong with me?” Flashes of blood, screaming. Your skin tearing. No. Don’t think about that.

“You are fine,” Ezekiel answers, contradicting himself. He said he doesn’t know. “And you are no longer in Hell. You are free.” You clench your jaw.

“Except I can’t leave,” you point out.

“Yes,” he says, voice full of regret.

“You know what I think, Ezekiel?” you say, now taking a step towards him. He’s an armlength away from you. You’re not sure if it’s close enough. So you take another step. Your entire body is rebelling against it, telling you to stay away from this strange man. But it’s what you need to do. You look up into blue-grey eyes.

“I think you’re full of shit.”

Despite wrapping a scrap of one of the towels around part of the mirror shard, you feel its sharpness press into your palm when you pull it from its hiding place. It doesn’t matter. A cut in your hand is like a fleabite to you these days. You ram it into his chest just above his heart. The next second you’re running towards the front door. You don’t make it far. 

He’s behind you with a speed that baffles you. One of his hands wraps around your arm and drags you back when you’re just two steps from the door. You spin around, hoping to punch him, fight him, anything. You stop when you see the bright blue light coming from his eyes.

“You’re an angel,” you gasp. Instead of answering, Ezekiel brings his free hand up to the glass shard and pulls it out of him with a grunt. There’s some blood, but then the wound closes. He turns to you.

“Yes,” he says, an expression like you just hurt his feelings, rather than stabbed him, on his face. “Like I said, you can trust me.” You almost laugh.

“There’s only one angel I trust,” you say, almost snarling. “And that’s not you.” Ezekiel frowns at you. You’ve seen that look before. On other angels when the monkeys just won’t do what they’re told.

To your surprise, his features soften as he studies you. He watches you so intently that you need to look away.

“I know your instinct is to fight,” he says, voice low and soft. “But you don’t need to. I’m here to help you.”

You’re not gonna make it out of here, you realize. Blood. Screams. You just exchanged one prison for another.

Gadreel doesn’t know how to get you to trust him, and the frustration nearly drives him mad.

He knows about humans, of course, although his position in the Garden didn’t allow for a lot of contact with them, with notable exceptions. He approves of the concept of them, but never had particularly strong feelings about any individual ones.

But you. You manage to make him sigh and rub his face in frustration. It’s only been a day, but the way you have locked yourself off from him is astounding. The way your eyes narrow every time you look at him makes him feel like, despite the fact that you don’t know him, that he gave you a wrong name, that you wouldn’t even know him under his real name, that you somehow know who he is. What he’s done. Yes, he’s made sure you can’t leave. But don’t you understand that is for your own best?

Because you’ve been in Hell. Dragged down there by one of the disgusting mutts his lying snake of a brother made his own. Tortured for what, in your limited human experience, must have felt like a quarter millennium. Longer than Sam and Dean Winchester combined, and yet you seem fine. You’re quiet and refuse to eat, a problem he will have to deal with sooner or later. But other than that, you seem to be doing well. All he wants is to help you, heal you as much as he can.

He turns the corner of the hallway of the farmhouse and sees that the door to the room he has designated your bedroom is closed again. He sighs. He’s clearly instructed you not to close the door. Even though he can hear you through the walls, he doesn’t like that you even feel it necessary to close the door. What do you think he’ll do?

He knocks, because he knows if he wants you to trust him, he cannot simply barge in. No answer. He knocks again, listens closely. He hears whispering. So he opens the door.

You’re sitting on the old bed frame with the thin mattress. Your feet are on the floor, your hands in your lap and you are staring at the wall opposite you. There is nothing there as far as Gadreel can see, so he takes a step closer. Says your name. No reaction again. Is this some kind of trick? Will you try to escape again?

You don’t react until he lays his hand on your shoulder. He expects you to be startled, but you’re not. You simply turn to him, then look up at his face.

“Hmm?” you say, the shadow of a polite smile on your face. Despite himself, despite being an angel of the Lord and thousands of years old, Gadreel has the sudden urge to look at where you were staring. He knows there’s nothing there. But he wants to know what you saw.

“Are you alright?” he asks, expecting you to lash out at him like you did earlier. But you don’t. You simply nod slowly.

“I’m okay,” you say. “Just tired.” With that, you move, lay yourself on the mattress. It must be dusty, Gadreel thinks, and it probably smells. He’s not sure if it’s comfortable. There’s one scratchy blue blanket at the foot of the bed, and when he picks it up he swears to himself he will get a nicer one. He opens it and lays it over you. Tries to look at your face, but he would have to walk around the bed. So instead, he walks out of the room. Leaves the door open.

In the night, he hears you whisper again. He walks to your room. You’re lying on your back, lips moving slightly. He’s sure he’s perfectly silent, but he must be wrong because your eyes look his way suddenly, and you go quiet. Gadreel leaves and when he reaches the living room, he hears you whisper again.

The next morning, you seem more yourself. Gadreel makes you some breakfast and you actually eat. Drink a large glass of water. He feels relief unlike he has felt in a long time.

After breakfast, he sits you down. Again, you’re strangely pliant. He kneels before you, then gently lays his fingertips against your temple, one hand on each side. You blink, confused, but let him. Gadreel closes his eyes and concentrates.

Physically, you are fine. Yes, you could stand to eat some more, but you are healthy, your body being, for all intents and purposes, new. Sam salted and burned your corpse when you died, and part of the spell was about restoring it. So no surprises there.

But when Gadreel moves to examine your psyche, he frowns. He looks and searches for the woman he expects to find from the time he possessed Sam. Strong, fierce even, optimistic. A fighter. What he finds instead, is a battlefield. Everything that makes you you shattered into a million pieces. You should be a drooling mess, banging your head against the wall. Why aren’t you?

He drops his hands and looks up at you. You look back at him, slight curiosity in your eyes.

“How do you feel?” Gadreel asks, hoping you’ll answer truthfully. You look past him, eyes moving back and forth while you think of your response.

“I feel fine,” you say. Gadreel looks back at you, studies your face. He can only take your word for it.

A few days later, and nothing has changed. He wonders if this means he should let you go, bring you to Sam. He hopes that Sam will see you, understand what Gadreel did, and be able to find some forgiveness in his heart. Remember him for something other than violating his body and killing his friend.

But you can’t go as you are. Gadreel makes sure you are clean and warm, but there’s comfort to be desired. He’s also running out of food for you. You don’t eat a lot, but Gadreel doesn’t know how much humans need and he underestimated it. He wants to buy some high-caloric food in the hope that you might put on a little bit of weight, look healthier.

He doesn’t like leaving, so he doesn’t tell you. The farmhouse is two miles from the next road where Gadreel has parked the car he drove here. He should be able to leave and be back in two hours. He looked in on you earlier and you were sleeping under the blue blanket again. Gadreel watched you for a second, watched the slow rise and fall of your chest, the calmness of your face. Remembered, suddenly, what your breathing felt like against Sam’s chest when you fell asleep next to him. Your little noises and movement when you had a dream. He needs to almost shake himself out of the memory. A memory that isn’t his.

So he leaves. Hurries. He still wants to get you another blanket.

He comes back to the house in the late afternoon, the sun already beginning its descent and the moment he crosses the threshold, he knows something is wrong. He drops the bag of groceries, something in it spilling when it collides with the floor. Then he rushes to your room.

The door is closed. How many times has he told you not to close the door? He pushes it open but you’re not there. He locked the house, made sure you can’t leave. But where are you?

He hears you in the bathroom. You’ve lit a few of the candles, since the bathroom has no window and it’s otherwise impossible to see. Gadreel sees the smashed glass of the mirror and he curses himself. How could he be so stupid. How could he be so stupid and leave you alone?

You are sitting against the tub, legs outstretched in front of you. Most of the color has already drained from your lips and your eyes are falling closed. Gadreel kneels down next to you, not sure where to put his hands first. Finally he takes the shard from your hand, tosses it away so that none of the blood on it gets on you. It’s pointless of course. Your entire lap is red with it already.

“What did you do?” he says, even though he knows the answer. He thought you were fine because you weren’t climbing the walls, weren’t screaming at things that weren’t there. How wrong he was. He really has a lot to learn about humans.

“Please,” you mumble, as he gently takes your hands in his, takes a closer look at the deep cuts along your wrists. He can heal them without a problem, but for some reason, the sight of them still shocks him. “Please make it stop. Please stop hurting me.”

Gadreel realizes that you don’t recognize him right then. You are speaking to someone else. Maybe the same person you spoke to during your first night. Your torturers. Gadreel understands enough about the metaphysical realities of Hell to know that other souls damned to it will have been allowed to hurt you, as well as demons. What a perfidious system his brother came up with.

He moves one of his hands over your first wrist. You barely flinch at the contact of his skin with your wound. While he heals you, he looks at your face. You are looking at him, sadness so deep it makes him feel like something is breaking apart in him in your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says before he knows what he wants to say. “I’m so sorry.”

He wanted to bring you back to do something good. For Sam, but also because for all intents and purposes you and him are on the same side. You are just another soldier in the fight against evil. Bringing you back seemed like an act the goodness of which could not be doubted. But it seems, once again, Gadreel’s judgement has been off.

He heals the other wound, then brings his hand up to your face, holds it. You let him, but he’s not even sure you realize he’s there.

“I’m sorry,” he says again as his thumb touches your cheek. “You shouldn’t have to suffer like this.” An almost gentle smile spreads over your face. He wonders what you’re seeing now. Wonders if it’s Sam.

So Gadreel concentrates again, burrows into that deep part of you. Takes the pieces of what you were and uses them. Uses them to build a wall.

He feels your pain then. Feels it pulsing through you. It grasps at him. He only feels a tinge of it, but it reminds him of his own torture in Heaven’s prison so much that he keeps going, keeps building. Builds the wall higher and higher until almost all pieces of you are a part of it.

Gadreel opens his eyes. He sees you blink. Sees life in your eyes.

“Let me do this for you,” he says as he puts the final piece of you into the wall. “Let me do something good.”

[danwhobrowses]

One Piece Chapter 1153 - Initial Thoughts

It's uploaded late in the evening but I have time before I go to bed

One Piece is back and we've begun the flashback of Harald, within the flashback of Loki killing Harald So how far will we go with Harald before his death? Will we vindicate Loki? Only time will tell

What do we have this time?

Spoilers for the Chapter, Support the Official Release too

Next on Yamato's visiting list is Kiku, the new Daimyo of Ringo

I've been seeing photos of an Imu plush and now Oda's referencing it in his author's notes XD

We begin with seeing kid Dorry and Brogy having fun with kid Harald, Dorry has a bump on his head and Harald a bandage on his elbow so I'd guess that he and Harald roughhoused a lot

As hinted last chapter, Harald grew up as an arrogant prince due to his size, bloodline to ancient giants, monstrous strength and high status, and the fact that nobody would stand up to him

Man literally killed a shark by flicking snot away, while lamenting that everything outside of Elbaf is weak and puny

His fellow giants are yes men too so he's not gonna get any challenged opinion

We go to the Kingdom of Bunt, which I'm sure we've seen before, wiki says no though

Name is likely referencing Bundt cake

Also I'm sorry but you can't say 'come one, come all' and not have me hum Festival of Fools from Disney's Hunchback of Notre Dame

A circus announces the attraction of Ida, a giant of Elbaf

She's announced as 10m tall (about 30ft), her steps are like earthquakes and her roar is like thunder

Behind bars, Ida roars at the scared onlookers

Harald sees this from his telescope, furious about turning a giant into a roadside attraction

We see the ship depart, leaving the circus smoking

Harald introduces himself to Ida, and gets SMACKED

Oh that is the face of a man who just got boy'd XD

Ida demands that Harald go back, to apologize for hurting people

He refuses, calling it a puny doll kingdom, and gets beaten up again

Ah it seems it was circus deception, Ida wasn't a prisoner but a willing participant in the attraction, and loyal to the circus for finding her near-dead and helping her recover

She passionately reprimands Harald for thinking himself above others for being born big, citing the thinking as why people think all giants are 'Elbaf savages'

It seems that this has gotten Harald thinking, as he demands his crew to aid Ida in restoring the city

It seems Ida and Harald discuss the differences in culture, such as architecture, cuisine and textiles

You even see the king bow his head to the Bunt king

Ah once children start climbing on you it's over, and like that the giants are partying with Bunt

All while Ida suggests that 'destruction of anything in this world is a waste'

Contrary to her introduction, Ida is from an island in the South Blue called Samuwanai (or 'Not Chilly' Island)

Interesting how Harald asks if she climbed the Blood-Soaked Serpent, which they call the Red Line, it's extra interesting given the mural, plus Ida says she can't go back

With Ida it seems Harald has become whipped softer, growing curious about people, all the while Ida suggests she judged Elbaf too harshly

105 years ago, Harald begins his diplomacy movement, insisting they atone for their sins

He decides to frequently travel overseas, to aid and learn the culture of their neighbours

Fellow giants note that Dorry and Brogy would never stop running wild, but as someone who grew up with them, Harald notes that they've always treated humans with honour and respect

Wonder if that will come back up given what's going on now?

He's asked about whether they can keep their warrior ways, and it's not a flat no, instead it's simply a 'we may have to reconsider some traditions if other countries feel threatened'

Jarul and Jorul seem intrigued by the change, albeit Jarul's expression is far more reserved

Harald suggests exchanging diplomats, like ambassadors, having to explain to his crew that it's not like 'a fancy hostage deal'

81 years ago, Hajrudin is born

Man the silhouetted greybeards didn't even wait for Harald to finish before refusing to legitimize his and Ida's marriage, due to pure blood rules

Ida is strangely understanding of the cultural differences, having to live in a nearby village

Mother of Loki is a chosen bride called Estrid

Born to Alcohol village - huh, strange given Kaido was from Vodka kingdom isn't it? - she has the Greybeards' approval as from a family of higher standing, and more pretty-looking than Ida on the outside at least

She seems to have mystic beliefs, saying she's a student of the 'Earth-Wind arts'

She believes herself fated to love him for the rest of her life, even asking that he forget Ida and his 'bastard'

Spiritual she may be, but Estrid is also very demanding; citing that the energies are wrong in the room, the king's spirit is leaking, and removes a mirror because it's positioned wrong

I'd say it's all hoodoo but given how we've got demon circles going on right now we can't rule out that she might've been onto something

She also gifts the fabled horse that'll die, Asura the horse of good fortune - a gift from Estrid's family

Oh oh I know why it has eight legs! Another Norse Myth fact we haven't had in a while: Asura is a reference to Sleipnir, Odin's 8-legged horse and child of Loki. Yes Loki turned into a horse to have a horse child, but not only that, Loki turned into a mare and gave birth to a horse child

As for why, it's another case of Norse gods being assholes; an unnamed builder - a disguised jotunn - was commissioned to build a great wall within 3 seasons to keep out invaders, in exchange he will get Freyja, the sun and the moon as payment, so long as he complete the work within the time limit with the help of no man. He is however allowed his stallion, Svaoilfari, who Loki convinces the gods to let him use since it is not a man. However, Svaoilfari is twice as effective as the builder and can thus haul massive rocks to make massive progress. Come 3 days before the deadline, the builder was close to finishing, the gods decide it was Loki's fault for this so Loki must get them out of this bargain

Threatened with a horrible death, Loki transformed into a mare to delay Svaoilfari and construction. Once the builder is outed as a giant though, the Aesir call Thor who kills the builder, voiding their agreements. Loki gives birth to a grey foal with eight legs, the best horse among gods and men, which of course like with all of Loki's children, the Aesir put to work

Back to the chapter, Estrid's demands continue, all jewels and gold go to her room, the King should focus on the 'energies of Earth and Wind', but they both get to eat on Silver Platters

This one I feel is more like taking liberties and wanting to live the high life

Circa 70 years ago, Oda seems to specify that this age begot rough seas to make travel difficult, likely because Elbaf's navigation would be used and spread across communities, as Harald shows a ship a compass and tells them about the Pole star

Harald returns to Elbaf to tell giants - and a bear and squirrel - about Fishmen, having seen mermaids, the birth of Neptune and sea kings coming together in jubilation

63 years ago Loki is born

Estrid claims that they already planned the name of Loki, and wishes to see her son

Oh so that's what Loki's eyes look like

Demonic slit eyes terrifies Estrid, claiming that it couldn't be hers

She tells her midwives to tell Harald it was a stillbirth, calling Loki cursed and a monster

The narration turns sad, as Oda heartbreakingly details how Loki as a baby reached out for anyone, only to be rejected by their mother

WHILE ESTRID IS SHOWN THROWING HIM DOWN TO THE LAND OF THE DEAD

I know we get dark in One Piece but jfc Oda...

Estrid demands that nobody acknowledges Loki's birth

She also hastily packs claiming to never want to give birth, intending to return to her village with all those treasures

Something however stirs in the Realm of the Dead

Well, that's just a punch in the gut

A tearful, freezing and bleeding baby Loki climbs the world tree, still looking for their mother

The shock collapses Estrid into poor health

Estrid demands Loki be disposed of, claiming that it was foretold that Harald would be slain by his own son

Lies or Truth? I would lean at the former

All the while Harald wasn't present for this, he was blocked by the World Government in another diplomacy mission

Ida talks to kid Hajrudin about meeting his little brother, which Hajrudin rejects since Loki's not Ida's son

Ida however showers him with love despite noting that he's saying awful things

A silhouetted Loki stands as the narration talks about this being Loki's curse

And we won't know more next week because of a break

Man, Oda went hard this chapter

I still don't think Loki will be a crewmate but goddamn is he a tragic character. Make no mistake, he's probably also gonna be a little shit, much like Norse Myth Loki, but it looks like Oda's gonna frame it as him simply acting on other's expectations, or lashing out of jealousy for never having his mother's love. Hajrudin's initial rejection is childish but understandable as a child, given his memory of Loki beating him and talking foul of Ida I doubt Loki's gonna be nice to her - at least not in public - but I guess both brothers will have their flaws.

As for Harald's story with Ida, it was very well done. Kinda quick mind you, a mix of Kyros and Kuma's backstory really with how love made them more curious and benevolent, it was nice, though Estrid up until giving birth to Loki didn't seem all that awful...until giving birth to Loki when she's immediately irredeemable. Even if she does have prophetic powers - remains to be seen because this is the first we've heard of 'earth-wind' stuff - throwing your baby to death is kinda a big fucking no. It looks like Harald might've joined the WG in order to stop them blocking his diplomatic pursuits too, but it doesn't offer much in explaining his death, yet at least since we're only 2 chapters into this flashback. This being said, as much as he probably didn't love Estrid (and if I was Ida I'd probably be livid about the idea that Harald had to take another wife and sire a child with them) he probably could've been present for Loki's birth, I guess things would've gone differently if he were.

But still, brutal from Oda, and he doesn't tend to start with the most tragic part, there may be more to come

[dickgraysonsptsd]

(hey this is Barks 👋 this is my main)

Thought it would be fun to ask what your fav Nightwing adventures are :) they don't have to be 'good', just the ones you vibe with!

HI BARKS i love your art sooo much btw. thank you for saying they don't have to be "good" because what i would say while trying to look like i have good taste and what i would say for my actual faves/the ones that stick in my head the most is. different.

i'm keeping these specifically to dick-as-nightwing stories, so no robin or dickbats stuff! and i tried to go for self-contained single issues or short arcs where possible. and tried to minimize my nw '96 picks because otherwise this would genuinely all be nw '96 (my beloved). OKAY YAY LETS GO

🚨🚨LONG POST WARNING🚨🚨

batman: year three

i usually go for robin annual #4 (juvie) for my personal dick backstory rather than the one presented here, but there's so much to love about this arc and so much that sets up alpod and eventually nw '96!! bruce as a character defined by and constructed upon his grief (over his parents) and dick coming to try to intervene in a time of their mutual grief (over jason) that overlaps with an event related to DICK'S grief (over HIS parents) is such a great layered story!!

showcase '93 #11-12

just a fun little nightwing/robin team-up circa azbats era, written with tim as the narrator. we get a lot of tim fanboying over dick and an aside in #12 where dick is clearly rattled by how he left the titans (in the aftermath of his breakup with kory) + feeling adrift as nightwing (yum!). and this panel has really stuck with me:

dick won't treat the robins like kids in the sense of talking down to them or babying them, because he knows what that feels like (bad! like your grown-up doesn't trust you! like you aren't capable enough!) but he also knows, as the grown-up himself now, that they do have to be kids. they have to have childhoods. and they have to acknowledge their limitations and their capabilities as children, but without being treated like kids for it.. urghh it's so good!! it's so like him!! it's so consistent with how he interacts with damian in dickbats era!!

there's also this bit of classic Dick Grayson Blaming Himself For Anyone Dying Ever And Craving Atonement For His Sins:

it's a very straightforward little story, but there's a lot of great characterization and tim+dick relationship stuff packed into it!

nightwing (1996) annual #1

dick goes undercover as the new groom of a suspected black widow! this issue reveals that BRUCE TRAINED HIM BY ASPHYXIATING HIM ON DOZENS OF TOXINS SO HE COULD "PROPERLY DIAGNOSE THE SYMPTOMS OF DISTINCT FORMS OF ASPHYXIATION" which is so kinky it makes me ill (positive):

it also has a scene where dick takes the suspect's son to the circus and they bond over both having dead dads, and later there's a moment after dick reveals to his "wife" that he was just there to investigate the murders when he seriously considers staying with her and the kid and like... give this man a baby NOWWWW!!!!!!

nightwing/huntress #1-4

this is such a classic devin grayson "everything in dick's life is ultimately about his relationship with bruce" storyline (she's right.) (don't check to see how much of this list is by devin grayson btw!!!) and i really like the art in it! i think huntress fans generally don't like this story so i'll reassess after i read more huntress :pensive: but for now i enjoyed it a lot--devin grayson's voice for dick is my favorite!

nightwing (1996) #86

dick gets shot in the arm, becomes manicwing, and alfred + babs force him to take time off to heal against his will (and deal with him climbing up the walls when forced to slow down). i love the entirety of the tarantula and blockbuster arc but this issue is a stand-out to me for being weirdly funny, involving multiple relationships in dick's life, and letting you see what happens when he CAN'T work, which reinforces why nightwing is so essential to him (which then plays into why he and babs break up soon after). this issue does a lot for this arc imo!

also featuring dick's burgeoning obsession with america's most wanted, which will flourish in outsiders (2003) when he goes full autistic hyperfixation and literally calls john walsh to guest star

titans (1999) #10-12

slade comes to the titans for help rescuing addie from the remnants of the hive organization. i love to see dick acting as team leader and i LOVE when there's pushback and conflict involved and i LOOOVE so much of the titans' history (and therefore dick's history) coming into play!! and most of all i love dick being relentlessly, devastatingly heroic at all costs:

yeah he ties himself to a falling bomb in an effort to disarm it in midair knowing that even if he succeeds he'll probably die. and he does it. successfully. madman.

batman: gotham knights #8-11

there is so much to screencap in this arc, it's insane. the iconic "complicated... sticky and hot..." scene, dick saying bruce can't be dead because dick would know if he were (which connects forward to bruce's "death" arc in such a painful way... he WASN'T dead!!! and you DIDN'T know!!! SO WHAT DOES THAT MEAN DICK, HUH??? DOES IT MEAN ANYTHING?? IS YOUR SOULBOND REAL OR IMAGINED?? IS YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH HIM REAL OR IMAGINED?????), dick reciting the oath to amnesiac bruce, dick flinging himself off a building, tim and dick eating popcorn while they watch strange and batman fight, the buildup to murderer/fugitive... it's soooo good!!!

batman: gotham knights #14

JPV: Are the women safe? Dick, sarcastically: No. I let them get shot.

this is the dick writes a letter to bruce issue (you know the one), which would land it here anyway, but it's ALSO the dick has to work with jpv and is a huge cunt about it because he remains deeply jealous of jpv for somehow earning bruce's approval in a way dick didn't issue. god bless! we love him at his most petty and uptight!

battle for the cowl (2009) #1-3

people hate this event so much and for what!! this is a great comic for dick and his relationships with bruce's legacy and the other robin boys. and it has what i lowkey think is the most beautiful single page of nightwing art:

and then uhh yeah the entirety of nw '96. the whole thing.

[aureliaxxxx]

dossier. pinterest. playlist.

happy opening! sorry for the late one (i’ve been procrastinating a lot 😭) anyway, the name’s cyan. lovely to meet you all! i’ll be writing yoo youngjae and baek junhee @doom3duser youngjae’s the heartbreaker. he started off a genuinely sweet boy, but yk life happens so he’s currently leading down a very destructive path. if you think he’s got a soul to save, please don’t. don’t give him any ounce of faith, because no, there’s not going to be atonement for any of his sins (and the ones he’s about to commit 😈)

for more info and some rough wanted connections, you can check below the cut. please leave a heart if you’re ready for the ride! (discord and ims are okay!)

background:

tw: difficult child birth, substance addiction, infidelity, alluded physical abuse, parental neglect, terminal illness, parental death [ash vc] gotta catch em all!

• youngjae was a valentine baby, but boy it was such a dangerous birth. his umbilical cord was stuck around his neck like a noose. he was bigger than a normal child and he had a heart problem, so they didn’t think he would live.

• his father was a womanizer and a drunk. his mother had to leave when he was just five, as she could no longer take all of the abuse. eventually, his father brought his mistress home. sowon was a lovely lady, she genuinely cared for youngjae. youngjae didn’t want her replacing his mother’s place, and he made it known.

• after a turn of events, they became the best of friends, youngjae confided to sowon about his worries, fears, as well as his dreams. everything was going well, until it wasn’t. she passed on due to a terminal illness, while his father left for a new woman. he swore to himself that he would never be like his father.

• he was then took in by his aunt and her family. at first he was thankful someone was kind enough to put a roof over his head and feed him, yet he didn’t feel like he was home at all, so he remained cold and distant towards them.

• as he was growing up, he started to become more rebellious. getting into fights, jumping from one relationship to another, partying and drinking like there was no tomorrow. whether he likes it or not, he is slowly turning into a reflection of his own father.

image:

• he’s known all over campus due to his bad reputation, but some may see him in a different light. according to those who personally knew him he’s smart, generous, and outgoing. he’s made multiple contributions in their department which makes him one of their bread and butter. recently, he secured a huge role in a prominent stage play in seoul. his diligence and grit has led his hockey team to victory countless times. his social club relies on him heavily when organizing events, as per the members, he has the most useful connections.

wanted connections:

• the ex: youngjae was your first love, first in everything. it was like a fairy tale, now it’s like a nightmare you want to forget. you can list more than ten things you hate about him, and yet you can’t help but miss him sometimes.

• the childhood best friend: you practically grew up together. little did you know he has always liked you, but he never acts on it. he thinks keeping you close would be more ideal than potentially losing you forever.

• the addiction: yoo youngjae is the one person who you can never reject even if you know it’s a mistake, years pass and he makes you feel the same. he never stays.

• the awkward one-night stand: after partying all night, you find yourself in the same bed as yoo youngjae. immediately, it triggered your fight or flight response. now, you actively avoid him as best as you can.

• “the leading lady”: you were paired with youngjae for a filmmaking project. as you film your scenes together, things start to get a little out of hand… (a/n: preferably for someone in the film club)

• the close friend turned enemy: you used to be inseparable. unfortunately, being involved with the same girl drove a wedge in your relationship with him.

• the one-sided rival: you’ve known youngjae since elementary days, you’ve always hated his guts and how he seems to be favored by everyone over you. until now, you’re still living in his shadows. though he doesn’t really consider you as a rival of any sort, instead he treats you more like a friend, which only gets you fuming even more.

• the long lost half-sibling: you instantly became close friends, feeling as though you two have known each other for so long. however, if he ever finds out you two are related, it might change the dynamics very quickly. (a/n: it could be from his mother or his father. whichever works for you!)

• give him a roomie please, any gender would be cool. also, hockey and antares friends come here 🤲

[majorasnightmare]

Lemme see, how about 6, 14, and 22

TRADE OFFER:

You receive: Dirge lore

I receive: Daedra lore

you wanna accept sooo bad u wanna post ALL the cool daedra deets 😈💜

Ask game from here !!

6: what is the thing your oc likes the least about themselves?

His Urge. Its erratic, aggressive, vindictive, spiteful, and just stupidly petty at times. Dirge has an intuitive sense for what can trigger it, but that doesn't stop it from acting on its own half the time and throwing temper tantrums. All the work he puts in to keep the damn thing fed doesn't seem to matter at all when it decides to rampage. He has a lifetime of practice resisting and controlling it, but its frequently frustrating and outright terrifying besides.

Beyond his family heritage, there isn't much about himself he actively dislikes. Despite his internal self perception being closer to something like a tool, or an input-output machine, he doesn't have any malice towards that part of himself. This was frequently confused by Sarevok (and thus by extension Orin as he poisoned her opinion) as arrogance. In reality Dirge is just pragmatic and tries to keep a measured opinion of his abilities. He just happens to be inordinately skilled.

He has religious OCD, fixating on cycles of perceived sin and making atonement for it, and thats frequently when he feels the most flawed and prone to the most extreme self loathing. When he ISNT having a spiral, he mostly detests his own lack of knowledge on things he feels he should already know perfectly (like how to exist within a life that isnt constantly fighting for survival. basic care tasks and life skills).

14: An embarrassing secret about your OC?

Dirge is one of those people that feels an argument has to end definitively. This means he frequently gets into zero stakes arguments with Literal Children, and loses. Its usually with Mattis, who doesn't win, but doesn't lose either.

It isn't cringe but this IS a secret he IS embarassed by: Dirge sings to himself when hes relaxed and occupied and if you point it out he'll want to crawl into a hole and die. *I* think its cute, but Dirge thinks hes silly for it. Its how he got his name, though he doesn't fully remember that.

22: what is holding your OC back to achieve their goals?

I answered this one earlier here, but let me try and find a follow up!!

Besides the MAJOR hold ups listed there, a minor one is his knowledge gap. Dirge is hyper specialized for some VERY niche and extreme circumstances, leading a murder cult and/or leading an adventuring band on a guerilla mission to destroy an abberation of immense world threatening power. Between an isolated upbringing and the total amnesia he only barely recovers information from, Dirge has next to no idea the proper expected methods for interacting with society on a day to day basis beyond the barest necessities. This makes engaging with local aristocratic politics REALLY frustrating and constantly puts Dirge on edge. He doesn't enjoy feeling stupid and your average noble get together typically involves large crowds (bad for kill instincts) AND feeling stupid (zero fucking idea what etiquette is expected or traditional). He hasn't ruined any schemes YET, but it does contribute to a preference for being a weird eccentric hermit who doesn't go outside.

[sevenhundred721]

Things I want in terms of One Piece character songs:

Each of the Vegapunk satellites NEED their own character songs, as well as a song that they all sing together.

Sabo needs a character song that isn't ass.

Koby needs a character song that isn't ass.

Smoker needs a character song that isn't ass.

Zoro needs a character song that plays to his voice's strengths. Something rhythmic that doesn't require a lot of singing. Like Enel's character song (not Tokyopiea, the other one.) Zoro's songs aren't exactly bad, but he has the second weakest singing voice of the crew behind Franky.

The lack of an adult ASL song is so sad to me.

Boa Hancock needs a character song where she actually sings. No, the one with Marigold and Sandersonia doesn't count.

Carrot still not having a character song is crazy. She deserves one.

Yamato and Ace should get a duet. I wouldn't care if Yamato never got his own song if he just got a duet with Ace.

Hiyori and Momo duet. This one is a no-brainer. Yeah the Kin'emon Momo duet sucked, but this one might not.

Kuzan should get another character song. He just has a really nice voice and I'd like to hear more of it.

I JUST REALIZED PUDDING DOESN'T HAVE A CHARACTER SONG??? I'd love a song where she sings all sweet and cute, but sometimes gets a bit evil. Or vice versa, a villain song where she has moments that are all lovesick and cute.

I want a Zoro and Sanji duet that is just them shouting insults at eachother over music for five minutes that ends with Nami screaming at them and a bunch of bonk sound effects. It wouldn't necessarily make good music, but I'd listen to that shit on loop.

Hiyori and Toko duet.

Robin and Chopper duet. Off the top of my head I can't think of them having one, which is kind of crazy considering how cute their dynamic is and the fact that both of their VAs have fantastic singing voices.

Perona needs a creepy Halloween-y song. Her only character song is pretty boring and generically cutesy anime girl. She wants to sing songs of curses, so let her!

Tashigi has a beautiful voice. Zoro doesn't. Neither does Smoker. An unfortunate dilemma considering those are the two people it'd make the most sense for her to have a duet with. (She already has a duet with Smoker and it's not great.) My solution? Give her a song with Hina, Doll, and Bellmere.

Enel needs a bad character song. Seriously. Both of his character songs are really fucking solid. I don't want ENEL to be a character whose songs are all winners.

Doffy needs a good character song. The one on the 47 album is so close to being good, but the audio balancing is weird and his voice gets drowned out by the instrumentals. His other character song is fine, but it's boring and doesn't really evoke his character.

Bonney has a really fun voice, now that she's actually had more screentime it'd be nice if she got another song.

If I keep going I'll basically just be listing all of the characters and character dynamics I enjoy, so I'll stop here. But the people who produce OP character songs do have some sins to atone for. And they'd better do it soon.

[lulu2992]

Hi again! Your answer to my ask about Joey got me thinking more about the "sermon" where John can be heard torturing her. I talked to my friend about it and I wanted to know your thoughts too, if you had the time. So John's four step plan to induct members into the cult are Marking, Cleansing, Confession, and Atonement (listed in this order from a note in Dutch's bunker). And from what we've seen/heard about Joey she's considered tough. John spends extra time with her because she just won't break, and npcs on both sides make comments about this. The timing of both her TV spot with John and the sermon where she can be heard are spotty at best. We don't know exactly when they were shot (though the TV spot is easier to guess) or how far apart they are from one another. But what we do know is John is torturing her (though the method by which isn't clear) and the sermon ends with her saying Yes in order to get him to stop whatever he's doing. I could be wrong, seeing as how John sometimes deviates from the steps listed and sometimes does them out of order (like making Nick atone without cleansing or confession) but this should mean Joey is a member now. That to reach the stage where John is trying to get a confession she's already been marked and cleansed, so all that would be left is John taking her sin. But... Joey never got a sin. Sure, it could be somewhere else on her body and covered by clothes, but nothing actually suggests that she ever got one. There's nothing to suggest that she was ever Cleansed like the Deputy or some other npcs either. Of course, whether or not she fully became a member (like Staci for passing the trials or Burke for walking the path) is irrelevant because she would have been rescued by the deputy regardless. So it seems like she says Yes and... that's it. She's not actually a peggie. We don't hear anything to suggest that she "broke" outside of this moment. And any amount of torture is too much, of course. No one would fault her for wanting the pain to stop. But it all feels like an inconsistency when we're left to imagine the worst, get told by Joey herself what a nightmare it all was, and then see her in her final bunker scene and she only looks slightly bruised, clearly changed but not broken. Despite her saying Yes she isn't considered a member by John or anyone else in his flock. Staci and Burke, to use them as an example again, are considered members. Staci gets to walk around and is tasked with different chores and can be heard conversing with peggies in some voicelines. Jacob calls him a Judas when he "betrays them" to help the deputy escape. Faith is mad that the player rescues Burke because "you made someone leave who didn't want to go." Obviously neither are willing members, but other peggies and their respective heralds seem to consider them such. And it seems unlikely that John would just keep her as his personal punching bag with how closely he adhere's to Eden's Gate doctrine (or tries to). That's the only other explanation I can think of for why her Yes didn't lead to her membership. I do think he has something personal against Joey, probably for resisting him and coming to arrest his brother, but his end goal is still to get her to join like everyone else. So... inconsistency? More than anything it's probably just that the game wants you to go after John first (despite being able to go in any order) so they made him as exaggerated as possible and made Joey seem like someone you'd want to save. Just kinda seems to fall apart under the magnifying glass, yk? Again I would love to hear your thoughts. Hope I got all my lore straight <3

Hi :) Considering it took several years to develop Far Cry 5, that there were more than 20 people on the writing team, and that the story and characters went through several changes, I suppose inconsistencies were inevitable, and that probably explains why John seems to sometimes deviate from the well-established Marking/Cleansing/Confession/Atonement ritual.

I don’t think Joey talks about ever being Cleansed, which is indeed strange. What she says even suggests she was taken directly to John’s Gate:

When they pulled me out of the chopper I thought I was dead. I could barely move. I saw flames, saw the peggies go wild, and thought y'all were toast… I tried to fight, but there were just too many of them… I was helpless. When they grabbed me... this person holding my right hand had a tattoo on her wrist that was exactly the same as the one my mother had on her shoulder. Funny what details burn in your brain when shit goes sideways. I screamed, they knocked me out... and I woke up in the bunker.

That said, they use bliss during Cleansings, so I guess it’s possible she simply doesn’t remember getting baptized. It’s probably just an inconsistency, to be honest, but that’s how I would rationalize it.

From what I understand, John usually tattoos people after hearing their Confession. It’s confusing because they sometimes use the word “mark” to talk about tattoos, but getting Marked simply means being designated. People receive a video and are “invited” to join the Project. And although saying “yes” is required and an important step, you only properly Atone when your tattoo is cut off.

But as you pointed out, Hudson never mentions a tattoo and doesn’t seem to have one. Maybe John never actually heard her Confession because what he primarily wanted from her was to sound in danger so he could use the recording to attract the Deputy, and maybe he stopped torturing her the moment she said “yes”. It’s also possible he couldn’t figure out what her main sin was and needed more time to think about it (and as “special” as she was, he had other converts to take care of), or maybe he was planning on tattooing her and making her Atone later but was killed before he could do it, I don’t know...

I’ve always thought her face was bruised because of the helicopter crash and not because of what happened in John’s Gate, but we can’t be sure. What’s certain is that she was in better shape than Pratt and Burke, so either she was stronger and more resilient than them, or what she experienced, albeit traumatizing, wasn’t as bad as what John wanted the Deputy to believe. He threatened to hurt her a lot but, in the end, yeah, he needed her alive and their goal is still to save people. She was “a challenge” but I don’t think he particularly hated her.

So she probably never Atoned, but if she had, from what I understand, she would technically have become part of the Family, yes (at least from the cult’s point of view; she didn’t want that). And because John made Nick Atone, I suppose that makes him a member of the Project too! By the way, since he, Mary May, and Jerome were supposed to Atone in the church in Fall’s End, that theoretically means the three of them were Cleansed and had to Confess at some point. The “Note to Joseph” (Seed Ranch) implies they were tattooed when Fall’s End fell under Eden’s Gate’s control, but you’re right, as far as I remember, Nick doesn’t talk about getting baptized or Confessing, which is strange. Jerome says he was captured and that John managed to make him “say things” before the Deputy arrived, so maybe that counts as a Confession. As for Mary May, a note in the clinic confirms she got a tattoo, and in the game (or at least in the files), she says:

Heard Pastor Jerome had you saving people from being kidnapped. John Seed did that to me. The fucker made me think he was going to torture me, too. Had me wait in a room for half a day thinking he was going to do it. All that fucker did was give me one of those ink jobs. It was messed up. You spared all those people a lot of anguish.

That’s pretty much what happens to her in Far Cry: Absolution. It’s weird John didn’t hurt her since Eden’s Gate believes “Confession without pain isn’t Confession”, though, but in the book, he explains she can be saved and join the Family if her sin is removed. Even though I don’t consider Absolution canon because of the discrepancies between the novel and the game, I suppose it’s still true that people only become part of the Project when they Atone, so when their tattoo is cut out. For whatever reason, it doesn’t look like Joey reached that step, so I guess she never really became a cultist.

[thefanbasewhore]

A Piece of His Heart.

summary: Bucky has been struggling with himself for a few months now but never reaches out for help. In order to confront him, you lock him in the lab but only to find out it was on lockdown for a reason and you're now stuck to quarantine with him

Content: angst, Bucky has demons, sex! pollen, 18+ minors DNI, dubcon, rough!sex, Bucky is somehow soft but rough, breeding k!nk (due to the nature of the pollen)

Paring: TFAWS!Bucky x partner!female reader

Add yourself to my tag list - main masterlist

a/n: I'm back baby!!! It's been so long since I have written for Bucky, It feels great to get back to my roots 😭

Bucky nervously chews at his bottom lip, eyes glancing over the entrance of the lab over and over again. Tethering the line of pure terror and adrenaline but for his undoubted loyalty, still contemplating going in.

Claiming that you desperately need his help and to meet you Stark tower for some kind of lab project. Which was fine, except he still couldn't find the courage to face Pepper, even after all this time. Therapy was working, helping find himself in this world of endless possibilities but with a one hundred year history of murder, guilt still poisons his heart.

Even though he hasn't directly wronged Tony Stark's widow, he might as well have. What he did was something he didn't expect forgiveness for. Just the sight of her or little Morgan is enough to send him into a long pit of despair. Often plagued with old flashbacks and visions that make him sick to his stomach, it takes weeks to come back from.

"Bucky?" He catches the attention of a familiar agent. A pretty woman, but Bucky never really took notice. Without realizing it, the brunette smiles at him, "She is waiting for you in there, she told me to keep an eye out."

The brunette is small but carries herself with a certain fire. It makes the white wolf smile, an almost identical attitude of an old friend; Agent Carter. "I know."

"Don't you wish to see her? She is your partner after all."

"Well yes but she has been asking for things I don't want to talk about. She's a pain in my ass." Bucky cracks a smile, chuckling under his breath at the joke. "You go ahead, I'll be in."

"Oh, she gave orders that no one but you are to enter."

The words cause Bucky to tense, he knows he's been ignoring you but didn't expect this to be the counterpart. He nods unsurely as the agent gives a sorry, closed lip smile before continuing her decent down the hall.

Now Bucky finds himself doubtful, even more uncertain at the fear of facing you. No doubt from the fact he's been ignoring you for weeks now.

It's not because he doesn't like you - quite the opposite in fact. While he cannot pin point the exact moment but somewhere in his very convoluted, cloudy memory, you had managed to invade it. Whenever he would think of the past, close his eyes and see the faces that make him wonder why he is living, you resurface in a way that makes him want to strive for more. Be better, try and find a way to make amends, atone for his sins. There is no other way to describe it except you have a certain quality that makes him want to be better, pour his heart and soul away but if he does that, there is no doubt you would hate him forever.

"C'mon Buck," He talks under his breath, staring at the finger pad to open the door, "Be a man."

He knows you're behind that door, alone and no doubt face etched with that look of disappointment. Not at the fact that he hadn't been answering you - but why. Sometimes he believes you know him better than himself. Knows all his sins, everything that makes him the winter soldier but the thought of speaking of it, letting you into his heart and mind, will guarantee you'll leave. See him as the monster he is.

That's why the relationship never wandered past partners, even though the feelings were there. Bucky was too sucked into a pool of wickedness, practically drowning and he wasn't going to bring you with him.

Bucky looks at the red, restricted sign hung up on the door and scoffed at the lengths you will go. Finally he presses the button with a sigh. As he enters the lab, he looks around the corner and not surprisingly sees that exact look he was trying to avoid - anger and hurt swirling in your eyes but with annoyed arms crossing over your chest.

"Don't say it, you don't have to say it." Bucky starts as the door closes shut behind him.

"Yes I do! It's been three weeks, I haven't heard from you in three weeks!" Bucky sighs leaning against the lab table. Fingers gripping the edge of the steel as fingers white knuckle in frustration.

"Well I am here, I am fine." The way your eyes narrow and the scoff makes his throat dry but he tries to lighten the tension, "Just needed some time."

"Time for what?"

The question makes Bucky tense and fall silent. No matter how much you care, how much you love Bucky, he will never let you in. Something that is hard to overcome, the fact that Bucky would never trust you enough to confide in you.

The problem being that, point and simple, you love him. You want to share his pain, want to understand what is going on inside his mind, help him with the demons that haunt him so often. But all Bucky does is push you away and it feels as if the distance is too far to fix.

There's only so much of your heart to lay before Buck, so many times he can ignore it.

"Are you ever going to trust me?"

"I do trust you. There is not another person I trust more than you and Sam, you're my partner." Bucky stands and towers over you, his hand reaches out to cup your own. No man is more confusing than Bucky Barnes, he so perfectly gives you just enough to hold you there. His gentle touches are loving and kind while the way he guards his heart, feels anything but.

"But not enough to let me help you?"

"I don't need help, I don't want your help. I just needed time to think. I'm better now, everything is fine. You don't need to worry about me."

"Tell me," It's one last plea, "I want to help you."

Bucky falls silent once again, nervously chewing on his bottom lip as those steel eyes beg you to stop. Without another word, you walk past Bucky, and press the button of the door over and over again but it stays locked shut.

"Shit," You mumble under your breath as the screen above the door lights instantly. As Pepper appears on the screen, Bucky's eyes drop to the floor as his heart stops in his chest. "Pepper, the door is stuck."

"It's not stuck, it's locked. I can't let you out, honey." She looks at the screen apologetically as your eyebrows press closer in confusion.

"What are you talking about -."

"There was a sign on the door, that lab was restricted for a reason." Bucky looks up at the screen in a panic as Pepper continues to speak, "Thor found the plant on his last mission, we haven't found any characteristics yet. You have to stay there to be quarantined. The whole floor is blocked off, I'm sorry, we can't take chances if -."

She doesn't continue, only looks down at her fingers, "Someone will slide meals in through the door at the end of the hall but they will be in full PPE. There is a break room with a bed and you'll have to use the bathroom there, there is a shower in there. I'm sorry."

"You're telling me, me and Bucky are stuck in here with some kind of alien plant?"

***

The first hour is spent in silence, the lab door did open as promised but all other doors leading off the floor were locked tight. Neither Bucky or you had tried to speak, both too stubborn to try.

After pacing the lab for what seemed like hours, Bucky finally broke the silence. "Can you sit down for two seconds? you're giving me anxiety.".

It's something of a nervous tic he's developed, chewing on his nails as his words are muffled. "Sit down."

"Shut up, Buck." You huff, jumping up onto the table across the room from him, "As far as I'm concerned, I'm here because of you!"

Bucky's eyes warn you, mouth falling agape as his eyebrows furrow in anger, "Me?! You made me come here! You cannot pin this on me."

"Well I am!"

"Real mature." Bucky rolls his eyes and crosses his arms across his chest. Silence falls between both of you as neither dare to look away from each other.

Bucky's eyes quickly soften at the frustrated look bewildered across your features, lips pulled into a slight pout, hair frizzy and messy from stressfully tugging at the ends.

He squeezes his eyes shut before speaking, "Listen, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you. Everything is happening so fast and we're both under a lot of stress. We should -."

But just like that, he falls silent. Clearing his throat and rubbing the soreness away. Instantly, you perk up, leaning forward to ask, "What is it?"

"I-um, don't know, my throat and my skin feels hot." Bucky murmured as the air filled with a thick layer of heat. Almost as he says it, you feel the same symptoms.

But what both of you don't expect is the raging, uncomfortable arousal that pools inside your bellies. And just like that, the need for each other is the only thing that matters.

"Bucky." You speak lowly, the tone is enough to send a shiver down his spine. Eyes following your every move like a wolf stalking its prey. Silent and meaningful as he extends his arm to press the pads of his metal appendages against your cheek.

The touch sends a cooling sensation but also creates an endless flame that burns deep inside your gut. Bucky also feels the effects of the touch and feels desire pool in the pit of his stomach. At close proximity, feeling your breath fan against his chin as his nose nudges your own.

The heat of his skin makes your legs feel weak, his flesh hand cups the underside of your jaw. Both so intoxicated with one another, put under a spell of the hormones that plant releases from its pores but it can't be all blamed on the forgein object - as both know in their hearts they wanted to be this way.

Then again, under normal circumstances he wouldn't agree to this. Too sharp and disciplined to let his heart overrule his thought process but the increase of serotonin clouds his judgement, makes it feel incredibly good to touch your skin. He's pressing closer and closer but before he can close the distance - you stop him, "Don't do this, you don't want to, it must be the -."

He doesn't allow you to finish the sentence but instead kisses you so gently, it takes every ounce of air from your lungs. Heart beating faster and faster as his tongue slips past your own, surprisingly skillful as he uses his fingers to tilt your head and all you could think about is how his lips move, soft and tender like rose petals.

The intimacy of the moment makes your head spin as if he was spilling away all the words he meant to say earlier into this one kiss. Chest to chest as bodies press together and heavy breathing seemed to fall into a mismatched pattern. The soft blow of his breath against your cheek but what really made electricity run up the surface of your back was the thick line of his erection against the underside of your hip.

A wave of heat warms your skin as a gush of wetness makes you squeeze your thighs together - no doubt another side effect of the plant. Just like that, he had managed to invade all of your senses - goosebumps rippling through your skin as your heart pounds against your skin, "Bucky."

You really try to stop but he shushes you with another kiss, guiding you across the room as cool fingers press against the hem of your suit, slowly opening the zipper and only pausing as the center of your back presses against the lip of the lab table.

Bucky pulls away, just a moment to catch his breath but notices the soft, blush pink that fills the whiteness of your eyes. The sclera stripped completely of its normal color, which otherwise would be concerning, but the noticeable smell of your arousal quickly overrides the thought. Bucky feels his heart jump at the look of you, the love and admiration behind them as you're the one to press your lips against his own.

Bucky pulls away for a second, eye fluttering closed as his nose bumps your own. He takes a deep breath and once realizes what he was doing your fingers reach out to feel the taunt muscles above his shirt. He speaks lowly, "You smell so good, sweetheart."

But then again, the plant had also modified his scent to some degree. It's the same earthy tones of mint and a rainy morning but there's something hidden, a hint of cinnamon. Something along the lines of sweet and sugary.

Just the thought alone, sends another wave of fatigue and hotness but also so wet, you swear it's leaking down your pants. "It hurts, I -,"

He presses his lips against your forehead, his other hand continuing it's task of taking off your clothing, "I know, baby."

If the nickname wasn't enough to cause your heart to soar, Bucky finally manages to get the zipper down to your belly button. A flesh hand that slips past the collar and cup one of your breast, fingering a touch to your nipple. Just the fact, he's touching you there, makes your eyes close with pleasure, mewing quietly.

Without warning he lifts you onto the table until your back hits the cool surface. Using his torso to part your thighs, feeling the heat from between your legs, laying a flat hand against the apex of your quads.

Beads of sweat form against his hairline, throat drying as he pushes the thick material of the suit down and past your shoulders to reveal the soft, plump breasts. He looks at you unsurely but pads at your breasts, supple and as soft as velvet. Bucky pinches the pert nipple experimentally and watches as you arch your back in response.

"Bucky I can't - it hurts."

He presses a soft kiss against the corner of your lips as his hips tut into your inner thigh, the sounds coming from you are enough to have him throbbing. "I know, I know." Bucky coos softly, "Gonna make it all better, sweetheart, I have to open you up first.".

He uses the table of his advantage, no longer holding you but allowing the table to bare the weight. He uses both hands to shimmy the suit off, throwing it somewhere across the room before peeling the last piece of fabric that separates him from your slick hearth.

It's nearly primal, the way his tongue slips past his lips to taste the thick column of skin on your neck. Feels the racing pulse underneath the flesh as he nips on the skin, eyes lashes fluttering against your cheek as your body begins to shake. Moans vibrate against his tongue, feeling exactly what he's doing to you at the moment. Open mouth kisses pressing along the surface of your chest, nipping and sucking, hell bent on leaving the marks of his love.

Once following a trail down the valley of your breasts, he takes the pert nipple into his mouth and is unknowingly harsh. Teeth grazing over the aching bud but not enough to hurt; but just enough pressure to know, he could hurt you if he wanted to.

The metal appendages of his hand ghosting over your lips, tracing out the plump bottom lip before cupping your throat, feeling the pulse race underneath the vibranium.

Shuddering as the pads of his fingers press against the hood of your clit, the small bump causing it to throb instantly. Crying out as you beg for him to relieve this pain.

The way you peer up at him, face blotched with darker marks from where his hands lie, wild eyes and messy hair spread across the table that supports both of you makes his cock twitch. The metal thumb runs along the underside of your jaw, feeling the strong structure as he pinches your chin between his fingers to meet those steel blue eyes.

If you weren't so filled with want, maybe you would also see the lack of white in Bucky's eyes, the baby pink color taking its place but his words deny you that, "Open your mouth for me, honey."

As if you could fight the instinct to obey, you do exactly that, parting lips until the wetness smears your lower lip. Bucky looks nervous, shifting against you but his hooded eyes don't let him see past anything but you. You don't miss the gulp as the words leave his mouth, "Good girl."

The pad of his false thumb presses against the fat of your tongue and lips close around it and suck. The appendage is cold, but under these circumstances you welcome it with hopes of relieving the heat, eyes watering as you press your hips up against bulge in his pants.

Bucky can't help but hum in appreciation at how pretty you look like this and finally his fingers smear across the surface of your sex to collect the slick there. It's not like he even has to feel to know how wet you are, the heavy scent of your arousal fills the air.

The sight of the bare skin makes his stomach flip in anticipation, arousal smearing the inside of your thighs and the fabric of his pants. The room has grown unbearably hot, matching the hunger you feel for one another.

As long, smooth fingers spread across the button of your clit, you cry out. They continue to your hole and gather the juices of your arousal. While the teasing is unintentional, your body is buzzing - aching with the want of release but without wasting any other time he breaks the barrier and fingers fill you until they can't move any further. Inch by inch until your back arches from the table with a loud whine, thighs snapping together around his arm at the sudden intrusion.

Two fingers move, scissoring against the velvet walls as your eyes roll back into your heat, dizzy for it. The evidence of your wetness lubricating his fingers, coating them and making the next thrust of his wrist more impactful. He's hitting the spongy deep spot with every movement, parts you never thought a person could reach and you squeal.

Bucky groans, relishing how you sound just like imagined you would. Pulling hips down harder to meet the brutal pace of his fingers that leave you, just to come back stronger. Shockwaves rippling through your skin as those cloudy blue eyes never leave your own.

There's no other way to describe it other then earth-shattering as the heat builds inside your stomach. Bucky is so caught up in your pretty sounds, the way you call his name with a cry that he doesn't realize the way his hips press against your inner thigh. Dry fucking himself to the fact he's milking you for everything you got.

The planet clearly infected him as well, the proof being the different spots of pre cum that pattern his dark pants. The long finger never stop - filling you over and over again as soon as they leave. Flesh fingers curling deep inside and massage the deepest part of you, so deep that your fingers wrap around his wrist to stop the brutal pace but metal fingers find your forearm and press a warning squeeze against it. While you're fully expecting him to push the hand that keeps him from what he needs most, he brings the hand to feel the racing heart beat underneath the layers of his jacket and shirt.

Just like that - time slows, feeling every inch of his fingers as your pussy clamps down on his fingers and vision fades to black as you cum around his fingers. Heavy breaths to try to make up for the lack of breathing as you feel the line of his nose move across your jaw and a soft kiss against your chin but he's twitching against your thigh.

No doubt, painfully hard. The hormones affect him in the same way but he doesn't show it, instead takes care of your own needs instead of his own. Your fingers the jacket and shirt up and over his head as your lips reconnect with his own. Hands fumbling with the buckle of his belt and pull it off. Shaky fingers meet your own, helping to push the rest of his clothing off.

He doesn't offer a warning as the bulbas head of his cock catches your folds, running through the wetness, once, then twice before the feeling of his heavy cock begins to stretch you open. The burn of trying to adjust to its size is something of a delicious pain and you can't help the shriek that rips through your swollen lips.

The velvety-like walls practically suck his prick whole, he feels every inch of your pussy taking him as much as you could. He tries to push the rest of his length, greedy for more but the whimper that falls from your lips pauses his hips. Two fingers tease the bundle of nerve in slow, circular motions as he nudges just a little further until he's nestled so deep in your sopping cunt, you feel him in your stomach.

The feeling of being so full, you're lightheaded. So full of Bucky that the heat inside the pit of your stomach feels like it will combust at any moment - heart pounding so hard, you swear you hear it in your ears.

Blown pupils never leave the sight of where you connect and give an experimental trust. The sounds that fall from you are enough to keep him going as your cunt clenches around him.

"So good," it's gasped under his breath, Bucky's eyes squeezing close at the feeling.

Hips move rhythmically, faster and faster as the sound of your juices cause his head to spin. Never did Bucky think he would be here, buried inside while you beg for more and more. He can't look away from the sight of his cock disappearing and reappearing into your silky opening. The sounds of the room are ones of Bucky's moans and your squeals, followed by skin against skin and the squelches of your arousal. It's everywhere, dripping between both of you, smearing his navel and dripping to the table.

Skin grows warmer and warmer every time he hits that spot that makes your vision blur, words seem to get further and further.

"Take it so good -," Bucky can't even form coherent sentences anymore. Pupils full blown as he chases his own high - thighs starting to shake under the pressure of your hot, tight hole.

Suddenly your body erupts with pleasure - tingling from your fingers to your toes as the familiar feeling of an orgasm makes eyes water in relief. Every push of his hips are deep and rough, as his member twitches inside of you.

Only moments later, your back arches from the table, somehow pushing him deeper inside of you as a sob falls from between your lips. A hand lays across your navel to push down on where he bulges in your stomach. Lazily rubbing two fingers against your clit as he continues to fuck you senseless.

Half crescents form under the fury of his nails digging into the flesh of your hip as he keeps himself up right.

His eyes meet your own, watching as you fall apart in front of him. Fire pooling low in both of your abdomens as Bucky feels his own release coming soon. Lips darkened and wet with saliva as incoherent profanities and words fall from them.

You don't have to say a word the way your nails dig into his bicep is enough to spill blood - but tells him all he needs to know as he groans against your lips, balls tightening to prepare to feed your hungry pussy.

The orgasm is mind shattering - throat drying as you're unable to form any other words. Clenching around him so hard that his hips stutter but he continues to drive his cock so deep inside that your legs shake and give out.

Bucky's body shakes as he hits a spot so deep and explodes. His climax comes quickly, white ropes of cum filling you to the brink, but there's so much he's forced to pull out, the ribbons of cum make a mess of your stomach and his own.

With heavy breathing, chest expanding with a slight burn Bucky falls next to you with a huff. With sudden relief from the orgasm only moments ago, your mind begins to clear. The reality of the situation setting in as you look at Bucky in complete terror.

"Buck?" He only groans, eyes squeezing shut and you know exactly why as his erection presses against you; still hard.

But once again a wave of heat makes it impossible to move, squeezing your thighs together as another wave of wetness takes its toll. Bucky's fingers press against the soft skin of your ass, cupping the ample flesh as he grinds his hips against you.

Despite your body betraying you by pushing back into his twitching cock, something screams to get out of the lab but Bucky's presence invades all your senses, all you can think about as the head of his cock finds your folds again, "Wait, Buck -."

He's half way inside of you, hands pushing down on the surface of your hip bones with a growl to keep you underneath him. His cum spears across both of your stomachs as he fills you once again, "Be a good girl."

He's so lost in his mind - drunk on the chemicals that fill the lab, seeping from the stem of the planet tucked away in the corner. With the brutal intrusion, your head rolls back to hit the surface of the table with a groan.

It's affecting you, but not as much as Bucky as the bewilderment makes his body shake as his hot breath fans your face.

Drowning in pleasure as you press your lips against his own. A bruising kiss he can't deny as he moans at the feeling of your nails in his short hair, rolling his hips against your own with a huff. You use this time to deepen the kiss, using all the strength you could maneuver to push on his chest and separate him from you.

You know in order to escape from the room, you must out smart the former assassin. As soon as he slips from your hole, a brutal elbow to his jaw temporarily stuns as he wipes the blood the corner of his lips.

Without a second to spare you take this time to dodge the brunette's hand that reaches out and pushe past him. The door is only inches away, arm extending to press the button but it's cut short as he pushes you against the cold metal.

"Buck -." Trying to bring the man back to sound mind but he only presses his face into your neck, blood from his nose smearing against the skin of your neck.

"Want you again, honey."

It's like nothing else matters other than the sweet nectar of your pussy, then the insatiable feeling of cumming deep inside of you. "Gonna bred this little -,"

"Bucky, it's the plant. Listen to me, we need to get out. You can do whatever you want to me once we are out of this lab."

It's like he can't hear a thing, only pushing his raging hard-on between your cheeks as his hand presses your head further into the door. As Bucky presses gentle lips against your bare shoulder, you extend your arm barely reaching the button to open the door and both of you tumble forward into the hall.

You're thankful that the door closes, taking a deep breath but the rough hand wraps around your arms, temporarily startles you but Bucky is prepared this time, using his body weight to pin you to the ground.

Despite the burn of grasp, his lips are soft and gentle against your own. Running his tongue across your lips, but this time, you purposely brush your lips against his own, tasting the fresh blood from his still bleeding nose. Even though the plant no longer has an effect from out here, it's still in both of your systems making your skin buzz.

Bucky groans as you suck his bottom lip into your mouth as his hand rubs gentle circles against the skin of your lower back but just like that, it's gone.

Using his raw strength to lift and lay you on your stomach - clearly not trusting your intentions again as he brings both arms behind your back. The other hand cups the back of your neck, feeling the natural curvature of your spine under those strong hands.

"Stay down, sweetheart." He warns.

He lets go but not for long as fingers curl into the junction between where your hips and torso meet to pull and bring your ass in the air. He twitches at the sight of your bare pussy, still dripping for him. A pleased sound falling from his chest as you shake your hips against him, "Please, please, please."

No words are said, soaking and committing every moment to his memory as he pushes into you again. This time he isn't gentle as he stretches your pussy open, nudging deeper and deeper to the point you jump forward but two hands keep you grounded on his cock.

He nestled so deep it’s hard to breathe, the burn follows but mixes with a pleasurable sting of his metal digits digging to your hips. The flesh hand rests against the swells of your ass, he can’t help but look down - the filthy site of your messy cunt swallowing him whole. The sounds coming from those lips, the begging - it is all too much - sensory overload as a chill runs over his being and hands clench around the fullness of your hips.

With every roll of his hips, an orgasm builds inside his stomach. He is losing his balance as thighs shaking with immense pleasure as you angles your hips back to meet him.

You need more.

The sounds that fill the room are filled with moans and cries, tears of pleasure roll down your cheeks. Chasing the best high you have ever felt as you beg for more, beg for him to fuck you harder.

At this point the white wolf is completely lost, finding his most primal side inside of your tight pussy. The way it swallows and squeezes him whole, silky and smooth as it milks his cock for everything it's worth. But just as fast, your legs start to shake under the pressure, cheek burning against the fabric on the rug but you only angle your hips to meet his trust to feel him deeper.

"Fuck, fuck." The words fall from your lips as his fingers squeeze your hips even harder.

"Gonna bred this sweet cunt, make it mine". he huffs, feeling a wave of heat that makes his head spin as you cum with a twitch, orgasm leaking pushing him out but he stays buried inside your pussy, letting the juices squirt out and drench his abdomen.

He whispers curses under his breath, words of filling you round, giving you his seed as his breath trembles. Thrust growing haphazardly forming a new messily pattern that makes his forehead drop between your shoulder blades. His body shakes, fatigued and fucked as black orbs fill his vision.

With one final hard trust he twitches, pumping his thick ropes of cum inside your walls for the second time in the matter of an hour. Cheek still pressed against the carpet as a way to catch your breath, legs shaking at the recent assault.

You feel the shift in the air as the breathing of the man behind you changes. Bucky eyes are still wild but this time in realization of what just happened, shameful of his actions as the last of the plant's poison oozed from his pores.

The sight in front of him, still very much on your hands and knees against the carpet, filled to the brim as his cum drips from your abused cunt.

"W-What?" He's at a loss for words as his soft fingers find your back, gently helping you up and allowing you to use him to sit up right. "What just happened?"

But you don't answer, too overwhelmed with the little bit of the planet that runs through your veins. While his eyes have returned to the natural white, yours still have a blush pink color that can only be described as inhuman.

"Hey, hey," he coos softly, panic and worry filling him as he cups the underside of your jaw to your hooded eyes. "Look at me, sweetheart, I'm sorry, I don't know -."

"'s okay," Your hand lays over his own on your cheek, "It was the plant, we got away."

Bucky feels his heart shatter at the look of you. Barely able to sit due to the aching between your legs, the bruises that formed underneath his finger tips shattered across the soft skin. Out of pure frustration and confusion, tears gather in the corner of his eyes.

Purely guilt ridden and thankful that you have given him a piece he never deserved, he speaks, "I don't want you to know the real me. It's ugly and scary inside of here."

"Nothing is ugly about you."

The piece of his heart, you never thought you would see.

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[inafieldofdaisies]

5 Songs Tag | Tagged by @cassietrn | Tagging @aceghosts @direwombat @socially-awkward-skeleton @poisonedtruth @nightbloodbix @shegetsburned @jacobsneed @josephslittledeputy @josephseedismyfather @jinfromyarikawa @detectivelokis @strangefable @strafethesesinners @madparadoxum @g0dspeeed @trench-rot @jacobsneed and anyone else that would like to do the tag <3

The rules: list 5 songs you've been listening to and tag 5 (or more) people. I'm also adding the lyrics <3

I'll keep you up until the sunset Speaking in tongues, yeah, we ain't done yet, yeah Don't take my verses out of context I know it's weighing on your conscience And I'll keep leading you on If you keep leading me into your room The drinks are all gone But that's fine, baby, so am I I'm about to take you back to church Well, tell me your confessions, baby, what's the worst? Baptise in your thighs 'til it hurts 'Cause I'm about to take you back to church

funny the type of songs spotify chooses to play for me while I'm editing chapters from Sabrina's story, like that song has been in my main playlist that's miles long for years and haven't listened to it in a while. now they're like: time for some john themed songs, biatch. such a banger tho. <3

Cause the pale blue light of the mornin's comin' Coming to take you away from me, me So I can't spend my whole life runnin' Runnin' back into my dreams, dreams When I lie awake, I'm fighting off the day I'm searching out a way that you can stay But it never fails, the rising sun prevails So I will lie in wait for another chance

All can be cured with a payment Yea, trust in the blind Faith in the hands of the faithless And beautiful lies You are one step away from annihilation! Ooh, do ya feel the heat? From below Send a sign to me, the next one’ll pay me in gold I don’t know how to lose I know that you think that I’m some kind of savior But I’m the broker of sin Just a coin for your wrongs, and I’ll cleanse ya Oh, what did you do? Yes your riches can purchase atonement Oh, what did you do? There’s a price to be paid and you owe it

can't recommend this one enough, it's so damn catchy <3

and fun fact: I so imagine Sabrina singing this one as a joke to John :D Just picture the whole Spread Eagle laughing along while he's like: wtf, *one triggered boi*. like there's an YES in there too. how perfect is that..

Can you feel it now, all the power Oh I'm rising now, like a tower Hear that sound oh it's getting louder Run, run I've come to devour

I've got two problems, but you're just one The other's tapping on the trigger of a loaded gun But staring down Don't let me down You've got a steady hand that's cold to the touch You've only got one shot, but do you got the guts To make it count? Don't let me down You've got the guts, kid, but Is that enough to turn this around?

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

♡ GENSHIN IMPACT + HOW LOVE FINDS THEM ♡

➳ ft. kaeya, diluc, zhongli, tartaglia

➳ tags ;; tooth-rotting fluff, hurt/comfort, alcohol as a coping mechanism, a little angst but happy endings always, extreme kaeya bias ngl, spoilers for kaeyas story, nonsexual nudity, gn!reader 

➳ a/n ;; first time writing for genshin so if the characterization is funky.. my fault 

➳ summary ;; genshin impact characters and how i think love finds them when they find you 

ZHONG-LI

Sometimes, he admits to himself, it feels forbidden to love you. 

When love finds him, it is on the stairway of a small cottage, tucked into a corner of Liyue. It is quiet and unassuming, more importantly shared. A place you’ve decided to spend hefty mora on to live in. 

There’s a backyard and a space for a garden and there are sweet flowers that always seem to regrow after you pick them. On the walls are weapons and hunting gear but in the drawers are spare clothes and change. It’s got two stories but it’s not big. It’s a home, still. 

You’ve invited him inside, an adopted street-cat at your feet as you make dinner. Zhong-li is a working man, but he spends his days off here. You are an adventurer, strong with a big heart and bigger dreams. Your silhouette makes up all the shadows that dance on the wall and you sway to the beat of a soundless song. A smile makes the corners of your lips twitch up and you stir the pot of whatever you're making with boundless enthusiasm. 

Zhong-li would not wish godliness on anyone. He thinks about it often. Where Rex Lapis ends and where the human, the mortal Zhong-li starts is a blurred line. Humanity is a grieving thing. People live and are happy and then they pass and it is the only thing someone can guarantee. You will be born into the world tearful but you will pass silently - like a wind. 

Godliness means little is forbidden to you. Reality is something you fumble with in your clumsy hands and hope you can get right and humanity is a grieving thing. Always in that order. He knows there is no such thing as love that is truly forbidden - feelings like love and sadness and joy are things that cannot be settled by contracts or understood. They simply exist as if they are their own religion. 

Zhong-li watches you pick up a white furred cat and let it’s nose rest against yours for a brief moment. You hug it and sing to it like it is a child and when you’re done, you let it fondly nudge against your legs.

“Stop being bad and let me cook dinner,” you’ll say, like it knows. And maybe it does - Zhong-li thinks to himself that it might. It prances off and sleeps in the basket you’ve bought, covered in blankets and linens. He stares at you for a long while, his eyes dancing down your silhouette.

There is something remarkably human about love. Perhaps love is the one thing gods cannot truly get their hands on. This greed, this loneliness, this tender feeling - so soft it might fall apart in his hands. In all of his years of living, he likes to believe he has known love. For his companions and for his people. 

But this affection that soaks his bones, greedy and aching to be cared for, must be something only a human could get their hands on. He thinks he could only love you like this with his mortal body, his beating heart and dry mouth. With golden eyes that blink at you, curious to know what you’ll do or say next. If humanity is grieving, perhaps love is acceptance. Reconciliation. Maybe the reason no human complains about a short life is because they, at least once, have loved. 

He thinks he understands it briefly. If redoing everything meant he couldn’t be with you, even once, he would keep it all the same. What a sentiment. He smiles at you as you dance and the sunlight hits the bare skin of your thighs, buried in the expanse of your skin. He longs to be so close to you too. 

Remembering he can choose to be so close to you. That he can act upon this insatiable desire to be loved. It feels forbidden and unreachable. 

But it isn’t. 

He holds out his hand to you and you pause, tilting your head before taking it. He stands and wraps his arms around your waist and stares down at you with so much affection you falter. His lips press against the crown of your head. You’re warm and real.

When love finds him, it is just like this. Under the setting sun of Teyvat, harbored in his mortal body. 

TARTAGLIA 

You never wrap his wounds with care. 

The process is rough and not very quick. It must be comfortable for you to put your hands on him because you never seem to show him any mercy. He’ll enter your quarters with something like a wince. A wound - red and bleeding in his shoulder. He’s got his blazer dragged down his biceps, an uneasiness on his face as he drops into the room. You’re clearly busy doing something, but that’s never stopped him before. 

Wordlessly, he drops himself into the chair to the left of the little table in your room. He sits in it before dropping his head back, looking at you upside down. A frown etched into your features, eyes low and exasperated. You give him a look of discontent that he returns with a shit-eating grin. His heart stutters when you stand but he says it’s blood loss. You shut your book and place it on your bedside table. 

Underneath your bed is the first aid kit, which you grab - swift like ocean waves. He scoots back until he’s facing you. You stare down at him for a long while, brow furrowing. He gives you a dizzying smile. 

“You’re staring,” ― he proclaims, brunette hairs sticking to sweaty skin ― “Do you like the view?” 

You ignore him. Instead, you place your first aid kit with a slam onto the table and rummage through it. Nimble fingers quickly take out clear vials of alcohol, bandages, a pair of small scissors and some creams of your own making. He thinks you’re brilliant and he wants to tell you as much but the words feel too unruly, too soft spoken from his mouth. He stares at you for a long while, his eyes so forlorn by your lack of attention that you speak.

It’s a sigh first like the wave of a white flag. 

“Take your shirt off,” 

“Take me for dinner first at least,” 

You give him an unimpressed look. 

He replies by sliding his shirt off his shoulders with a little grunt. Worry plasters itself all over your face and you don’t make any attempt to hide it. He watches as you walk towards the opposite end of the room - grabbing a towel and a bowl of water. You clean the wound by pressing on it, even though it seems like the blood has dried. It’s rough - you’re rough with him. A sharp inhale of air makes its way through his teeth. 

You don’t apologize, nor do you want to. He watches as you clean the blood off and then inspect the wound for a long while. Afterwards, you mumble underneath your breath, speaking mostly to yourself than to him. 

“No stitches needed.. that’s good,” 

You sound so relieved his heart aches. There’s a brief moment of silence where neither of you know what to say and Tartaglia stares at you with soft eyes. There is always this longing feeling. A constancy to his need for your touch that brings him to his knees, weakens his resolve until he’s stumbling to your bedroom instead of going to see a doctor or a god. He needs you before he needs forgiveness or life. For him, loving you is an act one can only describe as selfish 

He knows this because he still comes to you like this, body bruised and battered. When your worry filled eyes look over his skin, he feels like a second rain has come. Your concern is it’s own addiction, intoxicated by it. It is selfish to want you to worry, even more so to make sure of it. 

But how else can he hold your love if not to make you look at it? How else can he know love if it’s not in the furrow of your brow or the way you push him so hard. When you get angry for him and at him. What is love if not a violence? If not teeth in the nape of his neck or your fingers on his bruises?

You rub alcohol in his wounds to clean them before taking your fingers and dipping them into a cream. It smells like mint, making his eyes water. You do this step with care, running your hands over fierce marks and scars with heartbreak written all over your eyes. 

Love must be a violence. It must be - this stinging feeling in the way you look at him like he is a dead man walking. Love must be a hurricane that rips through him. A storm, an uncentered and reckless devotion. He thinks, even if it was your hands who gave him this wound, he would ask you again to heal it. 

Tears spill at your lashes. He softens, smiles. 

“C’mere” 

You relent, give in. Exhaustion settling in your bones you let yourself be wrapped into his arms. He holds you to him, lets you be frustrated with him. He is too, would you know?

Love finds him like this, in your room. Begging you to look at him, getting drunk off the taste of your devotion. You squeeze his heart in your palms and he lets you. He would let you a hundred times over. 

KAEYA 

Sobriety is a fragile thing. 

It’s not that he doesn’t like being sober, but he spends most of his time around liquor. It’s comforting - the smell, the rush of heat - not scorching but warm, the dizziness. Kaeya doesn’t drink enough to have a drinking problem but more times than not, he wonders if there are answers at the bottom of a bottle. If maybe he chases the end of the pint, he can find answers on his own misery. 

Sobriety is.. fragile in that way. So easily he could drink himself to sleep but he has duty and responsibility. A life to live and sins to atone for but the laundry list of them just keeps growing larger. Bigger than his dexterous hands can cover for. It’s not that he’s miserable or lonely, but there is this lingering hollowness in his chest. 

On his fathers birthday, he sits on the rooftop and drinks. He takes about 3 days off, every year, just for this. He’ll sit on the rooftop of the tavern day of, legs swinging off the edge as the world becomes an array of color beneath him. His thumb is over the mouth of the wine bottle, and he moves it just to drink. 

The sound of your voice doesn’t startle him, but it makes goosebumps appear on his skin. He’s clad in a thin white dress shirt and it prickles as the breezes brushes by him. His chest is warm as you drop yourself down next to him. 

At first, all you do is sit silently. Leaning back on your palms, you watch the stars and constellations shimmer like they always do in Teyvat. He smells strongly of alcohol but it’s nothing to scrunch your nose at. He takes another drink. Unsure of how to handle his misery, his grief gracefully at all - he gives you a strained smile. 

“Has someone come to join me in my demise,” ― his voice is raspy when he speaks but he doesn’t miss a bit ― “How apt,” 

Wordlessly, you take the bottle from his hands. He’s about to argue with you to give it back but instead, he watches you take three long gulps before pouring the rest out. Shocked, he watches it drip down the tile and onto the concrete below. 

“Why’re you...” 

You don’t reply with words but instead, lay back and drag him down with you. He can’t help but wonder what you’re doing. He lays down anyway, back hitting the tile as he blinks. 

“How long do you plan on living like this?”

There’s no hidden meaning to your words. They are straightforward and laced with nothing but honesty. It makes him choke back a sob, the way you ask. Without much left to give, he cracks a barren smile. 

“What could you possibly mean?” 

Normally, you’d laugh at his despair. At his attempt at nonchalance. But you don’t, turning to your side to look at him. You reach your hand out to rest on his chest and he grabs your hand, shutting his eyes. Tears pool at his lashes but he laughs anyways. 

“Kaeya,” ― you say, rubbing his chest and scooting in close to him. He turns to face you, for real, for the first time ― “How long, Kaeya?” 

He doesn’t sob. Doesn’t cry or let himself be hurt. He gives you a misty smile and laughs as tears falls horizontal on his cheeks. You can hear his heart rate, erratic but slow. 

“When it feels like enough.. when I’m forgiven,” he tells you. 

“Whose forgiveness will it take? Dilucs?” 

He shakes his head, unsure. You press your hand onto his skin, golden even in the cold blue of night. His cheeks are in your palms, he shakes his head. 

“I don’t know,” he confesses. You sigh as you wrap an arm around his waist, loose. You bring his body to yours, letting your fingers rest in his scalp. In the nape of your neck, warm tears rolls down your shoulder. Your body is a safety like a brick house - like no wind or storm and disaster could ever take him from you. When he lets his cries turn into sobs, he mourns. 

A life he doesn’t remember but atones for. The only family he ever had. For Kaeya, love finds him like this - grieving. A loneliness tearing him apart at the seams, frayed and long forgotten. Love comes to him while he is in tatters, offering itself to him. 

“I forgive you, Kaeya,”― you repeat to him, over and over like an incantation ― “I forgive,” 

This is how love finds him, in your arms. Forgiven

DILUC 

He rests his head against your knee, body stiff after a long day. It’s a wordless evening - sky painted with a layer of pink and orange. It pours into the room in heavy waves, paints his pale skin with a warn shade of pink. His skin is warm from the heat as his shoulders slump in exhaustion. 

You drag your fingers down his scalp before letting them slip beneath the hairtie that keeps his red hairs up. You drag it slowly, carefully down his back until it’s free. Red and unkempt - tangled from days out in the wilds. You give it a quick brush through, a quiet sigh leaving your lips. 

There’s not a proper bathroom here - far out and away from the city. It’s an old house with an outhouse and dusty floors. After a particular difficult encounter with an Abyss Mage, you’d found refuge into the abandoned location. Without a bathroom, it would be hard to freshen up but you gave Diluc a playful half-grin. 

“I’ll wash your back if you wash mine,” 

He thought you were kidding but now the two of you are out by the lake. And this is too intimate for two people who are really only supposed to be working together. It’s too gentle, the way your fingers comb through his red hairs and the little bottled shampoo you keep in your bag. 

There’s something about the way you touch his scalp so careful that is too intimate. His shirt is somewhere inside, over the back of a chair. Pale skin that’s hot to the touch as your fingers work through each individual hair. A long, tired sigh leaves his mouth. 

“So much hair,” ― your murmur under your breath. A blush turns him hot. His father was a good man.. affectionate and caring and proper. But this is different. Too much, even ― “But it looks good on you,” 

You say it so easily. Just like how you touch him - unconcerned for what it means. For Diluc, the idea of romantic love is something awkward. It is clumsy and confusing. Love, has always been something that hurts, more than it has healed. 

But his head is resting on your thigh and you’re touching him like he’s precious. As if he’d break if you’re too rough with him. There is an intimacy in it. A well-meaning and innocent love in the shape of your fingers and how they drag against his skull. 

“...You’re so forward,” he tsks. You give him a gentle laugh, running your hands down his jaw and tilting his head back so he’s facing up at you. Your hands cradle his face with delicacy, thumb dragging across his jaw bone and admiring him. You’re being sincere, but he can’t meet your eyes. 

“You don’t like it?” you ask him. He grabs your hands and puts them away, huffing under his breath. He is childish like this, with you  and only you. No longer the Dark Knight or Master Diluc. Easy to jealousy and even easier to agitation, the kind of man who the world stops for seems to crumble at your feet. 

“No,” he replies, unusually dishonest. 

You lean forward until your arms are wrapped around his barren shoulders. He can feel your skin against his, the way your heartbeat sounds, the fanning of breath of his throat. It’s too much but he can’t move as your arms wrap around his shoulders. You know too much, see too much. There is something so all-knowing about the way you love him. How you tease him. 

Love is a worship when it finds him. You are the closest thing to heaven he has ever believed in - sheer bliss in the way your eyes linger on his silhouette. Diluc is a devout lover for you, a follower in your all-knowing religion of love. Of affection. He leans his head back again to look at you as you look down at him, smiling. 

“You’re troublesome to love, you know that?” he admits to you. You bend down to meet his lips in a kiss. Chaste. Holy 

A smile parts your lips that Dliuc finds himself mirroring. 

“Of course I do,” 

Love finds him like this, in your arms - skin to skin underneath the summer sun. Alone in the fields of tall-grass and wheat. Love finds him like a religion, so much devotion and prayer for you to keep him in your heart always. He knows he would do anything for you. 

[radiosandrecordings]

I do not have the time nor the willingness to relive 14 years of Catholic school to write this but I can’t stop thinking about this one extract from the deluxe transcripts, the one for Desecrated Host. I know they’re not strictly canon, but we get some of Jon’s Thoughts On Religion here which keep rattling around in my brain. They’re mostly funny, calling crucifixes judgemental or saying he isn’t a fan of incense, but there’s one that sticks out. It’s when Father Burroughs is talking about how Father Singh listed all of his sins from childhood, and Jon comments that “Hm. Young sins can cut the deepest.”

Which! First of all! Wild thing to write down in your little blue biro on what is supposed to be a work document! But that feels like it has layers, intention or meaning behind it because no one just says that off the cuff. From both canon and the transcript notes he seems more jaded with religion now, or at least Christianity, but I can’t help but think of a young Jon, 8 years old and feeling like he has blood on his hands that somehow no one else can see. Like he’s gotten away with murder and it weighs so heavily on him he wishes he’d be caught, just to let up on the pressure of knowing at every moment that that should’ve been him. Sure, he hated that bully, but he didn’t want him dead and is this his fault? Did he wish somewhere deep down for this, a sick and twisted thing coming true that he’d desperately take back? In the books he read when the villain was vanquished the hero celebrated, but he just feels this terrifying ache in his chest, and wonders if this is just what happens to people who surround him. 

So he sits at the back of the church when his grandmother takes him on Sundays, and silently begs forgiveness. It’s not even that he’s thinking about some higher power fear of justice from above. He’d take that if it absolved him of something, repentance and atonement. He just wants to stop feeling like he did something wrong. 

[lizallanosborn]

I don't how a writer would even pull off a redemption arc for Norman when he canonically sold his son's soul to Mesphiesto (aka the devil and the literal ebodoment of evil) to get his business booming at the price of his son's life becoming unlucky and for also teaming up with the carnage symbote to create chaos and caused Flash to die during that whole red goblin arc. Just. Like. How??

Well. Short answer: No, you can't. Lol

Longer answer: It's literally impossible to redeem Norman of all people, the fact that the method for his 'redemption' was getting shot by a magic gun that removed his sins (which has yet to be properly explained. Like what does that mean/entail in this context. Like so far he's been shown to have surface level guilt and feels hallow/empty like. Okay me too cry about it) says everything it needs to.

Norman has done far too much heinous shit to even entertain him getting a redemption arc, especially because writers themselves have RECENTLY brought up baby Mayday and the fact that he killed her. I don't like that plot point, it makes me extremely uncomfortable and I think it was very unnecessary but they've brought it up themselves in this arc so like... What.

I think in this case especially, that, obviously comics play in a very different ball park morality wise compared to real life, after all people don't have superpowers and in fiction it's fine to explore someone like a murderer changing for the better but given his. Everything and how Norman is, it's like. Why would you want to give him a redemption arc. I'm not going to list every awful thing he's ever done, it would turn into a novella but Norman is canonically 1) an abusive father 2) baby murderer as they've recently reminded us 3) has committed every form of murder possible and very much unapologetic about all of it and that's a very short list for my own sanity. Then you can include anything from 'every fucked up thing that he's done to Flash alone' 'selling his son's soul to the devil', I don't like that plot point either but unfortunately it is canon so it DOES count.

I literally cannot fathom why they're doing this because I've not seen one person who likes it. Especially because this arc has come at the cost of other characters. Peter of all people would never comfort Norman, especially about Harry of all things when Peter has told Norman that he cannot have Harry multiple times and told him to stay away from him, killed Peter's girlfriend, killed Peter's daughter, killed Flash, buried May alive, killed Peter's brother etc the list goes on forever. It's just... Not in character for Peter to even believe that Norman would be magically better and a changed man, Peter's paranoid on a good day let alone about Norman of all people. Like it's insane to me we don't need this

Also from a story telling perspective, it's not interesting! It's unnecessary and boring! Like okay Norman feels guilt and wants to atone but he doesn't seem to understand why his actions are bad and it all feels very surface level. Especially because they want to redeem him but have barely mentioned Harry, his own son who he abused and who is, for better or worse, a massive part of Norman's own character and vice versa AND who IF, you were going to have Norman become a better person, a lot of that would begin in realising what he did to his son, but that in general is very ooc for him just off the bat. Like he doesn't deserve one and it offers nothing of interest. And like! If he really meant that he wanted to change maybe he'd fuck off forever from the people he's irreplaceably hurt and wallow in his guilt on his fucking own lol. You can't have a character say they want to atone for their actions but do nothing of any real substance and arguably keep traumatising others just with their presence. Norman saying he's sorry and that he feels bad means nothing compared to literally everything he's ever done.

And again! Not interesting, I think when he's used right and written a certain way (the 60s and 70s goblin stories are my absolute favourites for example) Norman can work very well as the villain of the story but making him a better person spits in the face of any character who's even shared a room with him, ooc for a million reasons, has resulted in some of the worst Peter characterization in literal decades, is unnecessary and fucking horrible lol! Like it drives me insane that we're doing this but not even addressing EVERYTHING with Harry and that it's costing other characters of their actual selves.

[startanewdream]

Hyacinth

Summary: Sirius takes some time to fill his godfather duties — teaching Harry how to ride a motorbike.

Part of Eyes Glistening (Jily Lives AU). It ties with Hope, but you don't need to read it first to enjoy this moment between Harry and Sirius.

Read on AO3 or below the cut:

~*~*~*~*~*~*

The street is quiet, a summer afternoon in which everyone must have decided it’s too hot to stay outside, but Sirius doesn’t breathe easily until he opens the small gate and then he is finally inside the Potter’s estate, safe under their love protection, though its days are almost over. He tries not to let this thought dismay him.

He walks towards the house, but he pauses, his attention diverted. Despite the heat, Harry is standing still near the broom shed, watching the sky thoughtfully, his hands inside the pocket of his jeans.

Alone and brooding, never a good sign.

He sighs, moving direction towards his godson. He has seen that quiet stubborn resolution on Harry’s face ever since he met him after Dumbledore’s funeral; it was a soldier’s face, a soldier with a duty that was hinted by Harry’s secret meetings with Dumbledore—the most secretive man Sirius had ever known—, and from all Sirius knows about Harry and James, that didn’t bid well.

He had a feeling Harry would leave. He was sure that James would hate it.

Sirius walks quietly, stopping a few steps behind Harry.

‘So, how it went?’

Harry jumps under the sound of his voice, turning around. Sirius holds back a frown; Harry shouldn’t be caught so off guard—he may be safe at the moment, but soon, in the real world, he will need better reactions and not trust anyone. This thought doesn’t comfort him.

‘What?’

‘You finally told James, didn’t you?’

Harry squints, uncomfortable. ‘Dad said anything you?’

‘No, I just needed to come by—I still have a few repairs to do in my motorbike.’

‘Oh.’ Harry’s gaze strays to the broom shed. ‘Don’t mind me.’

Sirius watches him for a few seconds before nodding. It’s still hot and he had planned to do this later, but he has a feeling that now it might be the best time—and he knows that pushing Harry to talk before he is ready never works. So he goes to take his motorbike, opting to work in the open instead of the broom shed. Harry hasn’t moved when he comes back, as Sirius imagined he wouldn’t, so Sirius just kneels to check the engine, careful to let the toolbox closer to Harry.

‘Pass me a screwdriver, will you?’ he asks Harry, not taking his gaze off the engine.

It’s been a while since he rode his motorbike, Sirius notes shamefully, so he needs to check if all the electrical parts of the motor are okay. It’s a tiresome job that he could ask a real mechanic to do, but he enjoys the manual work anyway, and Harry seems to relax some of his tension as he watches Sirius working, helping him whenever Sirius asks him—things that Sirius could do alone, but he understands that Harry likes to feel helpful.

‘I am leaving,’ Harry says quietly at some point, and Sirius takes care to not let any emotion show in his face.

‘I thought so,’ he says. All those meetings with Dumbledore seemed too much as some sort of passing the torch, though Sirius doubts that Dumbledore had planned for things to go sour so quickly. ‘When?’

‘As soon as I am of age.’

‘Oh. Okay.’

Harry is watching him, and Sirius knows he is just looking for some sort of disapproval—though he doesn’t know what Harry would do if he found it. That boy is Lily’s son too much not to be stubborn and he would go anyway. Well, Harry does like to suffer.

‘Dad is mad at me. I think… I think I’m letting him down somehow.’

And there is it, the reason why Harry was staring sadly at the sky, brooding under the sun as if it could atone for his sins somehow. He sees the apprehension in his godson’s green eyes, and Sirius is suddenly aware—though he shouldn’t be surprised—how apart from his eyes, Harry looks a lot like James.

‘You never disappoint James,’ Sirius tells him reasonably. ‘He is just too worried. You know him.’

‘I feel like… like if I leave him, he won’t ever understand. He’ll hate me for doing it.’

‘Hating you for doing the right thing? That can’t be.’

‘You didn’t see him. He said… he said if I cared, I wouldn’t leave anyone.’

‘Do you?’ Sirius asks softly. ‘Do you care?’

Harry looks at his house with a heavy sigh. ‘Too much.’

‘Then he will understand. You’ll be of age, Harry, and you’ve been making decisions—good even if questionable some times—for some time now.’

‘I just want… I want it over.’

‘That’s all we want.’ Sirius pauses for a moment. ‘Are you sure you’re the only one who can do this?’

Harry doesn’t hesitate this time. ‘It has to be me. But I won’t be alone.’

‘Ron and Hermione?’ Sirius guesses, smiling a little when Harry nods. He is a firm believer that with friends by his side, Harry can do anything. ‘Ginny?’

Harry sighs. ‘No, we—I broke up with her.’

‘What?’ Sirius asks, confused, but the desolation in Harry’s face is enough to show him all he needs to do about this news. ‘For her own good?’

Harry kicks a stone in the ground, his head lowered. ‘I couldn’t put her in danger and… being near me is a hazard. It’s enough I’m already putting you and Mum and Dad in so much trouble—’

‘You know we would still be even if you didn’t exist, right? In fact, we joined the Order about two years before you were even born, kid.’

Harry shrugs, clearly not agreeing with him. Sirius rolls his eyes; Harry enjoys saving people too much not to feel guilty for anything that happens, even when is only remotely connected to it.

‘If you wanna blame someone, blame Voldemort, not you,’ Sirius says, and he stands up to finish a few protective spells on the motorbike.

As he casts them, blue light shining from his wand, it occurs to Sirius that Harry will need a quick course on Defensive Spells. He already knows quite a few, always having a knack for them, and Sirius is familiar with how much Harry loves his Expelliarmus—he supposes that a wandless enemy doesn’t provide much danger—, but Harry will need to improve his list if he is to be safe during whatever he will be doing.

He thinks of a few books he has at home that helped him in his early years of the Auror training, and he is sure that he can ask Moony to come and help them with training.

Away from James’ eyes, that’s it. Sirius enjoys not being hexed by his best friend.

But Harry’s birthday is still a few weeks away and, right now, Sirius doesn’t want to give Harry homework.

‘Why are you fixing your motorbike?’ Harry asks.

‘I got the feeling it might be useful. The Order has been discussing how to get you safely away from here, you know.’ Harry frowns heavily, so Sirius rushes to add in a teasing voice: ‘I thought of suggesting to hide you inside the trunk and be done with it. Death Eaters would never guess.’

Harry laughs. ‘I don’t think I’d fit.’

‘No, we’d need to transform you into something. Too bad you never felt an attraction to turn into an animagus, if you were a hedgehog it would be easier.’

‘Why a hedgehog?’

‘They are cute. And your hair does make you look like one.’

‘Hey!’ Harry’s indignation is cut by the grin on his lips. He runs his hand through his hair in a gesture that reminds Sirius of James more than ever. ‘It’s my charm.’

‘Oh, I’d have my doubts, but then Lily did marry and procreate with your father, so what do I know?’ Sirius tosses a helmet to Harry. ‘Here, put it on.’

‘To hide my hair?’

‘No, silly, because you need a helmet to ride.’

‘Ride?’

There is a bewildered expression on Harry’s face. Sirius smiles, more certain than ever of his idea. ‘Yeah, I've never taught you how to ride a motorbike, have I? Lousy godfather I am.’

‘You’re not,’ Harry says at once, distracted. He puts on the helmet. ‘Why didn’t you ever teach me before?’

‘Lily deemed too unsafe—a little hypocrite if you ask me, brooms are much more dangerous’

Harry doesn’t look as if he agrees on that one—that boy was way too influenced by James about brooms—but he seems excited enough.

‘Now what?’

‘Now pay attention. If you fall, your mother is gonna kill me.’

Harry looks amused with Sirius' concern.

Sirius shows him how to operate the motorbike, telling him to be careful with the brake and the acceleration and to not mix the gear shifter with them. Then he helps Harry get on the bike.

‘By the left side,’ he guides, and Harry looks somehow younger as he sits on the motorbike. Sirius had a sudden vision of himself holding a Harry who wasn’t even two yet as they flew through the night.

Merlin, the time has flown. Near seventeen already and ready to kick Voldemort's arse.

‘Keep your feet on the ground to get used to. Good?’ Harry nods. ‘Okay, now try to feel the clutch.’ After several minutes, in which Sirius makes Harry repeat over and over how every part works, he picks his key. ‘I’ll start the engine now, okay?’

Harry acquiesces; his eyes are shining, overjoyed. Sirius makes sure the bike is into neutral, then indicates the “start” button for Harry.

‘Slowly let the clutch out—keep your feet on the ground, it will give you more support.’

Harry nods once more, concentrated, his attention focused on releasing the clutch—and then his grip slips and the motorbike yanks forward too quickly. Sirius jumps to hold them.

‘Hey, hey, it happens!’ he says. Harry looks only sheepishly, not very much concerned for his health. Of course not, Sirius thinks. The boy is ready to face Voldemort, what’s a bike? ‘You stalled the engine because you let it go too fast. Try again.’

He does; this time his hand leaves the clutch in the right timing, and the motorbike wrenches him forward. Harry lets out a laugh—one of those carefree sounds that Sirius has been hearing less and less lately—at the same time as Sirius turns into a dog to chase him.

The Potter estate is vast, an enormous field that goes into the woods, and it takes several minutes until Harry finally steps on the brake, having made a huge round back to the broom shed. Sirius is glad and relieved to realize Harry remembered to use the brake over the throttle.

Sirius is out of breath—age comes with problems, though he wouldn’t admit it out loud—when he helps Harry down the kickstand so he can get off the bike. Harry immediately crashes into the ground, laying over the grass with a relaxed expression as he takes out his helmet.

‘This was so much fun!’ he admits. ‘Can I fly next time?’

‘One step at a time, kid. When you are good on the ground, we’ll try for the skies.’

‘Spoilsport,’ Harry complains without any real malice in his voice. ‘Thanks, Sirius.’

‘No problem, kid.’ Sirius sits next to him. ‘Just wanted to share Hyacinth with you.’

He lifts his eyebrows. ‘Hyacinth? Your bike has a name?’

‘All the good rides should have one. Don’t mock Hyacinth.’

Harry shakes his head, amusement all over his face as he closes his eyes. He puts his arms around his head for support, so Sirius does his godfather duty once more. He turns into Padfoot, laying next to Harry to offer him a good fluffy pillow.

[jackiearbs]

things that rwrb characters have said that i will never forget, a thread:

alex claremont-diaz, giving off dumbass™ energy (he has the most on this thread, for obvious reasons) 

- "put them in my room, put them in my room, put them in my room-" 

-  “Jesus Christ, it’s like they can see into your soul. cornbread knows my sins, Henry. cornbread knows what I have done, and he is here to make me atone.”   

- "do it for the 'gram"

- "leading member of korean pop band bts kim nam-june" 

- "whatever, fine. henry is annoyingly attractive. that’s always been a thing, objectively. it’s fine.”

- "see attached bibliography"

- "i said, you look great, baby!”

- "yo there’s a bond marathon on and did you know your dad was a total babe"

- "awesome, fuckin' love doing things out of spite.”

-”Huge Raging Headache Prince Henry of Who Cares”

-”it is amazing you can sit down to write emails with that gigantic royal stick up your ass.” 

- “who names a dog David? He sounds like a tax attorney.”

-” “Do I go on your side of the cubicle and turn off your Dropkick Murphys Spotify station, no matter how much I want to?” Alex demands. “No, Hunter, I don’t.”

- “for fuck's sake, man, you just had my dick in your mouth, you can kiss me good-night.”

- “Bake Off makes Chopped look like the fucking Manson tapes.”

- “THEY KNOW. THEY KNOW I HAVE ROBBED THEM OF FIVE-STAR ACCOMMODATIONS TO SIT IN A CAGE IN MY ROOM, AND THE MINUTE I TURN MY BACK THEY ARE GOING TO FEAST ON MY FLESH.”

- “You’re from Boston, Hunter. You really want to talk about all the places bigotry comes from?” (he really hates hunter goddamn) 

-”so, what? you want me to quit politics and go become a princess? that’s not very feminist of you.” 

hrh prince dickhead😎  - "the moment you first called me a prick, my fate was sealed. O, fathers of my bloodline! O, ye kings of olde! Take this crown from me, bury me in my ancestral soil. If only you had known the mighty work of thine loins would be undone by a gay heir who likes it when American boys with chin dimples are mean to him.”

-"“I’ve been gay as a maypole since the day I came out of Mum, Philip.”

-”i will turn this car around.”

- “yes, the cocaine, alex.” 

-”i am a delight!”

-”have i mentioned lately that you’re a demon?” 

- “are you psychoanalyzing me? i don't think royal guests are allowed to do that.”

- "i can't believe even mortal peril will not prevent you from being the way you are.”

-“the phrase ‘see attached bibliography’ is the single sexiest thing you have ever written to me.”

-"i just mean to say, you know, Philip is the heir and I'm the spare, and if that nervy bastard has a heart attack at thirty five and I've got malaria, whither the spare?”

- “they wanted something less fruity than the truth, but truly, what is gayer than a woman who languishes away in a crumbling mansion wearing her wedding gown every day of her life, for the drama?”

- “You are a delinquent and a plague. Please come?”

- “fat and sexually conquered, snuffed out in the spring of my youth. Here lies Prince Henry of Wales. He died as he lived: avoiding plans and sucking cock.”

june:  “- that is a clear quartz crystal for good vibes do not @ me.” 

- “He’s just so frail, it’d only take one good push-”

- “ugh! men! no emotional vocabulary. i can’t believe our ancestors survived centuries of wars and plagues and genocide just to wind up with your sorry ass.” 

nora: 

-”sorry, are we not? did i skip ahead again? my bad. hello, would you like to come out to me? im listening. hi.” 

“prince henry is a biscuit. let him sop you up.”  

- “you’ve been, like, Draco Malfoy–level obsessed with Henry for years.”

- “i don’t know, man. I was in my junior year of high school, and I touched a boob. It wasn’t very profound. Nobody’s gonna write an Off-Broadway play about it.”

dahra: 

- “You need to get back to fucking England now, and if anyone sees you leave, I will personally end you. Ask me if I’m afraid of the crown.”

- “both sides need to come out of this looking like your little slap-fight at the wedding was some homoerotic frat bro mishap, okay? So, you can hate the heir to the throne all you want, write mean poems about him in your diary, but the minute you see a camera, you act like the sun shines out of his dick, and you make it convincing.”

-”come on, you backyard-shooting-range motherfuckers,”

ellen (should i say PRESIDENT claremont) 

- “Diaz, you insane, hopeless romantic little shit"

-  “I had Planned Parenthood send over all these pamphlets, take one! They sent a bike messenger and everything!”

- ”where? Are you hiding a turkey habitat up your ass, son? Where, in our historically protected house, am I going to put a couple of turkeys until I pardon them tomorrow?”

-“As your mother, I can appreciate that maybe this isn’t your fault, but as the president, all I want is to have the CIA fake your death and ride the dead-kid sympathy into a second term.”

PEZ !!!

- “frolic naked in the hills, frighten the sheep, return to the house for the usual: tea, biscuits, casting ourselves onto the Thighmaster of love to moan about the Claremont-Diaz siblings, which has become tragically one-sided since Henry took it up with you. It used to be all bottles of cognac and shared malaise and ‘When will they notice us’-” 

-”-and now i just ask henry, ‘what is your secret?’ and he says, ‘i insult alex all the time, and that seems to work.’” 

**extra: nicer quotes from alex and henry 

alex heartthrob diaz  - "never tell me the odds"

-"we were not afforded that liberty."

-“I hate this so much. I know. But we’re gonna do it together. And we’re gonna make it work. You and me and history, remember? We’re just gonna fucking fight. Because you’re it, okay? I’m never gonna love anybody in the world like I love you. So, I promise you, one day we’ll be able to just be, and fuck everyone else.”

- “On purpose. I love him on purpose.”

- “history, huh? Bet we could make some.”

- “But the truth is, also, simply this: love is indomitable.”

-“Take anything you want and know you deserve to have it.”

- “Someone else’s choice doesn’t change who you are.”

- “I am the First Son of the United States, and I'm bisexual. History will remember us.”

- “America: He is my choice.”

- “Give yourself away sometimes, sweetheart, There's so much of you.”

- the entire list of the things he loves about henry. i would die 

henry: 

-”i’ll be damned but i miss you.” 

- “when you rang me at truly shocking hours of the night, I loved you. When you kissed me in disgusting public toilets and pouted in hotel bars and made me happy in ways in which it had never even occurred to me that a mangled-up, locked-up person like me could be happy, I loved you. and then, inexplicably, you had the absolute audacity to love me back. Can you believe it?”

- “it sounds like you did your best.”

- “I’ve bloody well had it. I’ve sat about long enough letting you and Gran and the weight of the damned world keep me pinned, and I’m finished. I don’t care. You can take your legacy and your decorum and you can shove it up your fucking arse, Philip. I’m done.”

- “Should I tell you that when we’re apart, your body comes back to me in dreams? That when I sleep, I see you, the dip of your waist, the freckle above your hip, and when I wake up in the morning, it feels like I’ve just been with you, the phantom touch of your hand on the back of my neck fresh and not imagined? That I can feel your skin against mine, and it makes every bone in my body ache? That, for a few moments, I can hold my breath and be back there with you, in a dream, in a thousand rooms, nowhere at all?”

[freckleddoll]

Reasons why Doll could still be alive

1. I’m still in denial

I compiled a list of reasons why I think that there is a possibility of Doll coming back in the future! Although I do think the chances are slim, given the fact that she hasn’t appeared in the Manga since 2009, which was 12 years ago. However, there is a handful of reasons from a story telling perspective of why it’s possible, and also a handful of inconsistencies between Doll’s death and all of the other Noah’s Ark Circus deaths. Very long post under the cut.

Starting with the most obvious, we never see Doll’s death actually happened, it’s ever only implied.

We don’t hear a direct command, it’s only implied that she died. This is “affirmed” a second later by Undertaker.

He laughs about how Ciel is hastily, and that he can not take back what he’s done, even if he regrets it later. However, this isn’t explicitly about Doll. We as the audience are made to believe that this is about her because we just saw the frame before, of Doll’s signature lollipop falling.

We have seen every other death on screen. We are certain to see each of their corpses, except for Joker, who’s death is confirmed by William T Spears earlier in the chapter.

This is placed conveniently, or dare I say, deliberately before Doll’s death. We see William and Ronald collecting souls only before Doll shows up. The only other Reaper we see in this chapter afterwards is Undertaker.

This is of course speculation, but I don’t believe that the death Undertaker is referring to here is Doll’s death. I think he might be referring to the massacre Ciel and Sebastian have basically just committed after being employed for this mission to save the children. This is something Ciel can not take back. But Undertaker never explicitly said Doll, in fact, he specifically chose the phrase “to hold each and every soul dear” which implies that multiple souls were lost. I don’t think he is actually talking about the Circus Troupe, Doll or Joker.

What could this mean?

I think we are purposefully being misdirected as an audience member here, and I believe that the decision to withhold the details of Doll’s death was deliberate. I believe that the narrative is purposefully withholding information that will much later in the story become important.

Another thing I’d like to point out is, why on earth is Undertaker here? His presence isn’t explained, other than to “affirm” Doll’s death. He is seen with a carriage, along with Charles Grey and Charles Phipps. Well this could tie back to R!Ciel, I think that it’s also possible that:

Doll is actually dead and the information being withheld from us is that Undertaker took her body to later use as a Bizarre Doll to mess with Ciel later in the series.

Doll was disarmed by Sebastian, and once they left, perhaps even believing Doll was dead, Doll was taken in by Undertaker and R!Ciel for revenge or something. I know this one is a lot more dodgy, but it’s the one I believe makes more narrative sense.

Now let’s move on to how this makes sense from a narrative perspective.

Obviously, Snake is still alive, and believes that his family is alive. He goes to Ciel’s manor looking for them.

Ciel offers Snake a position at the Phantomhive manor, under the guise that they are looking for Snake’s family. Snake joins him because Ciel is manipulating him here, telling him that Snake can essentially have a new family at the manor while looking for his old family.

I believe Doll is a big influence as to why Ciel makes this decision. 

Ciel sees Doll when he looks at Snake, which seems to be painful for Ciel. He then goes out of his way to affirm that they were, in fact, bad people (perhaps to justify his own actions in his mind) but then goes back on this and claims that he believes they were good people as to manipulate Snake.

He wants to help them achieve happiness and give them the chance to atone for their sins. The question is, is Ciel taking Snake in to atone for his own sins or to manipulate Snake?

Anyway, I’m getting sidetracked. A crucial character that is being played in this scene is of course, Doll. In every single memory that Snake shares, Doll is center frame, or the person who was closest to him.

Doll is either takes up the most space in the frame, or she’s the one who is standing closest to Snake. Not even Joker is this present in all of the images, but she is in all of them. While we didn’t see this much play out in the actual Book of Circus arc (given that Snake had very little screentime in that arc anyway), we can infer from these images that Snake felt the closest to Doll out of everyone at the Circus.

We also aren’t just seeing his actual memories normally, we are seeing his memories in an emotionally charged state. While he is feeling highly emotional, the person he thinks of the most is Doll. This is not just him remembering her as being the friendliest or most open person to him, this is who he was actually closest with within the Circus.

Doll’s relationship with both Snake and Ciel are very important parts of both of these characters. We see Ciel soften and feel guilt when he is reminded of Doll, and we see that Snake and Doll were presumably very close because of this scene.

Also just some fun images that I felt like pointing out:

Doll is featured in this image with one of Snake’s snakes. There isn’t much of a reason to feature one of these Snake’s snakes, unless we’re meant to infer a connection between these two.

I’m not quite sure where this image came from, but look! Doll and Snake are sitting next to each other, and Snake has a little smile on his face, which as we know isn’t very common for Snake in this series. There are very few instances of him smiling. However, this is obvious in the anime style so it likely isn’t manga compliant it’s cute though.

They’re featured together in another image!

Now for Doll and Ciel of course:

Doll and Ciel are seen here lying together.

These two images are very important to me and I feel they both hold a deeper meaning. Now it’s time to talk about Ciel and Doll.

Of course, there is the eye symbolism. Both of them keep an eye covered up, because both are hiding secrets that they need to keep covered up. Both wear a costume and live under a persona (Doll’s Circus persona that hides her identity of someone who kidnaps children and Ciel’s Smile persona where he is hiding his identity of the Queen’s watchdog). Yet, both of them are drawn to each other despite their secrets and form lasting connections.

We also see Ciel reaching out to Doll, and Sebastian taking the lollipop out of his hand. He is literally taking her away from him and blinding him from finding her. He is concealing the truth?

Despite what her family says, Doll refuses to believe that Ciel is with the yard.

She draws the parallels between herself and Ciel right here! She literally said it herself! Both of them are capable of holding secrets, and despite what appearances may suggest, people are still capable of hiding things. When she says “but we” she is acknowledging that appearances don’t always match expectations.

However, she still believes in him, up until the very end.

Even up until this point, she was still willing to listen to Ciel, and denies it until she can’t anymore. She reflects on their time together, having believed that their friendship was real.

Doll finally accepts it and feels hurt, betrayed and angry. She tries to kill him after this. Instead of anger, fear or hatred, this is the face we see Ciel make.

He looks sad and tired. This isn’t the face of someone who takes pleasure in the idea of killing her. We see him feel remorse for Doll even earlier, like I pointed out earlier in this scene

This scene is what compels him to take Snake in, being reminded of Doll. He looks sad here, he looks remorseful.

But most importantly, there is this image.

This takes place in the Green Witch arc, meaning that he is still thinking about Doll, she is still relevant up until this point in the story.

This image isn’t necessarily him leaving behind those who impacted his life who have since died, though that is certainly part of it. As we know, R!Ciel is still alive which O!Ciel at this point was not aware of. This picture does not reflect the complete truth.

His last obstacle could be interpreted as the Circus itself, but Doll and Joker aren’t positioned together like Rachel and Vincent are. Doll is a distance away from Joker in this image, and her image is a different size than Joker’s, implying that they are two completely different obstacles. In my opinion, Joker represents the Circus as a whole and himself. He represents all the sacrifices he had to make in Baron Kelvin’s manor. He could even represent his trauma while inside the cult.

But Doll is a completely different obstacle. She represents a personal obstacle. She seems to have impacted him greatly, being an influence in what compelled him to take Snake in. She is also one of the only people in this series we see Ciel feel remorse for. She is important.

At this point, this is supposed to give us the conclusion to all of these stories and ideas. But as highly speculated by the fandom (and practically canon) the first Ciel we see in the image is actually R!Ciel who O!Ciel left behind at the cult, who we know is still alive. The first greatest obstacle and his last greatest obstacle. That’s symbolism right there, right?

But I don’t believe that Snake’s story has concluded just yet. His family should still be a huge part of his character and his motivations. If his story isn’t leading up to something, than I think it’s going to be a rather poor choice on Yana Toboso’s part. But as we know, she doesn’t just do things for no reason, I believe that a lot of this was intentional.

TL;DR: Because Doll’s death is never specifically seen on screen, because Undertaker seems to purposefully mislead us after Doll’s death (and because of Undertaker’s presence in the first place), because the promise of looking for Snake’s family who is pivotal to Snake’s character, and because of the importance of Doll’s relationships with both O!Ciel and Snake, I believe that there is a chance that Yana Toboso is planning on bringing Doll back into the story.

This is all speculation, of course. I’d love for it to be true, but it is still rather dodgy given the fact that Doll hasn’t appeared in the Manga in twelve years. I could definitely just suffering from hopeful thinking, but I would love to see our girly make a return. Perhaps with R!Ciel? But the idea of her returning with R!Ciel is an idea for another day and I might make a separate post about it sometime! Thanks a bunch if you made it this far!