#but anyway this is the first time I ever drew him apologize that he don't look very alberu 😔

[zepskies]

Omg really? Wow, thank you so much. That's honestly amazing to me, considering this was one of the hardest for me to write in Smoke Eater. 💞

(But after reading your wonderful review, thank you for making me cry. 🥹💗💗)

First of all, please don't apologize for the heartfelt thoughts you want to share with me. No matter how long or short, I love hearing what you think about my writing, and this is genuinely one of the best reviews I've ever received, because I can tell it came from the heart.

What's crazy is my mom and I also used to watch Chicago Fire together when she was trying to recover from surgery (where she had terrible complications and wasn't well for a long time). It became her comfort show, and I was happy to introduce it to her/have that bonding time where it kept her from thinking about her pain. But I'm so glad you thought to come here to perk yourself up after a rewatch.

honestly I have so many thoughts for each wonderful chapter but I would feel super guilty for spamming :’) this chapter in particular though, hits me harder than anything i’ve ever read before — not in a bad way!🤍

lol girl that's the best kind of spamming. I'd never be upset with that! 😂 Oh good, I'm glad it doesn't hit in a bad way. I was concerned about that for readers when I was first posting this part of the story. 💙

my mom had epilepsy, and I was her caretaker pretty much my entire life. I connect so much with this story because it, feels like i’m reading a mirror, if that makes any sense at all. with all the doctors and the worrying, it’s written so authentically, which is understandable after reading your author’s note. i’m so sorry you’ve experienced such difficult hardships and losses yourself honey, I offer my sincere condolences. and i’m sending you the biggest hugs 🫂🤍🤍

I'm sending you the biggest hugs right back, friend. I'm so sorry about what your mom went through, and what you went through too. Being a caretaker is not easy. I've seen it enough in my family that that's what I drew from in order to write this, so I'm glad it felt authentic to your experience. 🫂💞

now these lines/parts specifically had me crying like a baby lol. december of 2021, my mom had to have surgery at the start of the month. her recovery was going a little slow, but well. however she passed away overnight, 2 days after christmas, completely unexpected. the day before she had been doing so well too— she had more energy and was more mobile without needing as much assistance. came to find out later that’s something nurses call a surge? :/ either way, those moments in particular really tugged at my heartstrings ❤️‍🩹

I'm so sorry for your loss, my friend. It is blind sighting when it comes so unexpected like that. I haven't shared this publicly, but something similar happened with my grandfather this past December. His health declined suddenly, to the point we had to take him to the hospital. After seeming to get better after a few days, he went downhill even harder, and he passed away in mid-December. It's not the same thing as your situation, but I understand the feeling of "why did this happen like this?" But now he's at peace with my grandma. And your mom is free from her pain and discomfort too. ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

this line too. I felt this way for so long after my mom died. I didn’t get the final cause for a while since she passed at home and not at a hospital, and to this day I wish I could go back. wish I could’ve done something different. but SUDEP (or, sudden unexpected death in epilepsy) is completely unpreventable so far. I just find it so cruel that this illness I spent my whole life helping her with, ended up taking her anyway and nothing I did mattered in the end. so reading that line, how she broke down, and everything she had been holding in, it really made my heart ache but I also felt less alone in a way.

And I'm sure you did everything you possibly could, just like the reader in this story. 💞 I didn't know about SUDEP, but I have a family member who takes medication for his epilepsy, so I'm going to be reading up on that. I'm so glad that this simple line made you feel less alone in any small way -- I also thought when I was writing that it not only fit what the character was going through, but that other people who've been caretakers for a family member like this would be able to identify with this feeling as well.

everything that followed, it’s like reading a reflection. I shutdown and just went through the motions afterwards too, but ohhh how nice it would’ve been to have a dean ❤️ his support, how he takes care of her, it’s so heartwarming. and it’s really comforting to read. <3

It's that awful "autopilot" thing that somehow allows us to get through the aftermath, in a way, right? If only we could all have a Dean to support us in those moments. Somehow, reading hurt/comfort fics help me feel better too though. 💓💓

a lot of my family distanced themselves afterwards which, it is what it is. that being said, the sentiment in this story of family isn’t always blood resonates with me a lot. my support system is really small, but they chose to be there for me unlike my blood relatives so, that theme in this story means so much — the way dean’s chosen family shows up for her as well, it’s so sweet. 💖

Ugh really? I'm sorry to hear that. 💙💙 But thank you for pointing that out -- that is the overarching theme of this story, a la SPN style. 🥹 Your chosen family can be just as powerful, if not more, than your blood family. And in this story, Dean's family is basically "adopting" the reader/you into it. 💕

I guess the gist of what i’m trying to say, is I wholeheartedly adore this series and it truly means so much to me 🤍 I appreciate your work so much, and I love the unique feeling each piece of your writing brings 💗💗 I know I may sound like a broken record but truly I don’t think I can ever put into words how much I love your blog. you are an absolute sweetheart, truly a light peeking out between cloudy skies 💞

Wow, I really did tear up of happiness. Thank you. 🥹🥹 I appreciate you right back for reading this story and connecting with it like you did. And I'm so glad that you enjoy my blog!! I've only been here on Tumblr for about 2 years actively, but connecting with people like you is what's keeping me here, and honestly gives me energy to write and express myself when I'm going through hard times.

This chapter specifically was very difficult for me to write for multiple reasons, as you saw in my AN, but again it makes me all the more grateful that this is the chapter you connect with the most. I'm very sorry for your loss though. I'm really touched that this story can give you some small comfort. 💞

(And no it's not too much. Thank YOU for taking the time to share this with me.)

Smoke Eater - Part 11

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 5,400 Tags/Warnings: Major angst warning. But also major hurt/comfort.

Part 11: “Heart of the Home”

You sat very still.

Your hands were gripped together in your lap when the doctor entered. He was tall and lean and blonde, and he would’ve reminded you of your boss, except this man had a kinder face.

You were sitting on the edge of your grandfather’s bed, hoping the doctor would say the bloodwork and scans came back fine. That they wouldn’t need to admit George into the hospital for further testing. That he could go home in the morning.

But your life had never been quite that easy.

“Okay, George. I’m sorry, but we need to admit you,” said the doctor.

He explained that while the malignant tumor of his cancer had been removed last year, the scans that had been done last month hadn’t been able to detect the bright spots now formed on George’s lungs and lymph nodes.

The oncologist would have to confirm, but you all knew where this was headed. Likely those “bright spots” were tumors.

George nodded slowly at first, taking it all in. He asked what his options were, as far as treatment.

“Your oncologist will go over those options with you,” the doctor replied. “We’re going to move you up to Oncology shortly.”

George thanked him.

And you sat very still. 

A hand fell on your arm, finally earning your gaze. George’s face was oddly calm, though the worry in his eyes was for you. You realized that he’d gently called your name, though you hadn’t heard him. Your ears were ringing.

His mouth parted to tell you something, but nothing came out. So instead, he tugged you into his arms, and he heaved a long sigh.

“I guess we’re here again,” he admitted. He let out a chuckle. “The Lord does like his tests…but maybe that car accident was a blessing in disguise, huh?”

You heard his voice, but your mind was buzzing—mainly with the doctor’s words, and with a bone-deep feeling that threatened to consume you.

Your car, your fault. Options, again. Here again.

Your fault.

When you didn’t answer, George pulled away a bit to give you a questioning look.

“Sweetheart?” he tried. You laid a hand on his arm.

“You still haven’t eaten dinner, have you?” you asked. Neither had you, for that matter. “I’ll get us something that isn’t rubbery turkey.”

George blinked at you, confused, with a growing edge of worry.

“Isn’t Dean getting your meds? Why don’t you wait for him to—”

“I’m fine,” you said, already getting up to grab your purse. “I’ll be back.”

George called your name again, but the ringing in your ears was now pulsing in time with your heartbeat.

You made your way down the hall to the lobby at a brusque clip, even with your neck brace on. You didn’t see Dean, but he certainly saw you as he was walking back into the hospital. Frowning, he followed and called out to you.

You slowed when you saw him, and he soon caught up with you. He rested a hand on your back.

“Hey, where you goin’?" he asked.

“We haven’t eaten in a while. I’m going to the cafeteria,” you said. Though you seemed distracted, your eyes meeting his only briefly. It triggered a small spidey sense running up Dean’s spine.

He gave you your prescription pain medication, which you took with a small “thank you.”

“Everything okay?” he asked. “How’s George doing?”

“Fine. He’s resting,” you said. And by the look of you, that seemed to be true. But he spotted the tremble in your hands when you took the pill bottle package from him. It made him stop you when you tried to keep walking down to the cafeteria.

“Okay, you wanna run that by me again?” Dean asked.

You frowned, and your brows knit together. “What?”

“Is there something going on?” he pressed.

You sighed, but you didn’t answer him. You looked exhausted, and like you’d rather swallow your own tongue than speak. You shook your head and laid a hand on his wrist.

“I’m fine. Dean, thank you for everything you did tonight, but you still have to work tomorrow. Go home, get some rest,” you said.

You turned from him again. That was your first mistake. He reached out and grasped your hand to stop you.

“Hey, wait a minute,” he said.

“What?” you said in irritation. Your second mistake was not being able to look at him.

Dean was frowning in earnest now. Worry clawed in his gut, which was also telling him not to let you walk away from him. His grip shifted to hold both of your arms and move directly in front of you. He dipped his chin, trying to get you to meet his eyes.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said gently. “I need you to talk to me.”

You inhaled a shuddering breath. A wave was rising inside you, threatening to pull you into its undertow. Your eyes burned, red and shining. Dean finally saw it when you raised your head, what little you could. Your mouth began to quiver, looking into his eyes. And it was done.

You could no longer be still.

Dean held you when you fell apart in the hallway.

Dean called out of work the next day to stay with you and George. Gordon would be acting Lieutenant until his next shift, and Dean was sure the man would take full enjoyment out of it.

He couldn’t care about that right now though. He felt that his place was here, being your quiet wall of support while you and George and the oncologist talked about treatment options.

“Normally, at the stage we’re in, I would be recommending chemotherapy,” said Dr. Benton.

“Normally?” you echoed.

“At the rate this is progressing, the treatment would have to be aggressive,” he said. His gaze focused on George. “However, at your age, and the current state of your overall health…at this point, I don’t think the rigors of treatment would be worth diminishing your quality of life.”

“What are you saying?” you asked. Your voice cut like a whip, earning the other men’s gazes.

George was the first one to lay a hand on your arm. “You know what it means, honey…he’s saying it ain’t worth it.”

“Of course, it’s worth it,” you retorted. With your brows furrowed and lips pursed, your eyes went from him to the doctor. “Just because he’s older, we shouldn’t even try? Is that what you’re saying, doctor?”

At that, even Dean drew closer to lay a hand on your back. Meanwhile, George squeezed your arm.

Benton shook his head gravely. “That’s certainly not what I’m saying.”

“How much time would I get, if I started treatment,” George asked, before you could volley further with the doctor.

Benton met the other man’s gaze.

“I’m going to be honest with you, George. You may get a few more weeks, or even a few months. But that is a best-case scenario.”

Dean drove you all home that day, after George decided to formally waive treatment. Both men knew you were angry in your silence, but neither one wanted to press you. Dean was too wary, and George was too tired.

Once he was settled in bed, you hadn’t even left his room yet before you grabbed a notepad off his desk and wandered into the hall. You started to make a list of things you still needed from the grocery store, among other things. Dean took that piece of paper out of your hands.

“Good. I’ll handle this,” he said. “Meanwhile, you can get upstairs, take a shower, take your meds, and get some sleep.” 

You frowned at him. “You haven’t slept either, Dean.”

“I’m used to it,” he said, giving you a wink and a slight smile. Overnight shifts could be a bitch at a firehouse, but Dean was no stranger to having his sleep interrupted.

“Listen to him, honey. He’s speaking sense,” George called from inside his room. The bedroom door was still open. He was settling into his bed while trying to stifle a cough. He sipped at a cup of water you’d brought for him.

Still, you looked reluctant. Dean held your arms and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Come on,” he said. “You were in an accident yesterday. You’ve had one hell of a night. You need your rest, or you’ll be no good to anyone.”

And if you pushed yourself much more, he worried that he’d have to take you right back to the hospital. Dean would rather not have that scare so close to the last one.

He brushed your cheek with gentle fingers. With the limited mobility your neck brace provided, you did your best to look up at him. Your eyes were softer.

“Okay,” you breathed.

“Okay? All right, good,” Dean said. You held onto his jacket for a moment, leaning against him.

“Thank you,” you whispered. You felt the burn of tears behind your closed eyelids. A few of them squeezed past and slipped down your cheeks. Dean held your face, brushing the tears away with his thumbs.

“Hey, I’m here, all right? Just let me help you,” he said. “You can lean on me when you need to.”

“I haven’t had that in a long time,” you admitted. “Part of me doesn’t know how to lean.”

“I get that,” Dean said. But you both knew that there was a long and difficult road ahead. He knew he didn’t have to remind you of it. “Whatever you need, you just tell me, okay? If nothing else, I’ve got a strong pair of shoulders.”

Somehow, you smiled. You pressed your forehead against his chest and inhaled deeply, to steady yourself.

“That you do, Lieutenant.”

You left for your room soon after, but not before you brought him down to you for one more tearful kiss.

Dean then watched you climb up the stairs to your room and nearly went up to help you, but he heard George call his name. Dean ventured back into George’s room and heeded his beckoning hand.

“You hungry? I can scramble some eggs or something before I hit the store. I think I saw two more left in the carton,” Dean said. George shook his head.

“Come ‘ere a sec.”

Dean took the hint and sat on the edge of the bed.

“I just wanna thank you for everything you did yesterday. Everything you’re still doing for us,” George said. He looked exhausted, but whatever he wanted to say was important enough to fight off sleep. He clasped a hand on Dean’s arm.

“You don’t have to,” Dean replied.

George huffed. A smile made his eyes gleam brighter.

“I knew you were a special one, Dean Winchester. Knew it the night I met ya, on your very first date with her.”

Dean blinked, but his pause drifted into a reserved smile.

“How’s that?” he asked.

“Well, I’ll be honest. When I heard that black Chevy rumble like hell’s wheels onto the driveway, I thought I might have to worry about you,” George chuckled.

Dean’s lips quirked.

“But no, it wasn’t that. It wasn’t the pretty flowers, or our mutual love of killer sharks,” George quipped, making Dean’s smile more genuine. “It isn’t your job either, or the fact that you saved her. I just believe that you can see a man’s mettle in his eyes…and I saw it in you when I shook your hand that night.”

Dean took that in for a moment. His hand flexed over his knee. Then he met George’s gaze, though he didn’t know what to say. Sometimes though, honestly was the best bet.

“I’m sorry for what you’re going through,” he said at last. “I can’t imagine…”

George let out a breath through his nose. “I’ll tell you a secret.”

He pointed to a picture frame on his bedside. It was of him and his wife, Sophie, when they were around your age and Dean’s. The couple were sitting on a pier that hung over the edge of the lake in their hometown.

She held him from behind, with her arms wrapped around his neck. Her long hair was being carried by the wind, getting swept into George’s eyes. He was smiling too hard to care.

“I’m ready to smile like that again,” he said. He had tears in his eyes, but he was already lighter at the thought. “I know it’s selfish…but I think I’ve missed her long enough.”

Dean paused. Then he cleared his throat past a small well of something he couldn’t name. He wondered if his dad ever had thoughts like that.

“Well, I’ll let you get your rest,” he said. “I’ll be back.”

George nodded and gave Dean’s arm a squeeze. “All right. Drive safe. Don’t hit any goddamn trees.”

He shot Dean a knowing wink, and it almost had the younger man laughing. George’s sense of humor was something else.

Dean then left George to rest. He made sure he had his wallet, keys, and your grocery list before he left your house and went back to the car. He checked his phone and saw a missed call…from Cas.

Dean was reminded again about Azazel, the kingpin who might’ve ordered a hit on his family. Along with the recent murders and arsons, and the connection from one of the victims to your company, Savage & Co.

Dean returned the call as he climbed into the Impala.

“Dean. Everything all right?” Cas asked. “Sam filled me in about the accident.”

“Yeah, everyone’s okay…well, not really. I’ll explain later,” Dean replied. “Listen, about what we talked about at the bar.”

“Yes.” Cas said gravely. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go to your father about this yet.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing.” Dean sighed. “My girl just got some real bad news. I know you gotta keep digging into Savage & Co., but can you keep her out of it?”

“Is she all right?”

“Yeah, more or less…it’s her grandfather.”

“Ah, I see,” Cas said. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks, man. I’d rather her just focus on what she needs to do right now, you know?”

“I get it. And believe me, we’re keeping the investigation of Nick Savage quiet for now,” Cas said. “But if we find something, or worse, if I can’t…I’ll likely need to question her. She works directly with Savage, and from what I can tell, she’s instrumental in bringing in and maintaining several of his major accounts.”

Dean stopped at a red light and took a moment to rub a hand over his tired face, rubbing his eyes. “You don’t really think she’s got any idea of what that asshole’s into.”

“I’m not saying she does. But in working so closely with him, perhaps she’s noticed things about her boss, and the company. Things she’s kept to herself, out of self-preservation.”

Dean frowned. He didn’t want to think about shit like that. It made his stomach churn at the thought of you working for someone who might be doing business with a crime lord, let alone Azazel.

“Well, when that day comes, give me a heads up, okay?”

“Will do.”

“Thanks, Cas.”

Dean offered to take another day off to help you, but you wouldn’t let him. He needed to go back to work, and you were able to arrange working from home for the next few weeks.

Even Nick couldn’t refuse to accommodate you in a situation like this. He knew very well that if he pushed you too hard, you’d go directly to HR.

So he backed off, and told you to take as much time at home as you needed. It allowed you to put him, and that afternoon in his office, away from your mind to focus on taking care of your grandfather.

Though you called your best friend the day you got home from the hospital, Andréa didn’t come by your house to see you and George until the end of the week. She cited mounting projects at work and some kind of tiff with her cousin Meg, but it all sounded like excuses to you.

However, she was gracious enough to bring dinner for the three of you on a Friday night. She cut up with George like normal, and even got him laughing, until a coughing fit forced him to stop. It also took most of the joy out of the rest of the evening.

While George went up to his room to rest, Andréa later joined you in the kitchen. You were washing the dishes, trying to focus on what you were doing. But your mind was buzzing continuously with future tasks and worries. Always, tasks and worries.

“How are you holding up?” Andréa asked. She rubbed your back, and you gave her a slight smile.

“All I can do is make him comfortable, for as long as possible,” you replied. There were tears in your friend’s eyes, but she dabbed them away with the back of her hand.

“What do you need? Anything, you just tell me,” she said.

It was a little easier for you to contemplate leaning on Andréa. You had been friends with her for years, and she was like another daughter to George.

On the other hand, asking Dean for help always made you hesitate. What you two had was still so new. You worried that this was too much for your relationship, too fast. 

“Well,” you sighed as you wiped your hands dry on a kitchen towel. You didn’t exactly want to talk about it, but there were things you had to start planning, even if you didn’t know the exact timeframe.

However, as soon as you opened your mouth to reply, Andréa’s cell phone rang. She held up a finger to you and checked it. To your surprise, she actually answered it.

“Hey, babe,” she replied with a smile. You heard Benny’s deep voice on the line, asking a question. “Yeah, I’m still here. I’m probably leaving soon though.”

She continued her conversation for a few more minutes, but you didn’t hear anything after that. A tension headache was sharp behind your eyes, while anger (yes, anger) rolled hot under your skin. Your lips pursed. You busied yourself with straightening up the kitchen until she continued her call for another few minutes.

“Sorry about that,” she said, finally turning her attention back to you. “So what do you need?”

You put away the last dry dish and turned to her coolly.

“Nothing.”

Andréa frowned. She knew there was something off with you, but her furrowed brows betrayed her confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” you repeated. “Don’t you need to head out, anyway?”

“No, I was just…what’s up with you?” she asked.

“What’s up with me is my grandfather’s dying!” you snapped. You left her in the kitchen, precisely so that she’d follow you out. You grabbed her purse for her and went to the front door, where you stepped out.

Andréa was dismayed and confused as she followed you out onto the porch. She raised her brows at you when you shut the door and crossed your arms at her.

“I know you, and this isn’t just about that. What’s the problem?” she asked.

“You can’t seem to detach from your boyfriend for more than five minutes to just be my friend. That’s the problem,” you replied. “But why should I be surprised? Like always, you’re too wrapped up in yourself to consider anyone else.”

Her brows knitted together; she looked hurt by your words, but also defensive.

“How can you say that when you’ve been exactly the same way?” she accused. “Since you met Dean, I’d be lucky to see you once a week—”

“I call you every week,” you began, counting the list with your fingers. “You’re always busy, but you never give me a day that works for you. And when we do make plans, you usually cancel. Why? Because you’re going sailing with Benny. You’re going to a restaurant, hours away, just to try the new sushi bar beer garden, or whatever the hell. Or you’re going on an impromptu road trip, or you’re planning a summer trip to Greece. Give me fucking break, Dre.”

By now she was frowning angrily, her arms crossed. “You’re mad at me because I have a life?”

“No. I’m happy for you that you found someone. I really am,” you said. “But we clearly live in two different versions of reality. I just don’t have the time or the energy to entertain yours.”

You knew you were being too harsh. You felt incredible guilt as soon as it all left your mouth…but part of you also felt like a weight had been lifted off your chest. The problem was, you still felt heavy. Just in a different way.

Both of you were crying when Andréa left your house.

All too soon, a week became a month. In that time, Dean called you every day to check on you. He spent most of his evenings with you and George when he wasn’t on shift. And when he was, sometimes Meg would drop in.

She understood your argument with Andréa, and she respected you for taking a stand when you needed to. She even confided you that she’d had similar frustrations with her cousin lately.

But Meg wasn’t your only visitor. Ellen had come a few times to bring you lunch and dinner, even breakfast, though you hadn’t asked her to. You realized then how close Dean must be to his friends at the firehouse, along with the Harvelles; Ellen also refused to take any money from you for the food.

By the end of the month, George mainly spent his days sleeping. Pain medication made his days nearly painless, but not without struggle. You were doing your best to care for him while continuing to work full-time from home. You were also exhausted, though you refused to admit it.

Today was a better day, however, because George was awake. He was also more aware of his surroundings than usual.

He stopped you from adjusting his pillow so you would sit down on the edge of his bed. He took your hand in his, brushing a thumb over the back of it.

“I’m okay with this, you know,” he said. You pursed your lips, but he stopped you from whatever you were going to say. “I don’t want to leave you. You know that…but I’m so damn proud of you. Your Gram was, and still is…”

Your lower lip wobbled as you tried and failed to keep your tears at bay. They stung in your eyes and slipped past your defenses, down your face.

“The house is yours. But if that’s too hard for you, just sell it,” he said, heaving a deep breath. “It’s just the bones. You’re the heart. And you always have been.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but not a sound would come out. You held his hand with both of yours and stared down at them. Until his voice once again commanded your attention.

“I always thought…moving to the city ruined my daughter. That we should’ve stayed in Lebanon. That maybe I gave her too much freedom, and I failed her somehow along the way,” George said. His eyes were heavy with old heartache. And yet, they soon began to lighten.

“But the day we lost a daughter, we gained one too,” he said. Then, he chuckled a little. “And I know I never failed with you, sweetheart.”

That proved to be too much for you. He pulled you into his arms like you were still a child, and he held you for a long time while you cried yourself out.

Though he eventually spotted Dean hesitating in the doorway. He’d probably let himself in with the spare key you’d given him.

George raised a hand from your back and silently beckoned Dean inside his room. He was getting tired, drifting off thanks to the morphine.

“Hey, lookie there. The boyfriend’s here,” George whispered with a bit of cheek. You sucked in a breath and raised your head, wiping at your eyes before you turned around. Dean met you with an attempt at a smile and a gentle hand on your back.

“Just got out of work?” you asked. He’d been on a 24-hour shift, and you’d missed him. You stood and stepped into his welcoming embrace. He dropped a kiss on your forehead.

“Yeah. I’ve got the next couple of days off,” Dean said. He greeted George next and asked him if he needed anything.

“Just some water,” the older man replied.

“I’ll get it,” you said with a sniff. “Need to start dinner too.”

“I already brought some food. You like Italian, right?” Dean said, with a subtle smile. It earned your sigh and a grateful smile. He knew very well that it was now one of your favorites. Italian meatballs always reminded you both of your first date.

“Thank you,” you said, grasping his hand. He squeezed yours with a nod, before he let you go.

When you were out of earshot, George cleared his throat past a wet cough. Dean reached over and grabbed him a tissue. George took it with a nod. Again, he encouraged Dean to come closer.

“I’m not worried,” George said, between deep breaths. “You know why?”

Dean just stared back for a moment. He genuinely had no idea what the man might say next.

“Tell me,” he said.

“My granddaughter’s strong. Always has been, because she had to be,” said George. “But you’re gonna be there when she’s not.”

Dean considered the weight of that charge. The anxiety in his chest felt familiar; like the day he got his badge at the Fire Academy, knowing then the responsibility he held in his hands.

That’s a lot to put on just three months of knowing this girl, came a more selfish thought. It sounded a lot like the guy he used to be, not too long before he met you.

But when Dean thought about you, and what you’d begun to mean to him…

He realized that he only had one answer.

“Yes, sir. I am,” said Dean.

George gave a tired smile. “Good man.”

And that night, an agreement was made. 

In the morning, your grandfather was gone.

Dean held you through what he thought was the worst of your heartbreak. But after that dour morning, it was like a switch flipped inside you.

In the days after George’s death, your shutters came up. You threw yourself into checklists and task after task—in funeral arrangements and planning and contacting distant relatives and friends.

This was your failsafe. Your version of “autopilot.” And these things needed to get done, after all.

But Dean worried when he no longer saw the softer side of you. Like your heart had been wrung dry. 

He inevitably had to go back to work, but in between the demanding hours of his schedule, he tried to get you to slow down. He saw the warning signs of you running yourself into the ground. He just didn’t know how to help you land.

So Dean picked up slack where he saw it, often without you asking him to. He began fixing the house, one section at a time. He enlisted Benny’s help, since he actually had a small construction business. Dean even paid for the materials himself without you knowing.

And one sunny afternoon, he took a break from repaving part of the cracked and uneven driveway to grab a beer inside. You were sitting at the kitchen table with stacks of papers all around you, your cellphone on speaker as some kind of elevator music continued to ring on a loop.

“Can you believe I’ve been on hold with the funeral director for 20 minutes?” you told him in irritation. But you didn’t truly take sight of him until he came back from the kitchen.

He wore a familiar ensemble of jeans and black undershirt with a plaid shirt, rolled up to his elbows. He was covered in a fine layer of sweat, and his hands were dusty and stained from his work on the driveway. Dean looked tired, and that made you feel guilty.

Meanwhile, he frowned and popped open a beer. “You want one of these? Looks like you could use one.”

You shook your head. With a sigh, you hung up the phone. You’d try calling again later. Instead, you focused on the next item of your checklist for today.

“Food. Because we’re gonna need to eat after the service,” you inclined your head. “Okay, still need to come up with a list of caterers, because I don’t think I can cook for that many people.”

Dean nodded at that. “Let me talk to Ellen. She’ll give you a good price, and her food is good.”

You looked up from your notepad and considered him thoughtfully. You wouldn’t have thought to cater from a bar, but he was right. Ellen had great food at the Roadhouse.

“Okay, I’ll call her,” you said.

“No, I’ll call her,” Dean insisted. He set down the beer on the table and leaned his palms flat on its surface. “Sweetheart, I told you I’d help you with all this. You don’t have to do it by yourself.”

“Dean, you’ve done enough,” you replied. Your brows drew together stubbornly. “You’re paving my driveway right now, for God’s sake! This is my responsibility, not yours.”

Dean frowned, making you sigh. You leaned back in your seat and crossed your arms.

“Look, we’ve only been dating for three months,” you said. And in your mind, a good chunk of that time had been spent in the worst hell of your life. “This right here? It’s a lot. I’m not expecting you to deal with all this…”

You bit your lip, and your gaze fell away from his as your insecurities took hold. The thoughts that had been plaguing you every night since this all began, on the night of the car accident.

“And…if you’d rather take a break from us for a while, I’d understand,” you said.

Your voice was more collected than you felt. But that didn’t make it any easier when Dean stared back at you, mostly incredulous. You even thought you saw a thread of hurt there, and it made your heartache worsen.

Dean came around to your side of the table. He dragged a chair back and sunk into it, facing you directly.

“You think that’s the kind of guy I am?” he asked.

You immediately shook your head. You weren’t trying to upset him, or imply that he wasn’t reliable, or trustworthy, or whatever was running through his head. You were just trying to be realistic.

You’re so pragmatic it hurts, as Andréa had often told you.

“Dean, it’s not that…” you began, a bit helplessly. “I just—”

“Just, nothin’.” His chair scraped toward you as he reached out for your hand. He made sure you looked him in the eyes when he said this next part. 

“I’m not leaving you with this.”

Your gaze met his, though you desperately tried to keep your heart from rising into your throat. 

“I’m not leaving you,” Dean said. His tone, his eyes, his hold on your hand was firm.

For a moment, you stared at him, unblinking, even as tears swam in your eyes. 

He’s not leaving you. 

Not like everyone else in your life.

You were grateful. Too grateful, even, for words.

When you finally broke down into tears, Dean realized what an idiot he’d been. Your wall of stoicism had been just that—a flimsy wall. Now it was shattered, and so were you.

It scared him just how much, as he gathered you onto his lap and into his arms. You didn’t seem to care that he was dirty and covered with sweat. You clung to him strong, and he held you back just as tightly.

“No matter what I did, it wasn’t enough,” you confessed. “You save people all the time. I couldn’t save anyone in my life.”

Dean frowned. He cupped the back of your head, and he felt your tears sliding down his neck. His voice was thick with emotion when he was able to reply.

“Oh, baby. It’s not your fault.”

“I can’t…I can’t do anything. Anything that matters.” Your voice was a broken whisper. It damn near broke his heart. 

“Now you know that’s not true,” he said. “I’m not gonna let you lie to yourself like that.”

You trembled and heaved with sobs, and he continued to hold you.

Just be there, Sam had told him, when Dean had called him from the hospital. Sam reminded him again last week, when George finally passed.

Is that all I’m supposed to do? Dean thought. His brows furrowed, but he tried to hide his frustration.

He was used to people depending on him. He led a team. Before then, he’d looked out for Sam all his life. Dean had never had to help someone get through this kind of grief though. He just wanted to help you, in whatever way he could.

Because he was worrying, just like you. That whatever he did, it wouldn’t be enough.

But he couldn’t leave you. 

I can’t, and I won’t, he thought. So he took a breath, and he said the first true thing that came to mind.

“You’re the strongest woman I know, you know that?” Dean said. He spoke low and steady, but with the conviction he felt. “And that’s a tall order, considering some of the badass ladies I’ve got in my life.”

A smile tugged at his lips when he considered people like Ellen and Jo, Jody and Donna. He might’ve lost his mom, but he and Sam hadn’t lacked when it came to influential women in their lives.

“But I saw it the day we met. I see it every time we’re together,” he continued. “You work hard as hell. You take care of everyone around you…”

You were still quiet, trying to stifle your crying.

Dean let out a breath. “Man, if you only knew how much you’ve been helping me. Keeping my damn feet on the ground with this whole…arsonist mess my dad’s been investigating. Digging up the past, my mom, the whole damn thing.”

With a sniffle, you uncurled from him, just enough to reveal your face. Your grip on his shirt loosened, your palm flattening on his chest. He held your hand there and turned his lips to your forehead. He sensed that you were calming down. That you were listening.

“That matters to me,” he told you.

You nodded and tightened your hand on his. “Me too.”

Your voice was still shaky, but it sounded a little stronger.

“See? You might as well face it.” Dean grinned. “You’re a badass chick with a big heart.”

You snorted in response. Your lips even twitched at a smile. He spied it when he looked down at you. And you rested easier against him as your tears subsided.

“Thank you,” you whispered. He dried your cheek with a brush of his hand. 

“For what?” he asked.

“For staying.”

AN: So first off, I'm sorry for the gritty "reality" of this one. It's just where the story took me, though it serves a purpose narratively and for both the reader and Dean's character development.

But also, I think this has just been on my mind, since both my grandmother and great uncle (brother and sister) died within a year of one another due to different forms of cancer. My great uncle passed in May of this year, and my grandmother two years this past October.

Again, I'm sorry if this one was too heavy, but art does imitate life and this was probably my brain trying to express those emotions I couldn't fully make sense of at the time. George will be missed, but will still be felt in the rest of this story, as I'm sure any of you who've lost close family members will understand. 💙

Next Time:

The identity of Azazel will finally be revealed in Part 12. But first...

You nodded. “By the way, it was nice of Sam and Eileen to come. And Meg and Cas.” 

Dean smiled.

“They can be your people too,” he said. “If you want ‘em to be.”

You couldn’t help it. Your tears brewed and bubbled over. And you moved slowly across the couch to twine your arms around his neck. Dean’s lips tugged at a smile, and he welcomed you with an arm wrapping around your waist.

Both of you were still wearing the same clothes you’d been wearing all day; you in your black dress and Dean in his slacks and white buttoned-down shirt, though by now without the jacket, and the shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

You were infinitely exhausted. But one thing had become clear to you over the past few weeks.

“Thank you. Thank you for today, and for every day since we met,” you said shakily.

Keep Reading: PART 12

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

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[apieceofcrew02]

Alberu when Cale told him yet another batshit insane plan but it's beneficial for the kingdom:

[enchantedchocolatebars]

Witte Solstice - Chapter 31

Cover art by @leespinoodle.

Fic written by me (enchantedchocolatebars) and @leespinoodle.

Summary: It's winter in the Boiling Isles, and Caleb prepares to celebrate the solstice with his wife, his friends… and hopefully, with Beardo Philip! Philip swears he'll never partake in the satanic holidays of those demonic witches. But when Caleb invites him over for the solstice… maybe he'll find himself making an exception.

Ao3 version

(AAA, LAST CHAPTER!! I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS STORY IS GOING TO BE OVER AFTER THIS!!! 😭 😭 😭 Thank you to everyone who took the time to read it, and a special thanks to @leespinoodle for being my companion throughout this writing journey! I highly recommend checking out their works since they're a really talented writer. This story, in particular, will always mean a lot to me since it's my first ever completed collaborative fic with a friend. I'll always go back and reread it whenever I can. But anyway, yeah! Hope everyone has a Happy New Year + a flourishing 2025! I'm defo going to be taking a small break after this (TIRED), but expect to see more fics, fic requests, headcanons, written works, etc. from me in the future. I'LL ALSO BE GETTING TO THE ASKS IN MY INBOX!)

Enjoy!

Soft golden light arose in the sky the next morning as Beardo Philip gently stirred in his sleep.

When he awoke, he let out a longish yawn, sitting up in bed to stretch his arms.

His blue eyes soon began to survey the spare room he was in, recalling a few of the events from yesterday.

Philip remembers having spoken to Caleb, as well as being led into this room after their talk.

Fables such as "The Ant and the Grasshopper" and "The Lion and the Mouse" were also fresh in his mind... for some odd reason.

Slipping out of the quilt that covered him, Philip headed to the door.

...

Caleb sat at the kitchen table, nursing a hot whiskey tonic. He looked up as Philip stepped out of the spare room. "Good morning," he said softly. "How are you feeling? I'd imagine you have quite the headache."

The second Caleb said that, Philip felt the pain in his head return.

"Ugh, don't remind me...," he calmly groaned, taking a seat at the table. "I'm fine, by the way. Slept fairly well. You?"

"I barely slept a wink," Caleb admitted. "The last of the guests left shortly after dawn, so I just laid down for a bit before getting up to make myself a tonic. Would you like one?"

Philip gave a slow, restful nod. "A tonic sounds fine. Is it feasible for you to make tea as well?" he requested.

"Of course." Caleb stood to set a kettle on the stove. "Anything to eat? We have bread and pottage from yesterday's supper."

"I'll have bread," Philip calmly spoke to Caleb as he tried piecing together the sober apology he was planning on making to the elder.

In his mind, it was long overdue.

Once the tea and tonic were done, Caleb brought them over to the table, along with a loaf of bread and a knife. "Here you are. Something on your mind?"

"Thank you." With breakfast now in his possession, Philip took hold of the wooden teacup, curling his fingers around the handle as he brought it to his lips, blowing the steam that arose from the liquid.

After a long sip, he released a breath.

The tea was black and plain, just how he liked it.

He set the cup down.

Philip was unprepared for Caleb's question.

It was evident to the elder that there was something on his mind.

"Hm?!" Philip went, quickly shifting his gaze to his teacup as he saw his reflection ripple through the liquid like little waves until it stilled.

He soon sighed, looking up at Caleb with regretful eyes.

"It's just..." Philip sighed once more. "I'm… I'm sorry, Caleb. For yesterday. I... very much regret not making a genuine arrival to your party. And..." Philip drew a long, deep breath and let it out.

"... I apologize for not visiting you often. I know that Yule is over, but I had a gift that I wanted to give you. I'm not sure if it'll mean much now."

"A gift? You didn't have to bring me a gift. You know that spending time together would have been enough of a gift for me," Caleb said, sitting back down.

Philip nodded. "I understand. However, I still wish to give you what I made. It's something I know you'll find fetching. View it as a humble apology gift from me to you. Would you mind opening your hands up?"

Caleb tilted his head questioningly but held out his hands.

Reaching a hand into his pocket, Philip pulled out his gift and placed it into Caleb's hands.

Caleb held a cute, delicately painted carving of a small yellow duckling with an orange bill and black eyes that had white pupils within his palms.

The bill was meticulously crafted to make the duck look cheerful.

As a small gag, the duck's lively aura is complimented by a single squeaky noise that acts as a quack.

Caleb gently cradled the wooden duckling in his hands, marveling at the craftsmanship. He smiled softly. "Thank you, Philip. It's lovely."

With closed eyes, Philip returned Caleb's expression as he felt the heavy burden of shame and regret that he once felt lifted from his back by his brother's smile. "You're quite welcome." He soon opened his eyes.

"Also, Caleb, if it's not too much trouble, could you let your cardinal know that I offer my deepest apologies to him? Admittingly, I wasn't the kindest to young Pancake the other day."

"That's not his... Alright, I'll let him know," Caleb said.

…

After breakfast had concluded, Beardo Philip was ready to return to his cave.

He smiled a small, somewhat gloomy smile.

"I... guess this is goodbye then...," Philip spoke as he sighed, his tone soft and tender as he turned to face Caleb while standing near the front door, now dressed in his blue coat.

The brunette did his best to avoid sounding too down about his departure.

Caleb reached out to pull Philip into a hug. "Remember, you're always welcome here. Don't be a stranger, now."

Philip's smile went soft as he hugged his brother back, happy to be in his caring and kind embrace. "I'll make sure to remember that, Caleb Clawthorne."

[nethhiri]

Part 6

Warnings: Sex

Kamazo spoke more often to you over the course of the next few weeks. It wasn't much more often, but it was something, mostly small courtesies like "hello", "goodbye", and "thanks". He never answered your questions, never explained himself. It was more like he didn't know the answers rather than purposefully avoiding the questions, although some of it was definitely avoidance. When he was feeling particularly chatty, he would ask what you would like to eat. You were still confused on your role with him and what you were to him, but you learned not to dwell on it. You were feeling better than you had ever felt. You were never hungry. You had never had any fat on your body and this was the most filled out you had ever been. You actually had energy for once in your life and had enough meat on your bones to keep you warm at night. It was wonderful. 

Whenever Kamazo came back from his excursions, you were waiting for him patiently. You took his scythes from him and cleaned them. You helped him take his hair down and brush it out. You helped him disrobe and clean the blood spots from his tanned skin. If you had gone with him, you would do the same thing when you both returned to wherever you were staying at the time. The only difference between whether you went with him or not was where he fucked you. If you went with him, he didn't wait until you were back. He took you in any semi-secluded spot he could find. He always had this wild look in his eyes whenever he killed and it only dissipated after he manhandled you. And even though he was rough with you then, afterwards he was gentle, apologetic you might think. 

Kamazo started bringing you more than just clothes and small trinkets. He caught you drawing your little mouse sculpture in the dirt while you were waiting for him once, so he brought you back a small bundle of papers and some charcoal. When you ran out of those, he brought you a few paints and some more paper. Sometimes he sat beside you and watched. To show your gratitude, you made a small picture of him. That was the first time he truly got angry with you, and the first time he spoke more than a few words at a time. Kamazo made it clear that you were never to depict his face or anything about him ever again. It scared you. He scared you.

You didn't get gifts for some time after that, but when you did, they were even nicer. Kamazo had even drawn a little mouse on the top of the next bundle of papers gave to you as a semi-apology, or that's how you interpreted it anyway. He knew how much you treasured the little mouse he had given you. He seemed to especially like when you sat at the table and drew as he prepared dinner or when he pulled you into his lap and watched over your shoulder as you drew. This was one of those nights. You were comfortably in his lap with a full stomach, balancing your precious few papers on your knee while you sketched. The small square canvas filled up with little doodles of mice. You bounced slightly as Kamazo let out an amused sigh, almost a chuckle.

"Mice?"

"I like them." You said your thoughts aloud. "Quiet. Small. Unassuming. Like me."

"Hm."

"Yes?" 

You were surprised he said anything at all. 

"You're not a mouse."

"No?"

"You're a sparrow: resilient, adaptable, loyal."

You had nothing to say. He really thought that of you? You leaned back and rested your head on his shoulder to look at him. You liked when he was like this. His blue eyes were calm and held some unexplainable melancholy. The darkness wasn't in him then. Without thinking, you leaned in and kissed him. Maybe it was the blue of his eyes that had grown to be familiar or maybe it was the words you took to be kindness. 

"I- I don't know why- sorry."

He looked just about as shocked as you did. You hastily put your papers together and grabbed your drawing tools before getting out of his lap. It was time for bed anyway. Neither of you spoke another word about it, not then and not for the next fews days either. You continued to be his shadow, hiding while he went off to do his work. Sometimes it wasn't so much hiding as it was just sitting somewhere quiet and waiting for him to return. In the meantime you would keep yourself occupied with your art. He even let you have the small blade on occasion, just in case you needed to defend yourself. Then, when he returned, you would show him what you made. That usually happened after he had taken you, when the darkness subsided. You hadn't always shown him. One day he wanted to see, so you kept showing him from then on, excited that he wanted to see your art. 

When he returned, it was still dark, but you could tell, even in the low light, that he was covered in blood, more blood than a simple wash basin could handle. He had left you to sit under a tree. You were outside the town again, heading north. You got up from your huddled position. It was beginning to get cold, especially frigid at night. Kamazo led you back to your current camp to pack it up, then brought you further into the forest. Shortly after, you came upon a natural hot spring.

Without a word, Kamazo stripped down and got into the water. As you were accustomed to, you started cleaning his blades, painfully aware of how many times your eyes clung to his muscular back. After the first time he fucked you, the first few times really, you were somewhat reassured that he wasn't lying when he said he wouldn't kill you. He got fairly rough with you, made you black out a few times, but he didn't permanently harm you. Although it wasn't your choice, especially not the first time, you began to enjoy it, or you convinced yourself that you enjoyed it, wanted it, to make it easier. You wondered what it would be like to be his lover. Would it be different? Would he be softer? You could tell there was a different side to him that you didn't get to see. You knew nothing about him. He might have a real partner somewhere in the world. You were only a concubine while he was away from this person. You wouldn't allow yourself to desire anything more than that. You could never be good enough to be someone's wife, lowborn and destitute.

You watched him rub the dried blood from his skin, tinting the water pink, though you couldn't see it in the dark. He was so muscular that he had a difficult time reaching his back. You finished with his scythes and sat behind him, pulling your clothes up past your knees so they wouldn't become wet. Your legs were on either side of him in the water. You moved his hair over his shoulder so you could see what places still needed to be washed. 

"Let me help." You added, "Just don't lick my feet again."

Kamazo laughed. Whether it was true or forced by the fruit, you didn't know. The sound that used to unnerve you had started to bring some consolation instead. When you had gotten all the blood cleaned from him, your hands traveled over his tanned skin. There were a few tight areas that you focused on massaging away. He didn't protest. You even earned a few relaxed sighs as you worked the knots out. Kamazo had gotten most of the blood out of his hair by himself so you didn't worry about that. 

The water looked warm the way steam floated off the surface. The parts of you that weren't in the water were getting cold. Stripping quickly, you made the decision to get in also. You got into the water as fast as you could, both because it was freezing to be nude and because you could feel Kamazo's eyes on you. It didn't matter how many times you were bare in front of him. It still embarrassed you. He always looked too hard, too closely at you. It was obvious what was so captivating to him. Ever since you put on weight, he loved to bury his face in your stomach, or squeeze your thighs, or suck on your tits. 

You settled into the water's warm embrace. It felt so good on your aching body. Keeping up with Kamazo was hard work. Your back hurt and your chest was sore, which you attributed to Kamazo's unrelenting attention. You sat slightly away from him, not wanting to impede on his space. He had missed a few spots in the front of his hair, you noticed. Kamazo was intently watching you stare. 

"Sorry... You have blood in your hair." 

He wiped at a few places. 

"No. You missed." 

After another try, you moved in front of him. 

"I'll get it." 

You pinched some strands between your fingers and slid down the hair, removing the remaining gore from his golden locks. You made the mistake of locking eyes with him this closely. They were their normal beautiful blue selves, but the light of the moon made them so clear. The darkness that clouded them so often was absent. There was a softness in them that made your heart beat faster. That urge overcame you again, and you closed the distance between you both. This time you didn't apologize after you kissed him. 

Kamazo didn't flinch. In fact, he seemed to be waiting for you to decide what you were going to do now. What were you going to do now? What were you doing? This was the man you wanted to be with, not the man with darkness. This one made you feel safe and special and cared for: loved. You leaned in again, kissing him. He kissed you back, pulling you into his lap to straddle him. Your hands went into his hair, wandered over his neck and his chest with this new permission to touch. Similarly, his own hands groped you, but in a much gentler way than he normally did, actually taking the time to appreciate every fold and curve. He had you stand up on your knees so he could reach your tits with his mouth. He didn't bite this time, only kissing and sucking the soft skin, gently playing with your nipples with his hand or his tongue. You gazed at him with lust-filled eyes and pink-dusted cheeks. 

"Please," you breathed. 

He freed you from his grip, surprising you. You thought he would lead, but he seemed to be giving you the chance to do what you wanted. You sat back in his lap and stroked him from root to tip, watching his expression turn into one of pleasure. You could feel how slick you were getting, and knew you didn't;t need much in the way of prep. You lined him up with yourself and gradually lowered yourself onto him, letting the head push between your folds. Bouncing slightly, you worked your way down, until he was completely inside you. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding and began to move your hips. Slowly at first, savoring the fullness you felt, you rode him. Then the pure pleasure took grip of you and you sped up, already feeling the heat pool in your stomach. He groaned in response feeling your walls twitch around him. It felt too good for him not to grab your hips and help you with the pace. Soon, he was slamming your hips down on his own, essentially using your body to jerk himself off. The water around you was choppy from all the movement. Between each other's moans, you were fervently kissing, tangling tongues and sucking on each other's lips. Your moans grew more high pitched and your breathing turned into pants. Your legs were jelly from bouncing yourself in his lap and he was doing much of the work now, helping you bounce. The pressure in your lower abdomen was building. 

"Kam-azo," you groaned. "I'm so close." You threw your head back as the orgasm grew closer. "Kam- Kam! Oh fuck, Kam!" You couldn't even get his full name out as your pleasure crashed over you.

Kamazo leaned you back slightly and buried his face in your chest. You could feel the vibrations of his moans as your own throes of passion drove him to climax as well. He might have said your name, though it was muffled. You'd like to imagine he said it. 

Neither of you moved. You thought he would shove you off, instead he let you lay against his chest. There was something about having him still inside you that made you feel complete. Rays of sunshine poked out from the horizon and the sky turned pink with dawn. The sunlight bouncing off the steam looked like fire. He stroked your hair and trailed his fingers down your back. You were turned slightly in his lap and his other hand rested on your stomach, his thumb moving idly against your skin. You stayed wrapped in his strong arms until the sun was fully above the horizon. 

Tag list: Tag List: @nocturnalrorobin @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth @fendifendi @eustasscapitankid @iggy5055 @hannahbarberra162 @mapachito

[enjoythesilentworld]

was thinking about them yesterday. and by them i mean CrimeBoss!Wille x Detective!Simon who definitely don't hate each other.

rather than plotting i wrote this standalone scene which assumes i have done a lot of plotting. it was a mind exercise okay (also, this is a dark-ish fic. cw for violence and harsh language)

By now, Simon knew the path and followed it without a second thought, bursting through the door of Wilhelm’s office.

The office always looked the same. Perfectly organized, floors squeaky clean, Wilhelm in a pressed button-up sitting rigged backed at his desk. Except, this time it was different. The desk was chaos, loose bills and papers and trash scattered across it and falling onto the floor. Wilhelm paced the room, tie loose and hair mussed.

His sharp eyes found Simon immediately, and if Simon didn’t know any better he’d be terrified of the way they hardened and narrowed.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Wilhelm spit angrily, striding across the room and pulling the door shut behind Simon, then flying over to the windows to pull the thick, expensive curtains closed. “I told you I was busy today.”

Simon scoffed and dropped the overflowing folder which had brought him over here onto the ground, clippings of news headlines and police reports scattering. “I don’t give a fuck if you’re busy. What is this?” He asked, still fuming and really not in the mood to deal with Wilhelm’s erratic behavior and empty promises. 

It was as if he hadn’t spoken at all, though, because Wilhelm didn’t respond, just continued to flit around the room, peeking behind the curtains. Only for a moment did his eyes flicker to the papers Simon had dropped, before looking up to Simon, then away again. Being ignored after everything, after coming all the way over here, only made Simon angrier.

“Wilhelm,” he growled, circling the office and trying to get in the other man’s path, trying to get him to look at him. When that didn’t work, he changed tactics, lowering his voice and softening it, to whisper, “Wille.”

That worked, because of course it did, and Wilhelm stopped in his tracks, finally turning to face Simon.

“What is going on?” Simon asked, softly, as if speaking to a dangerous animal. In a way, he was. “You said—”

“I said,” Wihelm interrupted, taking a step towards Simon, eyes ablaze, “don’t come here today.”

Simon held his ground. He crossed his arms over his chest, ignoring the way he felt out of place in his hoodie and jeans, as he always did when he stepped into Wilhelm’s life. There was nowhere for him to go, anyway. Going against every bit of training he’d ever received, he’d accidentally put Wilhelm between himself and the only exit. If he stepped back now, he’d only run into the big, wooden desk, trapping himself further.

Simon drew his features up into a scowl, because any fear was being smothered out by anger, and said, “Apologies if your word doesn’t really mean a lot to me right now.”

This, he could do. This was normal for them. What wasn’t normal was the way Wilhelm’s features softened as he took another step forward. His hand twitched at his side, and for a moment Simon thought Wille might reach out for him.

He didn’t. Wille’s eyes flickered over to the window again, then he whispered, in a voice almost unrecognizable, “You can’t be here right now. Why couldn’t you just listen to me for once?”

With a pang, Simon realized what was so odd about Wille’s voice. Fear. There was fear, actual fear, laced amongst the words. Simon had never seen Wilhelm show an ounce of fear before.

It disarmed Simon, dampening the flame in his chest, filling it instead with an icy dread.

“I just—”                                                                                                       

Simon was cut off, surprised, as Wille put both his hands up, eyes wide, and took another step toward him.

It all happened so quickly. The first to register was the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the long hallway and muffled voices. Then, Wille was surging towards him, yanking at the buttons of his own shirt, then pulling Simon’s hood over his head and pushing him back into the desk. Simon started to protest but was cut off again by Wille pressing their mouths together in a searing kiss.

Caught by surprise, Simon froze for a moment, and Wille pulled back slightly to mumble an apology, then his hands were snaking around Simon’s waist, hands hot even through the fabric of Simon’s hoodie, and he found himself wondering what those hands would feel like on his bare skin. This time, Simon was more prepared. This time, though he still didn’t really know what was going on, he kissed Wille back.

All of this had elapsed in about five seconds so there was not much time to ponder, but Simon had been secretly dreaming about this for weeks now. Wille’s lips on his, his taste, his hair between Simon’s fingers. It was better than any dream, but quickly over, as the door slammed open behind Wille.

Simon tried to jump back, to separate them, but Wille held him close.

“Wilhelm.”

Though he couldn’t see anything but Wille’s face still just an inch from his, Simon recognized that voice. It sent a chill running down his spine. If there had been any concern that making out with his primary person of interest might mean losing his job at the precinct, it was gone now. Now, it was sheer terror at the prospect of losing his life.

“Gentleman,” Wilhelm chuckled easily, eyes still locked on Simon’s, using his broad back to shelter Simon from the line of sight of their new guests. “You’ve caught me in the middle of something.”

The voice was Wilhelm again, so easily slipping back into his cold, unforgiving exterior. His eyes, however, were still Wille. Pleading for Simon to stay quiet, promising he’d handle the situation.

That cold voice came again. “That’s funny. We said six o’clock, did we not?”

“We did, boss,” came another, this voice unrecognizable to Simon, but its owner was undoubtedly just as deadly.

Wilhelm’s shoulder’s tensed every so slightly, imperceptible to anyone else but Simon, who felt the muscles tighten under his fingertips.

“That’s right, we did. I apologize for the delay.” Wille swiped his thumb back and forth over Simon’s back, which would almost be comforting if not for their current situation. “Lost track of time. If you’ll just give me a moment to get myself sorted, I’ll met you in the foyer.”

A loud, smoker’s chortle echoed through the room, and Simon had to fight not to flinch.

“Wilhelm, you dirty dog. If she’s a good time, send her to me afterwards, yeah? I don’t usually go for the street type, but after a good scrub down, I bet it’d be just like one of those high end whores. But cheaper.”

Simon wanted to squeeze his eyes shut, but his only lifeline at the moment was staring into Wille’s, so he didn’t. He swallowed down the bile in his throat and prayed for this moment to be over, chided himself for being so terrified when this was his job, dealing with people like this was his career and yet he was nearly trembling in Wille’s arms. Perhaps it was because he’d seen those police reports, seen the photos of what this man did to those who did not please him. If Simon wasn’t only fearing for his own life, he was fearing for Wille’s, too.

The voice hardened again, losing all it’s disgusting amusement from before, “I’m leaving in two minutes. I won’t wait any longer.”

“Yes, sir,” Wilhelm said, voice steady.

There was a final, “You can fuck her after,” snickered by one of the goons before the door slammed shut again.

Wilhelm glanced over his shoulder to ensure they were gone, then shut his eyes and let out a deep breath, dropping his chin to his chest. Simon’s fingers were still knotted in Wilhelm’s shirt, and it took a moment before he could make his brain send the signal to make his hands let go. The moment he did, Wilhelm regained his composure, like flipping a switch, and quickly took two steps back.

Simon opened his mouth to say something but immediately shut it when he say the hardness in Wilhelm’s gaze. Spots of warmth still burned on Simon’s skin where Wille’s hands had been, but he couldn’t put it together with the man who stared at him now.

“Stay here,” Wilhelm commanded. He rebuttoned his shirt and straightened his hair, then he slipped out the door, leaving Simon sitting on his desk, cheeks flushed, staring at the horrible headlines scattered across the marble floor and wondering how this whole situation had gotten so out of hand.

[orbitariums]

Comfortfriend!patrick, what does Patrick do when he sees the boyfriend?

With Artashi, he was smug but quiet. Think he could pull that off with shitty bf?

Is it, All knowing smirks, firm handshakes, silently staring at you, long lingering hugs, soft kisses on the cheek, complimenting you outfit (he loves seeing your ass in a tennis skirt, he can’t wait to flip it over later)?

Or is he slight more overt? Hugs where his hands run down your back and end with him grabbing your ass in public, a cheeky kiss to the neck, stroking your shoulder whilst you’re talking, hand on your thigh, if bf makes a lewd comment about you, Patrick replies with ‘I know…’ with a look from you ‘I mean I can imagine bro’.

You try to ply bf with excuses He’s just like that, we’re known each other for so long.

But it ends up in a fight, you’re in tears abd of course running to Patrick. He hates that it’s technically his fault, but he’s happy to comfort you and work hard to make you really feel his apology.

but wow, what a moment in my career... thank u for this question, i truly never thought to expand this recoverybf!/comfortfriend!patrick au outside of the walls of his apartment and yet here we are... and what a wonderful place it is to be. still based on the song i linked below and always with black reader (anyone can read it and i don't get super specific with details anyway - i just want black girls in this fandom to have something for us <3) changed it just a bit so reader's not crying because she's PISSED! and of course she just HAS to confront patrick about it.

*+. 🎧 if you got a man we could bend the rules

recoverybf!patrick + black reader — to bend the rules

contains: cheating, jealousy, slut-shaming (once bad once hot), smut!

wc: 5.1k (was supposed to be a drabble but i got carried away hehe)

even before you started "seeing" patrick — if you could call running to his studio apartment in the wee hours of the night for comfort in the form of rounds of relentless sex "seeing" him — you kept your boyfriend pretty separate from your friends. you, art, tashi and patrick were such a firm group in and of itself that it felt unnecessary and almost inappropriate to bring someone else in, even if that someone else was your boyfriend of nearly two years.

when it started getting bad with chris, you were secretly glad that you didn’t ever bring him around. your gut wrenching anxiety and reluctance when you introduced him to your friends for the first time should've been a sign. it wasn't that they were judgmental — although they were notoriously hard to impress — you just didn't feel right deep down. it didn't ever feel right to bring him around, but sometimes it was inevitable. this was one of those times.

tashi's parents were hosting a party for her birthday and to celebrate her fantastic season. you told chris about it in passing and he demanded that you should bring a date to those kinds of things because they're so "public"— as if espn would be flooding tashi's parents' backyard. you obliged because you didn't want to fight with him, but you prayed he didn't notice the way you grew more and more agitated as the day drew closer, and you obsessed over the thought of him having to interact with patrick.

it had been almost three weeks of you two hooking up behind your boyfriend's back, and it didn't take long for you to sink into a routine of it. the first time it happened, you came back home a wreck — the next few times, you didn't even think twice about it. now, it was almost as if you had to confront it head on, knowing you'd be forced to include him in your interactions with your best friends.

you were back to being a nervous wreck, flooded with guilt and shame, like you were just now realizing that what you were doing was wrong. but was it wrong? you were being mistreated, and half the time chris acted like he hated you. friends are supposed to support each other, right? and that's all patrick was doing. he was supporting you. he was just helping you. talking you through it — with his cock pushing past your folds, his lips against your ear as he ... talked you through it.

and patrick was not known for his subtlety. in fact, it was the opposite that had created that existing tension between the two of you in the first place — his intense gaze on you whenever you wore something tight, the way his jaw clicked when you even mentioned your boyfriend in passing, his touches held for an inappropriately long amount of time. you almost expected him to say something. it wouldn't be unlike him to make a sly comment about how much he appreciated chris for sharing you with him.

this worried you so much that you texted him a day before.

patrick i swear to god if you say anything tomorrow i'm gonna fucking kill you. and i will hide your body someplace no one will ever find it.

he called you right when that text went through, a grating nonchalance in his voice.

"what are you talking about?"

"you know what i'm—" you closed the bathroom door and turned on the shower: chris was in the living room nearby, "you know what i'm talking about. if you fucking say a word about me and you—"

"yn, i'm not a sadist. i'll be a good boy."

you tried to ignore the visceral reaction to the way those words sounded in his throat, grainy over the phone and so fitting with his boyish drawl. patrick wanted to laugh— he could almost hear the scowl in your voice as you replied,

"you fucking better."

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

the whole ride over there, you were silent, still brooding and hoping for the worst, smoothing your hands over your tennis skirt, which you wore in homage to tashi. your boyfriend didn't say a word, as he was usually oblivious to how you felt, but that didn't stop you from gazing out the window wistfully, winding it down so you could get more air.

by the time you actually arrived, you planted a smile on your face, hoping that you could just distract yourself with the party. you were glad to use tashi's parents as a buffer for a while, chatting with them about mindless things, your boyfriend mainly driving the conversation and trying to network.

after about five minutes, you finally noticed art, patrick and tashi in the distance out of the corner of your eye, waving their hands and trying to get your attention. so as not to appear distracted, you cracked a soft smile and then returned to the conversation.

that was until you heard an all too familiar voice shouting your name over the chatter and the music. when you looked again, who but patrick was practically out of his seat, waving his hand raucously, his blue-striped shirt lifting up along with his arm to reveal the slightest shimmer of his toned stomach. that expanse of skin just above his shorts that you knew all too well — the thought of where it led made your mouth dry.

your heart dropped when tashi's parents glanced behind themselves and your boyfriend cocked his head.

"oh, looks like somebody's waiting on you," tashi's mother quipped. "we'll let you two go."

you nearly wanted to plead with them not to, but it was too late. chris took your hand and practically dragged you alongside him, when all you wanted was to stay put.

"yn!" tashi got up first, her arms flying open to wrap you in a hug. "finally you're here."

you grinned, your eyes sparkling — out of the three, tashi was who you could relate to most, and you honestly looked up to her even though she was your close friend. the two of you balanced out the loud testosterone filled energy that art and patrick created.

"happy birthday, t," you handed her your gift.

art stood up to hug you, and your boyfriend followed that order, except all he got were awkward handshakes from art and tashi. not only did they not know chris very well since you never brought him around, but they also didn't like him that much based on what you'd told them in the past.

as you stood in front of patrick, you glared at him, silently warning him that he was already doing too much.

"my favorite girl," patrick grinned. three words that were innocent enough, but also enough to cause a stir. you were glad your back was facing art and tashi, because that meant you didn't have to see the look they shared, the corners of their mouth turned up in wait.

before you could even respond, patrick had wrapped his arms around you in a hug. a hug that started at below your shoulders and then traveled down slowly, slow enough that you could feel his hands embracing your curves, like he was trying to feel every last part of you. you almost gasped when you felt the way his hands hovered just so above your ass, in a sort of game of "i'm not touching you." if you moved, or if he slid his hands just an inch down, he'd be grabbing your ass. and in that stretch of time that felt like forever, you imagined how he'd do it — how he'd push his hands up underneath your skirt and squeeze the fat of your ass in front of everyone with no shame. you almost wanted him to, but you quickly remembered where you were and who was standing right beside you.

whenever there was a line, patrick was prone to cross it. but his hands did stop, only nudging the line instead.

when he finally pulled away, clearly the one in charge of the entire interaction, your heart was pounding in your chest, and you were vibrating with anger already. you wanted to slap the shit-eating grin off his face. compared to what you two did in private, this was nothing, but in private, your boyfriend wasn't just inches away from you. he didn't stop there — one hand was still on your waist as he did a onceover of you. you knew that look in his eyes all too well. a hint of playfulness mixed with a very obvious ogling.

"wow, what a nice tennis skirt, you look like a pro. i love this outfit on you, this is very new," he said, but you knew what he wanted to say.

you flashed a tight lipped grin, choosing to take the low road,

"yours isn't. but thank you."

you stepped back, your hand on chris' shoulder as you guided him towards patrick. chris glared at patrick for just a second before he stuck his hand out. you wanted to wilt away and die when you saw that fucking smirk on patrick's face expand. the smirk you'd seen a thousand times, all with different varieties and intensities. smirking down at you slid down to your knees in front of him, your body brushing against his; smirking when you go wide-eyed at some lewd comment he'd make about your transgressions ("does he know that you like getting facials or do you only do that with me?"); smirking at your pussy when you come again after crying that you couldn't anymore, smirking when you show up to his door after saying you wouldn't anymore.

patrick gripped chris' hand firmly and they shook hands like two grown men at a business conference before chris uttered,

"patrick."

"chris! good to see you." he used his hand to playfully nudge chris on the side. "you never come out, what's that all about!"

chris chuckled,

"work is crazy."

patrick nodded, looking pensively down at the ground for a second before looking at you,

"why don't you invite your boyfriend out with us more, yn?"

you rolled your eyes,

"same reason you don't mind your business, zweig."

the night continued like that — like a game of tug of war between you and patrick, him pulling you in and you tugging back just before he could make you topple over.

while the table was yapping about something, you tried to purposefully avoid eye contact or any interaction with patrick, but you could feel the way his gaze burned into the side of your face even when you weren't talking. like he was inquiring about something. probably wondering why your boyfriend's arm has been around you the entire night. silently asking you why you allow it when you know you don't even like being touched by him for too long. at some point, he catches your eye, and he furrows his brows together slightly, biting down on his lip. you get flustered and turn away, swigging beer from the bottle.

everytime chris kissed your cheek, or showed any affection toward you— a hand on your knee, a squeeze of your arm, patrick reacted in only a way you could detect. a tick of his jaw, an eye roll, cigarette smoke blown in your direction. you pretended the smoke making contact with your cheek didn't bother you, wasn't purposeful.

drinks were flowing, the party was in full effect.

chris had one too many beers and was starting to get embarrassing.

"and this one, you know, she won't ever let me hear the end of anything," he pointed a thumb in your direction, hoping to get raucous laughter from your friends, but instead being met with meek chuckles. "just talks and talks."

patrick snorted. loudly. so loud that everyone at the table takes interest in whatever it is that he clearly has to say. he just leaned back in his chair and tossed the stub of his cigarette into the ashtray on the table.

"she's a talker, alright."

your eyes went wide as you caught the way art covered his mouth to hide a smile, and tashi glanced over at you as if to confirm that what he just said was as damning as it sounded. a silence takes over the table for just a minute, and you try to gain your composure as you feel chris' eyes flitter from you to patrick. chris leaned in just a bit, chuckling, but not because he found it funny,

"what?"

patrick looked around for a second, feigning naivety,

"oh, i just said what you said. she gets pretty loud." he let that hang in the air, which was getting stiffer by the second. then, to recover, he nodded over at art and tashi, "but we love her for it, right?"

"yeah," tashi said hurriedly.

"of course," art tried not to snicker.

when everyone had finished their drinks, patrick took it upon himself to restock. he stood behind you, commanding the attention of the table,

"i'm seeing empty cups. anyone want anything?"

"just a water," tashi replied, and patrick pointed his finger at her,

"wrong, another beer."

he took note of everyone's drink of choice, but you didn't say anything. in what could be seen as camaraderie, he placed his hands on your shoulders and bent down slightly so he was at level with your ear. he's so close to you that you can feel his breath, accented lightly with the fermented scent of heineken, against your neck.

"you need anything?" need.

what a charged word coming from the man who had been tending to your every need for the last few weeks. he tended to your "need" for hours every time. so many times tonight, you'd almost given in, nearly fucked him right there. and although his cockiness, which you had specifically asked him not to exhibit, made you angry, you still had to practice restraint. after all, it was him. your attraction to him wasn't new, but it did triple once you finally started hooking up.

you turned your head just slightly, so you met his gaze. the two of you performed this sort of intimate dance. just two friends talking in hushed tones, as if there were more to a drink than just quenching your thirst. or maybe that was what it was. you held his gaze, letting your arousal snake around your anger and suffocate it. as if you had a choice — it was an almost primal reaction to him in your space, even if you were furious with him.

"i'm okay, thanks," you looked up at him from beneath your lashes, quietly confirming the tension you were both feeling.

you didn't miss the smug satisfaction on his face and his eyes as he registered that switch that had flicked in you. it was so slight but if anyone could notice it, it was him. he pulled his bottom lip inbetween his teeth and his lips quirked up in what was almost a grin.

"c'mon, i'll get you something. tell me what you need," his voice way too smooth and quiet to just be talking about a drink.

you held his gaze just a moment longer, and then grinned,

"surprise me."

patrick smiled, finally tearing away from you and squeezing your shoulders as he stood back straight again,

"attagirl."

as he walked away, he patted chris' shoulder, too.

you cursed yourself for being obvious, but you mostly cursed patrick for doing the exact opposite of what you'd told him to do. you shouldn't even have brought it up to him to begin with, you knew how much he got off on being ornery and oppositional. maybe if you hadn't told him not to make it obvious, he might have actually allowed the night to be normal, not charged with this weird sexual tension and energy that everyone could see, including your boyfriend.

when you get home, you didn't hear the end of it. chris was shouting at you for what felt like an hour, angry at you, angry at patrick, angry at your friends, angry at the world.

"where does he get off touching you like that, huh? 'my favorite girl', are you fucking serious?"

"babe, we're friends. seriously, i've known him for years, it's nothing. patrick's just... like that."

that doesn't cut it. he's shouting at you and berating you for what feels like an hour, directing his anger at a different person every five minutes — you, patrick, art and tashi, the world. by the time it was over, you were exhausted. when were you not, with him?

the sharp hiss of the word "slut" from your boyfriend's lips rang in your ears. to your surprise, when he said it, you laughed. you were amused at the sheer irony of it all. he's not wrong. somehow, knowing that you were about to do exactly what he was accusing you of gave you a rush of power, a sense of self-righteousness. there was no guilt, not now —you were justified in your wrongdoing, and he had just proven that to you. why shouldn't you be a slut?

you were sitting behind the wheel, your jaw tight as you pulled out your phone and sent a text to the one person who you should hate right now, but who you need the most.

i'm so fucking mad at you right now.

you leaned your head back against the headrest, perking up as he responds within the minute.

yeah. wear that skirt when you get here.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

when you showed up you didn't even bother with a greeting, gliding right past him when he opened the door, leaving him there with his hand still on the doorknob.

he was taken aback for a second, frozen in place as he registered you standing in front of him defiantly with your hands on your hips. clad in that perfectly pleated white tennis skirt and short short crop top, just the way he wanted you.

“seriously patrick, i’m upset with you,” you announced, folding your arms over your chest which only accentuated your tits more — if you weren’t so focused on being defiant you’d have noticed the way his eyes trailed down to ogle your breasts.

he blinked, his mouth slightly open as he let the door close. he considered for a moment, shrugging and opening up the discussion.

“mkay… you wanna talk about it?” he pressed his lips together and pushed them to the side like he was considering something — he doesn’t give a fuck.

you glared at him, narrowing your eyes,

“yeah, actually. i told you specifically not to say anything.”

he laughs, actually laughs, tilting his head back with a wide smile,

“i didn’t!”

“you fucking may as well have!” you hissed. “he practically yelled at me for an hour when we got back, what the fuck is wrong with you? what happened to ‘i’m not a sadist, yn’? you think you’re so fucking smart.”

“okay, okay, hey. listen. i’m sorry. okay, i’m sorry. i just… god, i hate him. i wanted to make him feel like shit, that’s all. for the way he treats you he should,” he replied, finally sounding at least slightly reasonable and sincere.

“and you decided the best way to do that was to hint that me and you fuck on a weekly basis? you couldn’t emasculate him any other way? challenge him to a match with you for god’s sake,” you bleated, your expression unchanged, but your heart warming just a bit.

“ok, it wasn’t the best way to do it. it was the first thing that came up and you know how i am anyway,” he continued, and although you were still angry you understood him, you could even reason with him.

how could you not? that was just how he was anyway, how could you possibly expect him to turn it down just because your boyfriend was around? no, you couldn’t possibly ask for that.

he stepped closer to you, making you lose resolution in your once solid glare. he watched as you started to crumple, yet open up at once.

“and plus you looked so good. you don't want me to act the way i act but... you just can’t do that to me. it’s not fair,” his voice was soft and convincing, encroaching in the right way.

it sounded like all the things your boyfriend could never be. it was full of true desire and an apologetic nature that you sought out so often from the man you were supposed to love. when you were in need of that, you could find it here. that’s why it was so hard to stop.

“hmm,” you hummed, tingles running down your spine as you glanced up at him and let your arms fall down to your sides. giving up, giving in. he let his hands rest on your hips, pulling you in just slightly so he truly towered over you.

“are you still mad at me?” he looked down at you, his voice so sweet and soft and unlike how he usually was, his deep brown eyes twinkling.

you frowned, your brow quirking, but you couldn’t even fully convince yourself. like a brat you uttered,

“yes.”

chills when he started to rub his hands up and down your sides, ever so often brushing against your bare skin exposed by the crop top. he had that stupid knowing smile on his face — stupid because not only was he being presumptuous as always but because it made you melt. it reminded you that he really did value you, that he wanted to take care of you in any way he knew how.

“well, you can’t be mad at the both of us. who’s gonna do my job?” patrick asked, like a professor readily awaiting an answer from his uninterested class.

“me,” you pouted, looking away from him. amused, patrick giggled and used a finger to lift your chin, quipping,

“oh really? you wanna show me how you do it?”

"you wish, patrick," you rolled your eyes, simply unable to ignore the way his words went straight to your core.

he could tell, past the feigned annoyance, that you were imagining it, thinking of letting your fingers trail up and down against your slit while patrick looked on with watchful eyes. maybe even lighting a cigarette and leaning back to watch you and drink in all of you. so calm and cavalier, taking drag after drag from his cigarette. you imagined how he might sit there so calm and cavalier, taking in drags from his cigarette with a nonchalant expression on his face that didn't indicate any of the arousal he felt poking through his jeans. just sitting and watching you fall apart with each needy pump of your fingers pushing past your folds — the sounds of your desperate whimpers and gushing pussy squelching as your fingers work faster filling the room. if you started to close your legs, he'd lean forward and push them apart, then sit back again. he didn't blame you for it, he was thinking about it too. you both knew he was adding that onto his mental checklist.

"hmm, i do," his fingers gripped your chin and he squeezed it gently, his deep brown eyes pouring over yours so gently, filled with so much love and appreciation. you could burst. "hey, if you're so mad at me, why'd you show up in your tennis skirt like i told you to?"

he asked this question while letting his hands smooth down over your body, reminiscent of the way he hugged you earlier in front of your boyfriend. he stopped just above your ass, his hands hovering there while he awaited your answer like it was a green light.

"i was already wearing it..." you trail off, unable to keep steady in your resolve, and he knows he’s got you.

“yeah, you’re full of shit,” patrick laughed. you felt his breath on your face, coming in heavy huffs of laughter as he leaned in.

the tip of his nose bumped against yours, his lips fanning over your own. you felt him smile against your lips as his hands drifted down and underneath the hem of your skirt, grabbing a handful of your ass with his rough, worked hands, just like you imagined he would. you couldn't help the way a little moan escaped your lips, finding the slightest bit of relief at last, and all from his touch. he felt it too, a peaceful sigh escaping his parted lips. he kissed you then, biting down on your bottom lip and pulling it back slightly. hints of heineken meeting the coconut vanilla lip gloss you'd slathered on before you came here.

"i wanna make it up to you," patrick murmured against your lips, pulling you in closer by the small of your back and kissing you again, obsessed with the way the gloss made his lips glisten with the memory of you.

"yeah?" you gazed up at him, fluttering your lashes in that way you knew drove him crazy— he knew you were doing it on purpose, but somehow that intention made him all the more attracted. "how?"

that was how you ended up with your legs suspended in the air, hooked around patrick's beefy arms as he fucked into you, his cock hard and thick and rigid, twitching constantly at the sound of your moans.

"fuck, you're so fucking hot. i'm so- fuck - i'm sorry, baby," he stammered just slightly dropping that guise of cockiness for you. there's no need, you forgave him the second he bullied his gorging tip inside of you and rewarded you with that miraculous stretching feeling, a key fit snug inside a lock. you might've forgiven him even before that, when he spat on your pussy and placed a wet kiss on it before positioning his cock at your entrance.

your breath was caught in your throat, all you could feel was your body — your legs stretching back towards your head, your breasts jiggling in tandem with patrick's thrusts, sweat prickling the surface of your soft skin, your pussy getting fed with cock, stretching and molding his own and sending sensations up to your lower abdomen. you couldn't think.

" you forgive me? not mad at me anymore?" patrick asked, and usually his voice was dripping with immodesty, but this time it was ladled with desire — he wanted to hear you say the words. he was full of shit, and sometimes a dickhead, but he wasn't just some archetype. you had been friends first, and he wanted you to know that he gave a fuck.

"mm-mm," you shook your head, your eyes clenched shut. you brought your hand up to your lip to bite down on it, but patrick shook his head and swiped your hand away.

"no, no, no, none of that. i wanna hear those moans, i wanna hear how good i'm making that pussy feel," he pants, hinging on something similar to desperation.

you whimper and it trails off into a loud crash of a moan as his tip hits just right, you feel like you can feel the outline of him inside you. he moans too, readjusting so it feels like he's power fucking you, his hips gliding back and forth at a new speed, previously undiscovered, so fast and hard and yet smooth that your eyes are rolling back in your head before crashing shut again, and your mouth is open but no sound is coming out. then, at once, a raucous moan that didn't even sound like it could come out of you — not you, so soft and sweet and innocent and wet, mush under his touch.

patrick can't believe it, can hardly stomach looking down because he knows the sight of your wetness glistening on his cock, practically soaking him, will make him come in five seconds tops. he spares a glance anyway, his stomach flipping. he laughs incredulously, glancing down,

"you're so fucking wet, my god — cock just slides right in, i don't even need to — fuck — fucking try. imma make you mad all the time if this is how wet it gets you."

just a moment later he's yapping again, but you'd be lying if you said it didn't bring you closer and closer to the edge.

"tell me. tell me that you're – shit – that you're not mad at me anymore. open your eyes, want you to look at me when you say it. want those pretty eyes looking at me while you take my shit."

you shake your head furiously, forcing your eyes open even if they are low-lidded,

"n-not mad at you anymore. i forgive you, i forgive you, just fuck me, please!"

you'll be embarrassed at how easily you give in later on, but right now you wrap your arms around his back and pull him in closer to you.

patrick chuckles, astonished at just how fucking horny you could be,

"god, you're fucking easy. just need a little dick to get your head screwed on straight, fix that fucking attitude. need it from me. all you need's a little dick to be a good little slut again, yeah?"

and you barely realize it, but you're blubbering and nodding as he drives his dick deeper into you, forcing you to sink your teeth into the flesh of his prominent bicep. digging deep into you like forgiveness could be found in the warmth of your pussy.

it doesn't take long before you're bent over and he's letting the tennis skirt flutter ever so slightly over your ass, groaning as his thrusts cause the skirt to jostle around and expose more of your ass, which bounces back each time he cracks his thighs against you. he's easing in and out of your pussy and his hand has found a home in the arch of your back. nothing has ever looked so appealing to him before— twice he paused and just let you work him, fucking back onto him, while he zoned out and just admired the magic happening before his eyes. you work hard, and he's in disbelief at how much you make an honest job out of fucking back on his cock. sweat dripping down his forehead, his eyebrows raised slightly, mouth dropped just so. he's in a lull, completely in awe. when he comes, he aims it onto your ass, bending down immediately to lick it up and clean up his mess, his tongue flirting with your asshole in the process.

after the whole ordeal, he'll tell you to leave your skirt here, and sends you home in a pair of his sweats.

you don't ask why, you just watch the snapchat video he sends you not too long after of him jerking off onto it, his cum spilling out and dripping onto it, blending in with the soft white fabric. you wish you were disgusted, but it makes your mouth practically water, makes your pussy throb.

as he drills into you from behind and whispers nasty, beautiful things into your ear, you realize "slut" sounds so much better coming out of patrick's mouth than your boyfriend's.

[lurkingshan]

Every You Every Me

The Final Story (Part 2)

Time to finish this! [Edit from the future: I did not like this finale, so there's your warning!]

Ngl once the reveal was done and we were just in a bl about two annoying actors with a bad relationship this got less interesting. Still love the narrative device of this being about an actor pair across shows, though, that was clever. I just wish this actual story about Pun and Inn was better.

Part of my issue with this final plot is I still don't even know why Inn broke up with Pun in the first place. I don't really know what Inn's supposed to be apologizing for, other than this vague idea that he was self-absorbed. Meanwhile we actually did see Pun shut Inn out of his career decisions which directly affect him, so this one-sided apology feels weird.

I also don't love the connection they drew here between their personal and professional relationships, like they couldn't do their jobs if they weren't getting along. We know actors can act through a ton of BTS strife and still turn in good performances (EarthMix MLC divorce era, anyone?).

Like, why is Pun sobbing this hard after dumping Inn? Why dump him if he's still this attached?? Why ditch him for a new partner without ever discussing it? I don't really get Pun's deal here.

"Years later" well that's nice and vague, thanks chyron.

Why are the bad actor side pair here in this film? We saw them together and they were terrible, it was part of the plot!

Suddenly, a flashback? Inn is drunk so it's def time for a bl white towel sponge bath.

I am... so confused. When did this drunken heart to heart take place? Before or after the dramatic breakup? And why would they have to wait years to be together? But Pun assumed Inn didn't even remember??

Okay so if I have pieced this together right, they had this drunken convo the same night we saw them out with their friends, then wrapped the show, then had a dramatic breakup despite having already had this conversation and Pun knowing that, but Inn didn't remember/thought it was a dream, and they just didn't speak for years until Inn showed up with the flowers. This is so convoluted and I am just baffled over here.

Anyway, I guess they're gonna get married now even though they have a really bad and non communicative relationship. Sure!

Quite a choice to skip any physical intimacy scenes for the "real" couple after all that. I don't think I like it.

What a mess of a final episode. It's so strange that they went to the trouble of coming up with this interesting and creative narrative and executed it pretty well only to falter on coming up with a basic romance arc to finish the story well. I'm disappointed this didn't end stronger so I could recommend it to people. Ah well, at least Mick and Top are a good pair; their chemistry did a lot of the heavy lifting. And it was fun watching the shows within the show and puzzling out what was going on. I'm glad they tried something different even if they didn't land it in the end.

[stedefxckingbonnet]

I've been loving all the Izzy/reader fics, thank you so much for them! If you're doing requests, I'd love one where Izzy accidentally hurts the reader. It's 100% by accident (he turns around holding his sword and mildly slices reader, a playful shove accidentally makes reader lose balance and fall down steps type thing etc.). The crew, especially Stede, are furious and won't let Izzy anywhere near reader and he's absolutely wrecked with guilt. Would love a very fluffy ending!

Thank you so much for all of the love and for reading my fics at all!! <3 It truly means everything to me. Thank you so much for this request also—I know some of you have been wanting some more angst from me (with still happy/fluffy endings of course hehe, at least this time...maybe one day I'll try my hand at pure angst but I'm not sure today is that day), so I figured this would be a great prompt to start with on this sort of an endeavor! Plus, I just love it so much anyways, ever since it first came into my inbox I've been thinking about it. Thank you so much again for your request, and I hope you enjoy! Though like I said, please bear in mind I don't have the most experience with emphasis on angst so I apologize if this is not very adherent to that! Anyways, as always, requests are wide open!

Love,

Lavinia

Star-Crossed | Izzy Hands x Reader

Warnings: angst (with a happy ending but it takes a bit to get there), mentions of blood, some strong language, kissing, sort of already established unspoken relationship but also not 100% established right away

Word Count: 3912

Finally, the sun shone once again and not a single cloud was etched into the sky any longer. The crew of The Revenge almost forgot that sunlight even existed and were becoming accustomed to such foggy, grey skies forever—but, finally! Everyone was filled with such jubilee upon the sight and were quick to show it by chasing each other around on the main deck, swinging from ropes, dancing, plotting to convince the captains to grant them all a day on land to bask in the sun's rays—everyone except the first mate. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Izzy Hands leaning against the mast pole—no, slumped against it. You excused yourself from the gathering and rushed right over to Izzy, who stood up a bit straighter upon your arrival.

"I'm not going over there."

"You always have to have the first word, don't you?" you teased. "Do you want to, perhaps...get away from all this for a moment?"

"That wouldn't be so bad," Izzy shrugged, following your lead as you scurried off the main deck and into the hallway below that led to the quarters. "What are we doing here?"

You drew your sword from its sheath, smiling playfully. "I've practiced since we last dueled."

Izzy couldn't help but return a grin, fetching his own blade. "Is that so?"

"Why don't you see for yourself?" you inquired as you slashed the air. Izzy bowed impishly, to which you accepted with a curtsy, giggling. Your duels often were much like dances—precise footwork, synchronized, graceful movements across the floor, eye contact—lots of eye contact. The clash of the swords was like music to your ears, but Izzy's exasperated laughter was a much more magnificent melody, though followed next by your own ear piercing scream.

Izzy's worst nightmare had come true—there you were, bent over in anguish, clutching your stomach. Blood was all over your hands as you tried to stop it from gushing out of you. It was a deep cut and you had not actually been stabbed all the way through, though you still were going to need to be patched up sooner rather than later. Izzy's sword slipped out of his hands as he rushed over to you without any hesitation, scooping you up in his arms and placing his hand upon your left side to try and stop the bleeding. He rushed you back up to the main deck, guilt taking over him with such ease. His eyes were glossy, tears threatening to slip out of them.

"Some help over here!" Izzy demanded, and the crew all simultaneously turned their heads. Everyone sprinted to your side the second they heard his call, and saw your state.

"What happened?" Stede asked, his voice wavering.

"I'm okay, Stede," you managed to laugh, followed by a groan of pain.

"Clearly, you are not," Stede sighed. He turned to Izzy, a hand on his hip. "Izzy, what happened?"

"We—we were just dueling, and—"

"You hurt them?!" Jim spat. "Roach, will you—"

"Already on it," he assured them, carefully slinging your arm around him as he dragged you off into the distance.

"I didn't mean to—"

"Not another word, Izzy," Stede shushed him.

"Stay away from them," Lucius hissed as he walked off with Pete. Jim practically shot daggers out of their eyes, and Olu just sort of frowned. Izzy had never felt so defeated in his entire life. He immediately holed himself up in his quarters, draping across his bed almost lifelessly, hoping he would never have to emerge once again, not with the knowledge that he had hurt you so terribly and that the crew thought of him as some sort of monster. He was almost okay with them just being frustrated or annoyed by his presence, but being perceived like this created a deep wound in his heart he never expected to experience. If this is what he gets for truly trusting someone again, showing them a tenderness he had never felt for anyone, he did not want it.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Roach got you all patched up in no time and he anticipated your healing time would not last longer than a week, two at the most. You were never too worried in the first place, and as much as you appreciated the crew's care toward you, it felt as though they had blown the situation out of proportion. The first thing you yearned to do as soon as you were free to roam the ship once again was to find Izzy, as you knew he would be worried and probably swimming in his guilt. You nearly ran over to his quarters, though Stede popped out from out of nowhere, startling you.

"Stede! Fuck," you laughed. "You're quite...stealthy."

"I suppose so," he laughed with you. "How are you feeling?"

"Oh, much better. I never really felt too bad in the first place," you beamed.

"Well, that is a relief!"

"Yes," you nodded. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to see Izzy now—"

"I actually don't think that's very wise."

"What? Why not? He didn't mean to hurt me, Stede—"

"—But he did hurt you—"

"—Hardly, and it was an accident—"

"I will not allow Izzy to see you."

"But—"

Out of nowhere, Jim and Lucius appeared, gently clinging onto your arms but with enough force to drag you away. You kept yelling for them to let you go but it was no use. They would gently assure you it would be for the best—at least, Lucius tried to be more gentle about it.

"You're better off being far away from that fucker," Jim muttered as they brought you back onto the deck. The entire time you squirmed, trying to escape their and Lucius' grasp. "We're going to Spanish Jackie's today."

"Fuck, you're serious? Might I remind you, she almost killed you last time!" Olu sighed out of a deep concern for Jim.

But this was perfect for you—the perfect opportunity to stay on the ship and talk to Izzy. You wouldn't let anyone stop you. Before you knew it, The Revenge had docked, and you had it all planned out. You followed everyone off of the ship, but stopped in your tracks just as you were about to walk off, which caused Buttons to bump into you, though obviously he was unfazed.

"Is everything alri—" Stede started to ask.

"I forgot my book," you feigned a gasp. "I was going to sit on that rock over there and just get lost in it for a bit."

"Well, who am I to stop you from grabbing it?" he smiled pleasantly.

You nodded gratefully and hurried down to the cabins. You knocked on Izzy's doors, knowing he was still in there.

"What is it," he spat.

"Izzy, can we talk?"

The prolonged silence was beginning to cause you to believe that he wanted nothing to do with you, until finally, he swung open the door. "You shouldn't be here."

"Yes, you should not," Stede almost chided, his voice suddenly heard from behind you.

"This is ridiculous!" you cried out as Stede practically forced Izzy back into his quarters and slammed the door shut.

"Let's have a nice day on shore, shall we?" Stede sighed happily. "It's such a beautiful d—"

Before he could finish his sentence, you had already stormed off the ship, and you were having the opposite of a beautiful day. Your heart only ached for the rest of it, yearning for the first mate and to reassure him and to rekindle things, to let him know that all was well on your end. You craved to stop the incessant self loathing and blaming you knew he was putting himself through. Yet all you could fucking do was feign a smile while everyone drank their own sorrows away, some almost even drinking themselves to death.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Weeks had passed you by, each day dragging painfully slowly and wasted wondering if they would just end any sooner, wondering if the day where you even got to think of breathing a word to Izzy again would exist and come. The crew still fixated eyes on the both of you, doing everything in their power to keep you away from one another. Jim didn't hesitate to physically drag you away if you even tried to go near him, and Pete would even try to threaten Izzy (to which, Lucius would step in and take over, saying things such as: "You're cute, babe, but I've got this. Not worth your time.")

If you couldn't talk to Izzy, you didn't want to talk to anyone. You were perfectly content sitting by the window of your room curled up with a good book, away from everyone until you absolutely had to be amongst them.

Why couldn't they just listen to you? Why did everything have to be so black and white? Why did it have to be handled this way? Why did it have to be this difficult? Sure, Stede would discourage Jim's literal dragging you away ("Surely there are better ways of handling this...") but he never stopped it. He still stopped you from seeing Izzy.

Finally, you couldn't ignore the fact that you were parched and so you slipped out of your quarters. As you did, you noticed the first mate also exiting his. The two of you stood there for a moment, flabbergasted, taking in one another's presences. You opened your mouth to speak, but Izzy was already shoving right past you. Without thinking, you latched onto his wrist. "Izzy, wait—"

Izzy escaped your grasp instantly, looking vacantly upon you. You prepared something to say once again, but Izzy wouldn't hear any of it. He didn't need to hear from you of all people that he had caused you harm. Or, almost worse—that you didn't hold it against him. He would understand more if you did share the feelings of the crew, but not if you forgave him. The thought made his head spin—fuck, he wanted you to forgive him, he wanted you to know he never meant to cause you any pain. But he knew it wasn't worth it. He knew that as long as you were around, you would be beloved either way and better off without his love and care, and he would be hidden away in the dark from everyone, left to rot and be forgotten about, and when remembered, ridiculed. He almost wished that someone would just berate him directly instead of having to see you every single day and how everyone's attitudes shift when you are within close proximity of each other. How the environment grows more tense. How no one is stating the obvious of not wanting him there. He wasn't stupid, he knew. He knew for a long time before any of this even happened, and it only had gotten worse now.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

There came a point where you and Izzy were allowed to speak, but only in supervised circumstances. He immediately deemed this not worth it, so, it elt as though you were still forced to succumb to the previous, awful arrangement. It had been almost two months since the initial incident and with every accidental brush of the hands and every almost smile and every stolen glance, your heart only hurt more, you only pined after him even more. You missed the warmth he brought you even on the coldest days. You needed the confirmation of your feeling safe that he was able to provide. The two of you were finally growing almost attached at the hip but now you were torn apart, pieces of yourself still stuck on him and you needed those parts of you back. No, you needed them to exist still, but only if you could properly share them with Izzy.

You couldn't take it anymore.

Every day, you saw the expression that Izzy displayed on his face for all to see—pure misery, regret, and even this sort of grief. This loss for something still there, though, not at all tangible anymore. You became a ghost that didn't even haunt him, but only lingered at the expense of unfinished business with him. He could never comprehend that you longed to speak with him just for the sake of it, for your own enjoyment. That wasn't possible to him, it simply didn't seem in the cards.

You really couldn't take it anymore. You couldn't endure him avoiding you like the plague, even if he was acting on behalf of the crew's wrongful wishes. You couldn't take the way he looked at you with such a hope and desire, yet such a soul-crushing defeat that he gave into ages ago.

"You got a minute, Captain?" you asked Stede as calmly as you could the second you finally forced yourself out of bed for the day.

"Why, of course!" Stede beamed, excited that you were about to confide in him about something.

"We need to talk about Izzy and I."

Stede only sighed, leading you to his own cabin and not saying a word until he was certain the door properly shut. "I am only doing what is best for your safety—"

"Izzy makes me feel safer than anyone on this ship," you confessed. "He is always looking out for me, no matter what. He would never let anything bad happen to me. I was so happy the sun had finally come out and I just wanted to have a bit of fun so I asked Izzy to duel, it's just something we do sometimes for fun. He didn't mean to injure me, but I'm sure he already feels bad enough as it is with you all treating him like he needs to be locked away forever—"

"I appreciate you trying to look out for him. You have always seen the best in people—"

"Stede, is that Romeo and Juliet on your shelf?"

"Why, yes!" Stede nodded, forgetting the true subject of the matter for a moment. "It's such a tragic story."

"Isn't it?" your lips curled into a determined smile. "So sad that the two families kept the young star-crossed lovers away from one another. All because of some sort of unnecessary family feud...Well, they were naïve anyway to think their children wouldn't still find ways to meet and fall even further in love. Maybe if they had been accepting of their love, they wouldn't have died so young and so devastatingly..."

Stede wasn't quite catching on yet. His hand flew to his chest, clearly touched by your sentiments still "It is sad."

"Stede, you are quite literally pulling a Romeo and Juliet on Izzy and I...do you not realize that?"

Suddenly, it all clicked. Stede's mouth practically unhinged from his jaw. "You...you love Izzy?"

"We have...we have a bond and it goes beyond him just trying to do his job. He really does look out for me, and I've really grown to care about him and I worry about him whenever he's off on the side or seems really distressed. Even on my worst days, being around him is enough to almost make me forget about my troubles. I feel so...so at peace when I'm with him. I really don't worry about anything when we're together. And keeping me away from him is really doing a number on me—"

"It was wrong of me to try and keep you two apart," Stede sighed. "I thought I was doing what was best for you, but only you know what is best for yourself. I'm so sorry."

"Thank you, Stede," you smiled slightly. "If I ever really need something, I promise I'll tell you. I don't take "talking it through as a crew" lightly."

Stede returned your smile. "I don't understand this at all...but, this is your own endeavor. We just want you to be happy."

You quickly pat Stede on the back as you bursted out of his room and made haste towards Izzy's. You knocked on his door with utmost urgency. No response. You continued to knock until finally, Izzy had enough and swung open the door, almost causing you to stumble upon entering.

"Izzy, are you alright?"

"Are you?"

"You barely nicked me," you assured him, shutting the door behind the two of you. "Izzy, I am okay. Please, don't feel bad."

"I don't think you should be here right now—"

"But Captain Bonnet said—"

"—Just go...Please."

Your heart was beginning to sink into the depths of the ocean in your chest. You could only manage to look at him—he who had such a glossy look in his eye, accompanied only with an expression of nonchalance. But you could see that he was hurting—you knew by the way he was hunched over and fiddling with his glove. Izzy could hardly look at you without wishing he could disappear. He had hurt you, and everyone went flocking over to you instantly, not even bothering to hear his side of things, nor even yours, where he knew you would have defended him, though you still were acknowledged more than he had been. But worst of all, he had hurt you—and he would never be able to recover from that. Never be able to forgive himself for it. And, he knew no one else would, either. He wouldn't blame you if you didn't, either. You made your way over to him slowly, sitting beside him.

"Look at me," you pleaded.

Finally, Izzy's eyes met with yours. All he could see when he gazed at you was the pure concern, the pure care in your pupils. How could you still care for him after what he had done, and after the crew painted him to be some sort of a villain even more than before?

"I'm okay," you reassured him. "You didn't hurt me. You didn't mean to. I'm the one who started the duel, and—"

"Don't fucking blame yourself. It was me. All me."

"Izzy, please—"

"I think you should leave."

Such a statement felt like a knife through the heart.

But all Izzy truly wanted was for you to engulf him in your arms as he allowed himself to cry against your shoulders. He wanted to apologize and beg for your forgiveness. But it just hurt too much. He felt as though he didn't deserve that. You were the only person who is able to see him for who he is, and even still, he felt as if he didn't deserve you, nor your understanding, nor your fondness.

Part of you somehow knew that Izzy didn't mean what he just commanded you to do—it felt like even further of a plea to stay. You hovered your hand above his arm, and he ever so subtly nodded—yes, please. You began to gently rub his arm, even trying to massage some of the smaller knots out. "I'm not going anywhere, okay? Never. You will never scare me away. It's because of you that I feel so safe—but it's not only that you are an exceptional first mate. You are so much more than that to me."

"But I hurt you."

"You have never hurt me. Ever. Hell, you're the one that picks up the pieces when I do get hurt."

Izzy turned away from you, unable to control the droplets flying out of his eyes now. You could tell he was crying, but you knew not to overdo it with making sure he was alright. You carefully moved in a bit closer to him, resting your head upon his shoulder.

"I never meant to—"

"I know, Iz, I kn—"

"Let me finish," he requested gently. "If not for your conscience, but for mine. I become so afraid of hurting you and of messing up with you that I did. I didn't mean to, but I still did. I'm sorry, is all."

"Izzy, are we talking about the same thing anymore?"

"I don't want you to think I'm a monster, too," Izzy whimpered. "I know...I know I've done some things I'm not proud of. Things I wish you never had to know about."

"But I still love those parts of you. They are parts of you. But, they don't have to define you, either."

"You...what?"

"What?" To say you were confused was an understatement.

"You...love those parts of me?"

"I love you. Dammit, Iz. It's always been you," you sighed, happiness washing over you just as much as woe and a slight worry he wouldn't reciprocate your sentiments had.

"You...what?"

"Is that the only thing you say now?" you laughed nervously.

"I have this instinct I can't fight off and it's to look after you in ways I wouldn't normally look after anyone else. If anything ever happened to you, I'd blame myself, and I have."

"What are you saying?"

"I...think you know."

"I think I do, but maybe I don't—"

"Oh, fuck off!"

"Izzy, I really don't know what you're trying to say—"

"I love you."

You laughed, relief overcoming you. You gently took his hand in yours, stroking his thumb with yours. "This isn't a bad thing, you know. I don't want anyone else. I'm glad it's you, Izzy."

"The crew isn't going to be happy about this—"

"I talked to Stede, and fuck whatever the rest of them think," you shrugged. "What do they know?"

Izzy chuckled, gently pushing a strand of your hair behind your ear with his free hand. "Fuck them."

"Fuck them so much," you laughed as you leaned in, unable to stand the distance between the two of you anymore, and nor could Izzy. The anticipation not only from the abundance of time that passed the both of you by and all you had were glances which you could only hope communicated something, but also since the moment you met and especially since your connection began to blossom, shone through in the kiss shared between the two of you. This moment felt long overdue and you now wanted not to waste anymore precious time—you couldn't afford to. Your heart began to do pirouettes as your lips danced in sync. You had never been so certain about what love could mean for you until Izzy Hands waltzed into your life.

And your touch, your kiss made Izzy feel the most beautiful and understood that he ever had. As he melted into the warmth your affection and his excitement emitted, he no longer felt like a monster but rather a person, someone, worthy of such love and tender care. This wonderful phenomena was only centimeters away from him the entire time he spent withering away and conforming to all other beliefs of his character, believing the slander and the accusations, almost becoming them. With you, he was able to let go of these perils, to escape the shackles restricting him from seeing the person he truly is and could be. To leave the past behind in such a way not reminiscent of denial, but the refusal of allowing it to define him and hold him down. He could care less what the crew thought. For once in his life, he was happy, and no one, nor nothing should even dare to try and take that from him. You surely wouldn't allow anyone to. You were prepared to protect him just as he continued to do for you. And as long as you were around, happiness wouldn't escape him. Not anymore.

[shankss-magnificent-ass]

A Growing Relationship

Pairing King the wildfire x GN!reader

Warnings: arguing, implied dead family, fluff

King would never admit it, but he was infatuated with you. Not that he needed to admit it, everyone could tell from how he treated you. And by that they mean without contempt like he does with everyone else who isn't Kaido. The only person who didn't know was you, but only because you suck at reading social cues. While while occasionally inconvenient it was one thing about you, that he found endearing about you. However, one of his least favorite things about you was your height. You were around average height of a human, so he towered over you. Meaning he could never truly be physically intimate with you as a man, which frustrated him to no end but didn't stop him from wanting to be with you.

It was almost love at first sight for King when he saw you the first time. You had joined under a subordinate captain, and were taking a tour of Onigashima when he laid eyes on you. He had no idea who you were, and he didn't know what drew you to him, but he pulled a few strings to get you working under him as his assistant. You were responsible for keeping him on track, managing his schedule, and anything he asked. Much to King's pleasure, you proved yourself to be a valuable asset to his work. You even kept his office presentable, from replacing the floorboards he regularly scorches, to dusting the floor to ceiling shelves of his book case. The latter always puzzled him because he never saw you getting the ladders to get up there.

King never bothered to ask you how you managed it because he was too busy trying his hardest to get closer to you. He wanted to know everything about you. Your mere presence engendered a peace in him that he had never felt that made him content just to be around you. You were the kindest person he had ever met, and he loved your indomitable spirit that refused to let anyone kill said kindness or change you as a person. The intriguing thing about you is there were whispers that you had a devil fruit, but no one, not even your captain knew what it did. And you refused to reveal or use it, not even Kaido could get you to change your mind. Which intimidated most members of the crew since no one knew for sure what you were capable of.

The was until late one night King had gotten into a fight with Queen and the scuffle resulted in both of them destroying part of the crew's dorms, including yours, with all of your stuff with it. In fact, it was he, who wrecked your stuff, because it was all burnt to a crisp. King had caught sight of you during the fight, and he was surprised to see the look of rage in your eyes. After the fight King approached you to apologize.

"I will pay for everything to be replaced, and arrange for new sleeping quarters while yours are being rebuilt. I'll also pull some strings to let you have design input for your new quarters."

King grew nervous when you just gave him a hard glare and crossed your arms, while tapping your foot.

"I really didn't mean to.... It was just some stuff, please."

"Just some stuff!" You shrieked, "You have no idea what you've done!"

"Don't you think you're overreacting? Queen started the fight anyway," He huffed, trying to deflect the blame and your ire.

Out of nowhere you grew in size, becoming tall enough to look him in the eyes. You pointed a finger in his face and yelled, "You destroyed the only things I had left of my family King. My photo album was a pile of ash! I'm now going to forget what they looked like because of you. You boiled my rock collection, burned my book collection, sat on my glasses, and torched all of my clothes! You destroyed everything I owned, I have every right to be upset with you King!"

Your growth spurt shocked everyone in the room into silence, and half of the crew was watching you chew him out. King lowered his voice to show sincerity when he asked, "I had no idea, I'm so sorry. What can I do to make things right between us?"

King watched your rage and anger deflate, leaving behind exhaustion and sorrow. Guilt filled the Lunarian upon hearing the tone at which you replied, "... I don't know, I'm too tired and angry to think. I just want to be alone and to go to sleep."

King placed his hands on your shoulders and offered, "You can sleep in my bed if you would like, I'll take the couch." King knew how much you preferred your privacy, and there was nowhere in Onigshima that was more private than his room.

"I can't take your bed King, I'll just sleep on the couch in your office~" You started to pull away, while avoiding eye contact with him.

But King interrupted, "Yes you can, I just had clean sheets put on this afternoon. I also insist you take my bed for the night, because last time you slept on the couch in my office you messed up your back. I cannot have you out of service for a week like last time." Leaving no room for argument, he turned you around to lead you to to his quarters.

"You're shaking," you noted once the two of you were down the hall and out of earshot of the others.

King was admittedly excited because now not only did he know intimacy was possible. But he now had the opportunity to prove to you that he was boyfriend material. He excused himself, "I've never had a sleepover before... I'll have someone find you some pajamas and clothes for you to wear tomorrow." He'd rather look childish than like a creep.

"This isn't a sleepover.... Wait you've never had a sleepover before? How?"

King sighed, "I had an... unorthodox childhood, very isolated. But I know you probably don't have the energy for an actual sleepover, this is the closest I've ever gotten to one." He smiled when he heard to mumble in agreement but that perhaps tomorrow night the two of you could have a proper one.

In his quarters he left you alone to unwind while he went to call the tailor to get you some clothes to wear while he has a new wardrobe made for you. Upon his return he found you face down, half on and half off his bed, sound asleep. He watched you while mulling over his thoughts, there's a part of him that's scared of getting hurt again. That you'll turn him into the government for the reward money. But he knew you wouldn't, you had always expressed extreme disdain for the world nobles and their systems of power. However, that did not mean that he didn't trust you with his secret. Once he decided he would take this disaster he caused, and use it to open up to you. King moved to your bedside, took a seat and removed your shoes. After depositing them neatly beside the nightstand he picked you up tenderly and tucked you into his bed. The tall man took a moment to brush your hair out of your face, admiring your soft features, before he leaned in and kisses your forehead. His breath fanned over your skin as he mumbled, "Good night, and sweet dream dreams."

Coming Soon

[this-loser]

Silent Prayer

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Author's Notes: So, I actually haven't written in a while and for those who liked my previous stories I apologize. I deleted them from the account and forgot that I didn't have them saved so they are gone forever. Recently I have been hard on myself about that plus my writing. I ended up going inactive and recently going into the DC fandom, especially because of my love for Jason Todd, I got back into writing again. This is the first time I've written for Jason, bunch of scrapped ideas before this, so if it feels out of character I must apologize. Anyway, enough of my talking. Please enjoy!

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「WC: 863」

「Summary: He's unable to sleep but maybe a little music will coax him into sleeping」

「Warnings: I don't use Y/N, This might be a little sad tbh, Nothing explicit just wholesome fluff, This is shorter than I originally thought it would be but I'm okay with this」

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「Song name: "In Dreams" by Roy Orbison. In case you'd like to listen to it while reading look it up on either YouTube or Spotify.」

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It was never silent. Not in Gotham City. From the police sirens to the neighbors or the people outside the apartment building going on about their lives. No one pays any mind, depending on where you're looking, to the fact that this place was one of the biggest shitholes. No one could tell Jason otherwise.

He'd lived on the streets. Did things that he shouldn't have done, but he needed to survive and witnessed firsthand how god-awful the people in the city can be. All of that had been seen through the eyes of a child.

Was he proud of his past? Depends, but for the most part, no.

Reflecting doesn't help.

He knew that. It only made things come back, and the emotions left him sour. Especially when the original point was to sleep, something he was having trouble doing. Again.

Jason sat up, the blanket pooling at his hips as he ran a hand through his hair. The sound of a vehicle honking caused him to lift his head, looking at the window blinds. A few seconds pass by before he relaxes.

"Hmm..." The softness of your voice drew his attention, along with the blanket moving as you turned over onto your left side. "Jason," "Go back to sleep, baby." He crooned, stopping you from continuing your sentence and then leaning down to you, his hand pushing some of your hair out of your face as your eyes fluttered open. "Shh, just go back to bed. Everything is alright."

He was bullshitting, but not to worry you. Jason knew that you'd be up without another second if you knew his insomnia was bothering him again. "Just sleep." His hand gently cupped your cheek as he kept whispering coaxing words to ease you back into sleep, blissfully unaware of his suffering.

"Jay," Through tired eyes, you look at him. The darkness hides his face; however, you can make out the look he gave you. A soft reassurance that would have fooled anyone if they didn't know him well enough. That is, if they ever broke past that permanent scowl he always had. The look alone drew a huff from you. "Liar." He froze, the look quickly morphing into a disappointed frown. "Please, sleep. Don't worry about me. I'll be okay." He brought forth a weak smile, his hand caressing your cheek. "Trust me, you need more sleep than I do, I'll be alright." "Jason..." He shook his head, stubbornness kicking in as he leaned closer, pressed his lips against your temple, then pulled away. "You're gonna go back to bed. No arguing about it." You whined at his stubbornness, and although that made him chuckle, he didn't let up.

You pulled a hand from under the blanket, lifting it and grabbing his arm. "No. I'm not giving up that easily, Jason." He bit back a groan at your stubbornness, internally kicking himself for hoping that you'd actually give in to his demand. You sat up slowly and let go of his arm as you reached over the end table on your side, grabbing your phone.

It was still early morning, and Jason clearly wasn't having a good night. "Jay, it's 4:37 A.M." He groans at the observation and leans back against the headboard. "I know, Genius..." He grumbles, looking away from you. "You're welcome." You mumble, now going through your phone. A few seconds of silence go by before the room is filled with soft music from your phone.

"I softly say, a silent prayer like dreamers do,"

He glances at you, the song playing as you set your phone back onto the end table. "Music?" You nod, looking at Jason. "Why not? Might help you sleep." "Not really my type of music." "Too bad. You've got to deal with it since it's my choice." You lay back down, moving over to him and throwing an arm over his hips, burying your face into the side of his thigh. "Who's the artist?" "Roy Orbison." He nods his head slowly, the name not sounding familiar to him. "Melancholy as hell, though." He added, looking down at you and resting his hand on your head. "Mm." Your eyes flutter closed, the soft tempo of the song starting to lull you back to sleep.

"In dreams, you're mine all of the time,"

He leans his head back. Taking in the lyrics and how melancholy they are. "Actually, they are kinda peaceful." He whispers, his fingers running through your hair. "Except for the "Candy-colored clown" bit... That part doesn't sound all peaceful to me." A light scoff comes from Jason as he stares at the bedroom door and feels his eyelids become heavier as the song continues to play.

"In beautiful dreams"

He blinks a few times as a wave of sleepiness crashes over him, but he pulls himself back and gently pulls your arm from his hips. You make a noise of protest as he lays down, pulling you into his arms once he's lying on his right side. You sigh in contentment, relaxing again and peacefully resting as Jason's eyelids close. The melody of the song coaxes him into a dreamless sleep.

[halfa-ghost]

guys I wrote a little.... fic for side hoes week

DISCLAIMER! this is the first fic I have ever written, please be nice to it and constructive criticism is greatly appreciated

Summary: Super Danny is tasked to find a hobby after getting some free time.

The morning was quiet, peaceful, and honestly? Boring. Super Danny had made sure of it. He'd spent the last three days cleaning up all the ghosts haunting Amity Park. This was not a hasty assumption to make, he'd spent most of the third day just… looking around. He didn't sense a single harmful ghost in the entire city.

This was a great success for him! He just finally had enough free time to handle the ghost problem for a while. At least, until more ghosts eventually started coming through the portal. So, why did he feel so… empty?

He supposed he was finished with his job. Fun Danny must be done studying for his Algebra test by now, the reason he had split himself this time around, so he figured it was time to fuse back together.

He flew towards Fentonworks, scanning the streets for any ghosts, he knew it was pointless. He did it anyway. The morning wind was cool, it filled his lungs. He wasn't sure it needed to, breathing was mostly habit at this point. He rarely thought about how he was truly a pure ghost in this form, he didn't really feel any different. That would be a subject for another day.

He phased into his bedroom and landed with a soft thump. He turned around to see Fun Danny actually studying at- he checked the clock sitting on his desk- eight in the morning! On a Saturday! Fun Danny looked up at him and Super gave him a soft smile, he was proud of him for showing a good work ethic! Fun did not return it.

“What do you want?”

It was then he remembered why he came here in the first place. He figured Fun would be done studying by now.

“I thought you'd be finished by now, but I suppose that you aren’t.” The second the last word left his mouth, he realized how rude that may have come off.

“I'm doing the best I can, dude! Do you know how hard it was for me to actually wake up at this hour? On a Saturday??”

That was the Fun Danny he knew. He quickly waved his arms in front of him and shook his head.

“I apologize for sounding dissatisfied! I understand that this must be hard for you. I just… didn't have anything else to do because I finished catching all of the ghastly ghouls in town.”

Fun Danny’s eyes widened. “What? Already?”

Super nodded slowly. “Now I suppose I have no purpose.”

“I think-” Fun Danny turned in his swivel chair and pointed the pencil in his hand at Super. “-you need to get a hobby.”

“A hobby? The only hobby I have is protecting the helpless humans of Amity Park!” He raised his finger and a gust of wind from God knows where flowed through his hair and cape.

Fun Danny rolled his eyes. “That's not a hobby, that's your job.”

Super pondered for a moment. Was it wrong to enjoy your job?

He was pulled out of his thoughts when Fun Danny started again. “You have some free time. Go enjoy your weekend. At least one of us should be able to.” He turned towards the papers in front of him, and sighed dramatically. 

“How does one get a hobby?”

Fun didn't look up as he scribbled something down. “I don't know, dude, just wander around until you find something, I guess.”

That didn't seem efficient. But, enjoying yourself was Fun Danny’s speciality. That's where he got his name from! Sam and Tucker continuously calling him “the fun Danny” eventually stuck. “Super Danny” was coined to match it. So, he must have known what he was talking about. 

“Well I… suppose I will.” He nodded towards Fun and phased out of the room again, dropping his boots on the sidewalk. A woman on a morning jog gaped at him as she ran past, he knew it wasn't normal to see Danny Phantom just standing across the street from you. 

He tightened his cape around his neck and began to walk. He didn't know where. According to Fun Danny, he would “discover” something eventually.

He drew quite a few stares from the early-risers of Amity Park. Nobody interacted with him, though. They all just watched him from a distance. He didn't take offense. He knew this must be a strange experience for them, to see their spirited superhero taking a casual stroll.

He continued until he saw a young boy ahead of him, crying as he looked into the sky. He followed his gaze, spotting a bright red balloon flying into the sky.

He quickly pushed into the sky, his cape flowing behind him as he quickly grabbed the string of the balloon, delicately holding it in front of the boy.

The boy looked up at him in awe for a moment, his tearful eyes wide. He hesitated for a moment before carefully taking the balloon out of Super’s gloved hand.

“Thank you, sir!”

“You are welcome citizen!” Another gust of wind punctuated his assertion.

He nodded at the boy, and he happily walked away, balloon in hand.

Super Danny couldn't stop himself from smiling. His core thrummed, he felt giddy. This was all he needed.

It was then Super realized. He doesn't need to be punching ghosts and saving lives to be heroic, and it can absolutely be his “hobby.”

He continued his walk, hoping to run into an old lady who needed to cross the street, or maybe a cat stuck in a tree. It was cliché, but he could admit that cliché was his entire thing.

He wore a cape for crying out loud. 

[literaticat]

Hello. Just wondering what you think of the current "Roald Dahl re-write" controversy.

Hahaha I have a lot of feelings. Some of them you probably won't like? IDK.

First of all, lemme just say, Roald D was an anti-Semitic asshole, a notoriously difficult and bad man, his books are mean-spirited and rankle me, I really don't give a fig about him or his books or his legacy, and I'd never give them to a child.

(I wouldn't stop a child from reading one if they wanted to, either! I wouldn't BAN them! It's fine with me that they EXIST and are readily available for anyone who wants to read them! I just personally would not spend my money to present a child with a copy of one of his books, I think there are better things to read that I'd rather gift.)

So if you were under a rock and you didn't hear this latest "outrage", evidently the Roald Dahl estate + the UK publisher decided to do an update to a bunch of his books removing some of the particularly egregious language around things like minorities, fat people, etc. Some of the coverage of this makes it sound like they removed vast swathes of text, essentially rewriting the books. Which would obviously be insane if true. But it's not true. The changes are, as the estate put it, "small and carefully considered." There might be hundreds in total, but if they are tweaks to words across dozens of books - that's really not very many?

Anyway lots of authors are decrying it as CENSORSHIP!!!!! In my opinion... that is a little dramatic. First of all - censorship would be if they redacted the language without the permission of the rights holder. That is not the case. The rights holder is very much on board here - presumably because they know that the language is old-fashioned at best and OFFENSIVE at worst, and they just signed a many-million dollar contract with Netflix! And I'm sure they would like people to NOT boycott those Netflix projects and continue to buy the books!

It would also be censorship if somebody rounded up all old copies and destroyed them, preventing people from ever experiencing the text as originally published. But that's not happening. There are literally MILLIONS of copies of these books in print. They are SO available we could all build houses out of them. Nobody is taking anything away here.

Additionally -- this happens ALL THE TIME. All! The! Time!!!! Mind you -- MOST books just go out of print and are forgotten. But books that are lucky enough to stay in print for decades are often updated / tweaked to reflect changing cultural mores, etc.

For examples: In the 1930's, Nancy Drew was 16 years old and carried a gun. In the 1950's, they realized that was not going over well anymore, so they changed all her stories to make her 18 with no gun.

In the 1970's, Margaret of ARE YOU THERE GOD fame wore a "sanitary belt" for her period. I read these books in the early 80's and was like "wtf???" -- well, in the late 80s, they changed it to pads.

Oh, and also, in early editions of CHARLIE AND THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY, the Oompa-Loompas were Black pygmies from a tribe in Africa! They changed them to orange fantasy creatures later, because guess what, people were weirded out about it.

While it's true that Roald D himself made/approved that change (presumably because somebody back in the day told him, "yo, you are going to get a LOT of money from Hollywood if you make this change" and he realized it was true) -- he's dead. If he were alive, he'd probably have the same convo, and people would say "yo, Netflix is giving you millions of dollars, apologize for the hatred you spewed and change some words or your deal is toast." -- And he'd have done it, just like he did the first time. Since he's dead, his heirs made that decision. Which they are fully allowed to do.

Most of the time, literary executors of author's estates are trying to do the most lucrative things for that estate; they have a fiduciary responsibility to do so. That being said - if you feel strongly that after your death your books must be frozen in amber and never changed a bit, never sold to Hollywood / adapted for stage or TV or film, never sold into foreign countries where words change in translation all the time -- then let your heirs / executors know that explicitly, they DO NOT have permission to agree to any of this. And the books will likely just go out of print, and sink into oblivion.

ETA: Are these changes really being done because of concern for children's "delicate" brains, or "cancel culture gone mad"? ... OR, is it a somewhat cynical cash-grab to ensure that a multi-million dollar Netflix deal doesn't go down the tubes? Probably the latter!

But also, that isn't censorship. Creators and their estates are allowed to grab cash if it is offered, and can change or not change things as they will. They are the rights holders.

--

ETA ETA: I also should have mentioned a similar case from a couple years back: In 2021, the Seuss estate elected to *stop* publishing certain titles that contained racial and ethnic stereotypes. (And also - those particular books were among his least popular and they were not losing anything by making that decision, they make a billion dollars off his other books, and actually that news made his books SKYROCKET in sales, but whatever). It would not surprise me AT ALL if this hand-wringing news actually causes a big spike in Dahl sales.

[lelanida]

Why was Alef so fixated on getting rid of the other gods\their cults? If I understand the Pantheon lore correctly. Did Megabird know the other gods other than Angst?

That's a good question, actually.

Of course, the Megabird knew about other gods. They literally lived in her house. But I can't say that she was very close to them. The Pantheon feared her as a powerful cosmic entity that could bring you into non-existence with a flick of a wing. And Megan herself treated the gods like funny little animals (which most of them are lol). Translating the relationship of the Megabird and the pantheon into our language, it's like someone drew your oc, not to say that with much of talent, but it's still feels nice, isn't it? And Angst didn't care about the pantheon at all. It wasn't his area of influence.

The gods in my au are literally the same elders, only they don't have a physical body. They are in no way superior in strength to the elders and in some respects even inferior. They are also burdened with ordinary emotions and don't always do good things. In the situation of the Hidden Forest, the fact that Dryad died does not mean that she is good. Dryad was much older and more experienced than Teth, and in theory, it was she who should have taken the first step towards applying the two sides. Perhaps, after all, getting into non-existence is too strong a punishment for her, but I can not say that she suffered undeservedly. Her face was just begging to be punched. I hope she learns a good lesson from this if she can come back.

Alef is probably one of the most complex characters I've ever written. He is a being of light, the son and messenger of the Megabird, carrying her will. He was made for this purpose. That's what WE'RE ALL made for, if we're honest. In the beginning of his existence, Alef performed his function properly. After the overthrow of his first gods, Alef and Daleph set off on a grand journey through all the kingdoms in order to reunite the elders. But at some point, the family reunion campaign turned into a real crusade for the glory of the Megabird. By the way, Megabird herself was not informed about this. Let's face it, Alef is a bit of a narcissist and loves attention to himself. First, victory in the trials, then a warm welcome in the Daylight Prairie (which was just the main nest of worship for the goddess of light), triumph over the Dryad in the forest, all this fueled the ego of the young prince, and at some point he began to "do justice to the pantheon" for himself. Only he would never admit it, of course.

Why didn't the Megabird stop him? Even better question. I used to say a long time ago that Alef is the best creation of a Megabird, her pride. Contrary to popular opinion, I do not believe that 'Bird manipulated the Alef in any way. He wasn't her puppet at all. The bird does not interfere in the lives of her children just SO much that I will soon start composing songs about it. I apologize in advance if my actions lead to the degradation of the Megabird image in the fandom.

Megabird was fascinated by literally any Alef's act and never hindered his rivalry with the pantheon. And then, as we know, it became pointless to try to reason with the king. We all know this story. Alef decided to get rid of the old gods in order to prove first of all to himself that he could do it. Ognivo, for example, did nothing wrong but was overthrown anyway. Just by inertia from others. Alef, the second most powerful being of light after Megabird, does not tolerate disobedience to his address. So when the prince set foot in the Valley for the first time, the days of the deity were already numbered.

This situation looks pretty clear in my head, but when I sit down to describe it, my brain turns to jelly. I hope this answer will satisfy you!

[rockybloo]

hello!! (love your art btw it scratches a part of my brain in a good way) apologies if it's already been asked or something else but who are your oldest oc's? I'm just curious

THANK YOU

And I don't think I've really answered this before (or at least not in a good long while) so excuse this essay dump here...

If we are talking "Who out of the lineup you actively use now are the oldest", it'd be my Beanstalked cast. But I never truly get rid of an OC. They all live on forever and occasionally get reinvented into a newer being. So if we are talking about my OLDEST OCs in general, they are actually none of the ones you guys have been seeing me post on this blog frequently.

Before Glitter and Guilt, Bondwidth, Beanstalked, literally EVERYONE you see as part of my main story lineup, I had a entirely different cast of Rockstars.

Off the top of my head, I recall one story being called Mythical Mayhem and the other being called Zodiac Fighterz. Both of which were made during my middle school days (though Zodiac Fighterz might have been near the end of elementary as I recall one of my first days of middle school was me drawing the main character on the whiteboard for class...the memory still haunts me)

Mythical Mayhem was about a friendly demon named Spike (who was basically the Jack of my old OCs: a very good boy who could do no wrong and made friends with everyone) who wanted to become a guardian angel...but as a demon. A guardian demon basically. But he kept running into folks that didn't trust him due to being a demon-so it was basically a never ending journey of him winning people over by being wholesome and collecting pals.

The cast was filled with OCs based off mythical creatures. I had a whole map of the world and regions and flags and EVERYTHING before I just dipped out mentally from it.

Zodiac Fighterz was basically my magical girl series before Glitter and Guilt. It was made when I learned about the 12 Chinese Zodiac animals as a wee kid. The story was about a random group of teens who had been marked with one of the 12 zodiac animals fighting crime under the guidance of a talking cat and having to use their animal abilities to fight against a group of evil cat people and the corrupted animals they'd make using blood magic...let it be known this is what little baby me was writing and drawing after getting home from elementary school.

I do not have the original designs from baby me's times of drawing them as those were literally on paper with colored pencils and are currently buried in my notebooks as, just like with my OCs, I rarely ever throw out my own physical art. That sounds so deep but...it's just bc I live in a constant state of "but what if I need this for reference later".

HOWEVER I do have this 2017 pic I drew of some redesigns for everyone.

Both of these stories are retired but I do plan to recycle some of these characters into my new stories. All my OCs live in the same storyverse so no one is truly gone anyways.

[lizard-shifter-noms]

Broken Bloodlines Chapter 8

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Part 8!!!

we are now in the latter half of chapters!

this Story contains mentions of Vore, Dont like dont read. (also i drew a cover!)

CW; mentions of injuries, mentions of corpses, mentions of death.

have fun reading!

and as always reblogs are appreciated! (Also ASK’s are open so feel free to bother me!)

AO3 Link for those that prefer the layout there; https://archiveofourown.org/works/44627188

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Before I had made it even a few steps though I heard my name being called.

Looking to whoever was demanding my attention I saw Nea sitting on an empty cart and holding the smaller Arduas arm in an inescapable grip.

At least I didn't have to go up the slope now.

I went over to both of them and the little guy immediately darted behind Nea as best as he could.

Considering Nea was holding his upper arm that didn't do much though.

His reaction was understandable though, 

seeing as I had headbutted him into a boulder.

How did he recognize me anyway? 

Probably the bracelet if I had to guess.

I climbed onto the cart and sat down across from Nea and the little guy.

Though I was pretty sure Nea shouldn't sit like that with her injured foot.

Man, people around me really liked getting shot in the foot.

Nea held out the second Bracelet to me with her free hand, 

being careful not to put any of her fingers through it before stashing it away again.

“Took ya long enough! 

Last I saw of ya was when ya rammed one of tha catapults over!”

She pulled the little guy out from behind her and he looked absolutely spooked at me.

“So what are ya gonna do with the tiny here? 

He hasn't said a word and refuses ta speak”

Silent treatment eh? Well fair all of this must be rather scary,  especially after being rammed by something three times his size.

Yeah I messed up back there, I should probably apologize for that.

I crouched down a little to try and seem less threatening.

“Heya, what's your name?”

Maybe asking basic and simple questions would get him to talk?

I really hoped he didn't have a concussion though.

He just shook his head and shrank back further.

Still scared then, maybe he'd open up a little after I apologized?

“Look, i'm sorry for ramming into you like that,  i thought you'd be bigger and heavier and i really miscalculated there, i didn't intend to knock you out”

He just blinked for a second but still looked like a scared deer.

Nea then just lifted him up and set him down in front of her, 

effectively trapping him in the cart with one of her knees one one side and her arm on the other.

He looked panicked for the second Nea held him up like he weighed nothing, and to be fair that would freak me out too.

But I did not for a second doubt she could actually lift me up.

“Stop fussin lil’ lad, Donovan here won't hurt ya! He's a wuss like that!”

I wasn't a wuss, Nea was just very stab happy.

“I'm not a wuss Nea, i just don't want to hurt people that's all,  not everyone is as stab happy as you are”

I rolled my eyes at her and she shrugged.

“Eh, whateva, now back to ya Lil Lad,  ya have a name or did that Usurper take it from ya?”

He pressed his lips together till they almost disappeared for a second or two before he said the first words I ever heard from him.

“I- im Rowley”

His voice was raspy like he hadn't had water in some time and I decided that after two more questions I'd get him some.

“Rowley is a nice name, haven't heard that one before,  So say how old are you?”

“I- uh i'm thirteen”

Thirteen? He looked like he was eleven at most! Well he was malnourished so that could be the cause.

Also thirteen was not an age anyone should go into battle,  a sentiment that was shared by Nea judging by her expression.

I was actually kinda glad Rowley couldn't see her face at the moment.

 “Thirteen? You shouldn't fight at that age! 

and why did Winton drag you to war anyway?”

He shrank back at the mention of Wintons name and my suspicions were confirmed.

That fuck did something to Rowley, and possibly not only him.

It took him a god two minutes to start talking but both me and Nea were patient, which was unusual of her.

“I- the king knew what that bracelet did and wanted a Giant soldier, but the ones that tried it on died so he had Orphans test it for him.

He just picked off street kids and forced them to put the Bracelet on.

Then when i put it on i turned into that four legged thing and he threw me into a tower”

Before I could say anything to that horrible revelation Nea had stood up despite her injured foot and pulled her way too big sword from behind her where it had leaned against the cart.

“Im gonna murder that fuck! Where did ya guys bring him? 

I ought ta cut both of his arms off!”

I catched Rowley who had fallen forward as Nea leapt up in her fury.

“Nea, Rikaad and Norrin are interrogating him right now,  you cant just barge in to wherever they are and start stabbing that fuck, even if he does deserve it”

She still looked angry but at least seemed to hear me out as she lowered the Giant sword again mumbling about not being allowed to fight and now not being allowed to kick ass.

“Hrmf, fine whatever,  i'll go get water so now it's yer turn to keep an eye on tha lil’ lad”

She got off the cart and picked up her crutch before she went limping away.

So now I was alone with Rowley.

Remembering what Nea had just said I held his upper arm like she did, though I was probably not as strong.

He glanced up at me with a confused and still scared look.

“That's one scary lady”

That was also one of my first thoughts upon properly meeting Nea,  well still was actually.

“Boy you don't even know half of it, she's a royal Guard for a reason”

At the mention that she was a Royal Guard he looked just Confused.

“I thought only men could be guards?”

“I asked her the same thing and she said she beat a Drake with an old helmet, not sure if a really believe that, Drakes are rare after all”

Rowley fiddled with the hem of his near threadbare shirt.

“I've seen you before, but you were bigger back then, they had locked you in the same tower they tossed me in after i changed to that thing”

He wasn't looking at me and still fiddled nervously with his shirt instead.

I remembered that day as well, and now I had confirmation that this was the same little guy from the rooftop back then.

“Yeah I remember, if rather negatively that place was awful.

But you were the guy on the rooftop right? You waved at me”

He nodded.

“I think that's why Winton wanted your Bracelet, but then he found one in the treasure chamber and used people to experiment with it.

I'm not sure why i didn't die like everyone else though”

Maringand had a Bracelet the entire time? 

Why? Well maybe a slayer got to it.

As for the Not dying I could answer him that.

“Well, I can tell you the not dying part if you want?”

He looked up and nodded.

“Ookay, so Oakley explained to me that that thing is tied to genetics, which I guess means one of your ancestors was also an Ardua?

The thing is magic and apparently just kills everyone that doesn't have those genetics.

That pretty much all i know, well aside from how to use it”

He looked pensive for a bit.

“Well, my mom was Elven so maybe-”

“Nope, not Elven or my half brother would be one too”

He fell silent.

“Eh don't worry, i thought the same thing, 

but after talking to Fable i just feel like an idiot”

Before Rowley could retort anything Nea shouted from over the place.

“Ya are an idiot!”

Considering how far away she was she must have only heard the last sentence and immediately took the opportunity to insult me.

I'd be offended if it wasn't just How Nea worked.

“I'm not the one that keeps ignoring what the medics said!”

I retorted and she threw a tightly closed waterskin at my face.

I hoped that it wouldn't bruise.

I handed the water to Rowley who struggled to open the container.

Nea hopped on and opened it for him in less than a second.

Rowley drank greedily and I tried to think of what to do now.

The little guy was still a child, one that had gone through something horrible so he probably shouldn't be alone for some time.

Also he was an Orphan as he had admitted so there was no one to take him in.

Seeing as he was a Bastard i doubted that there was anyone that wanted to, 

especially after today and him turning into a fuzzy four legged beast.

So, what now?

Nea was of little help there seeing as she was a warrior.

I'd just have to ask Rikaad or Norrin then, 

Rikaad was the king so he could probably assure his safety and Norrin had experience so he'd know what to do.

“So what to do now? I mean, this guy is no criminal, not even any sort of fighter at all so we can’t feasibly throw him in prison.

Maybe Rikaad will know what to do?”

Nea just shrugged while Rowley continued to drink an absurd amount of water.

So much water couldn't be good though.

“Slow down, you're gonna choke.

I think Rikaad is at the castle so I suggest we bring him there?”

Nea snatched the water skin from Rowley who flinched back in startlement.

“Ya sure, maybe he’ll let me stab that fuck! And you lil lad shouldn't drink so much water at once or yer gonna vomit!”

He looked unhappy at that but I did have to agree with Nea on this.

Besides I didn't want the guy to throw up,  He was already thinner than a stick.

“Alright then, let's go to the castle and see if we find them.”

Nea climbed down from the cart once again and I helped Rowley get down.

How he hadn't keeled over by now was a miracle considering he couldn't weigh more than a baby goat.

I debated shifting so he could hitch a ride but that was a bad idea for two reasons.

One; the way bigger Ardua from might scare him, especially after what had happened and two; I was covered in bandages and I had no idea if they would stay in place.

So I just ended up offering a normal piggyback ride to the kid while Nea shoved everyone out of the way with her crutches and sword.

I did wonder about the sword though, it was huge and if she was a guy I'd say she was compensating for something.

Also how the fuck could she hold it with only one hand? 

The thing was as big as her!

“Hey Nea, why do you have that oversized sword? And how the fuck can you hold it with only one arm? It looks heavy as fuck”

She looked at the sword for a moment.

“That's a Claymore, they are like that,  well mines specially made from casted iron instead of forged.

It's actually hollow on the inside, well it's still at least half an inch thick on either side but it's not as heavy as it could be.

I like it because it does a ton of damage if you know how to use it!

Also I have hidden snacks inside of it in the past but don't tell anyone!”

I let out an amused snort at the last addition,  I didn't expect her to do something like that.

Then again I also hadn't expected the sword to have a hollow part inside.

The hike uphill was largely uneventful considering nobody was on the slope.

At some point halfway up Rowley did fall asleep,  His adrenaline had run out no doubt.

Nea and I went to the main gate as the other ones were probably bolted shut right now, though something seemed amiss.

Eh it was probably nothing.

Walking into the throne room I realized I had no idea where the castle's prison even was.

Basement probably but I had no idea where that was either.

Luckily Nea did but I thought that we shouldn't bring Rowley underground, not after what happened to him at the tower.

Not that I knew much of that.

We left the sleeping boy in the care of an older wall Guard who Nea assured me was nice before she led me to a side corridor and opened a sturdy looking door that was largely painted like the wall.

No wonder I hadn't found it.

Seriously, why was the entire thing built like this?

The way down was dark and the stone was cold, 

which honestly made me a little uneasy.

“Aight, they ought ta be down there! There are high security cells deeper down too, but i don't think anyone wants ta free that jerk”

She used the metal railing to stabilize herself and went down the surprisingly roomy staircase.

Some torches were lit and we followed them till we heard voices.

Nea stopped then and put a hand on my shoulder.

“Oi, can ya like, not tell them I tried to get ta tha battle? 

They'll lock me in my room or summat”

I gave her a thumbs up and reassured her I wouldn't,  she did help me after all.

After that we went to where the voices came from and there was indeed Rikaad and Norrin as well as some other Guards I did not know.

“Rikaad! I need to talk to you!”

He turned to look directly at me.

“What about? I'm currently trying to get this tyrant to talk”

My eyes flitted to the other Guards,  I wasn't sure if I wanted to talk to Rikaad while they were here, 

Not to mention that Winton was also right there in a cell.

Rikaad caught where my eyes went and sighed.

“Alright, I'll need some fresh air anyway,  and it's better Winton knows as little as possible.

Nea you can try to get the guy to talk, just don't Permanently maim him, and please remember that the other Guards are here too”

“On it boss! That swine will talk like a waterfall when I'm done with him!”

Nea cracked her knuckles and I really wished she didn't always sound so cheerful when she talked about being violent.

She patted me encouragingly on my non injured shoulder as she went past me which still made the area feel sore.

I was kinda glad now that we were leaving,  I really wasn't keen on seeing what Nea did.

Rikaad led the way back out in silence and as soon as we were back above ground turned to face me.

“What did you want to talk about? Also i'm glad you survived the river, what were you thinking jumping in like that anyway?”

Well the river thing was pretty self explanatory but there were more important things right now.

“Well I got the other Ardua, but as it turns out that's a thirteen year old child Winton locked in THAT tower for who knows how long,  also he put the bracelet on humans to see if it worked on any of them.

And now, well i felt sorry for the guy so i brought him with me, 

but i have no idea what to do, like what do we do with another Ardua?

Oakley is dead so he can't help- and and that's my fault, i should have-”

Rikaad put a hand on my shoulder.

“Calm down, you are talking yourself into a panic attack, and I can assure you Oakleys death is not your fault, he chose to go on the battlefield and could have ditched anytime he wanted, okay?”

I nodded slowly and tried to calm myself as he instructed me.

“Good, now as for the Boy you said he's only thirteen? 

By God Winton is the worst!

He can stay here for now till we get a better idea,  in the meantime we could go get Arthur and tell him we know which tower his cousin is locked in.”

“Oh thank you, it's just that I feel really sorry for the little guy,  I mean he's tiny!

Also I thought Arthur was with you? 

But i'm sure he’ll love to hear you know where his cousin is”

Rikaad nodded.

“He was, let's say displeased with Winton so i told him to go look for Robin instead”

Ah, good call, Arthur would have immediately maimed Winton.

“Yeah that was probably a good idea,  So wait, does that mean we are going to Maringand?”

“Very probable, though we’d need Arthur to guide us through the terrain”

True, we did not know tha area at all so having someone that did was practical.

Also we were going there to find Arthur's cousin sooo.

“You said he's with Robin? 

Last i saw him he went to the kitchen to protect the staff there”

“The kitchen? Alright let's see if both of them are there”

To get to the Kitchen we walked around the castle as neither of us wanted to deal with the stupid hallways right now.

And after the wide open battlefield being inside felt, well, strange.

We reached the kitchen door and window soon enough and Rikaad politely knocked.

Good idea, just barging in might scare someone.

Myril was the one to open the door with the biggest rolling pin in one hand and a mean looking firehook in the other.

“Oh, it's you! Thank God, everyone had been worried! 

Is the battle over? Did you win? Wait let me get you some soup”

She turned away in a hurry before anyone could say anything and we just walked in after her.

I looked around the room and sure enough there was a familiar mess of red hair right next to Arthur.

“Robin! There you are!”

He turned around and as he saw me leapt up and went to go hug me.

“Donovan! You're alright!”

While it was nice that he cared he was holding on rather tightly which my wounds did not agree with.

“Ow ow don't squeeze! A lot of people threw stuff at me today, I'm sore!”

He immediately let go.

“Oh, I'm so sorry! I won't do it again!”

I doubted that he wouldn't do it again,  his brain was all over the place on a good day.

“Eh, it's fine don't worry, but i'm definitely gonna feel that tomorrow”

Arthur also came up to us,  well more came up to Rikaad and i knew what he was gonna ask.

“So did he tell you where Amicia is? Please say he did”

Rikaad nodded and the relief was very visible on Arthur's face.

“He said she was on the south tower,  not sure which one exactly that is but it is something”

“Oh I know that one! She's probably locked in the top part of it! 

I need to go and see if she's alright!”

He turned to leave but was stopped by Rikaad who had grabbed his lower arm.

“I'm not sure if you should go alone,  Maringand might still have some Guards or who knows what else”

Arthur turned back looking disappointed.

“So what now? 

I'm not leaving the only family member i actually liked in that tower”

“I'm not saying you shouldn't go, im saying to at least take proper safety precautions, i'll come with you,  i have to declare the defeat of Winton to Maringand anyway”

Oh right, the people of Maringand had no idea that Winton was now locked in a dusty basement prison.

Rikaad was right in that, someone did have to inform them.

“So we are going to maringand? Who else is coming with us then?”

Rikaad shrugged and out of the corner of my eye I could see Robin sneaking some snacks while no one was looking, well aside from me.

“Id say whoever is fit enough,  some Guards and Soldiers, maybe a medic will join too”

Robin had finished stuffing leftover cookies into his pockets and turned to face Rikaad.

“Oh so we're gonna see Maringand? That's cool! Where is Oakley? Maybe he wants to come too! He does know a lot of stuff after all!”

There was dead silence after.

Of course Robin had no idea that the winged man was dead,  he hadn't been there.

Now more than ever I was glad he stayed behind and didn't have to witness that.

The Ginger seemed to notice that it had gotten uncomfortably silent around him.

“I- is there something wrong? What happened?”

I really didn't want to say it out loud, not again, that just had such a weird sense of finality.

Luckily I didn't have to, seeing as Rikaad stepped up to speak.

“Robin, Oakley is dead, he got hit by a burning net and didn't make it”

The rustheads face fell and I could make out the beginning of tears in his eyes.

“Wh- what? No that can't be, he's Oakley,  he can use magic and all that he can't be dead!”

Nobody gave a retort to that, even the kitchen staff had gone silent.

Then Rikaad sighed.

“Come on let's go outside, at least for a bit”

We left the kitchen and ended up in the shade of a large tree.

Robin looked like he was doing his best not to cry.

He just clung to the next best person,  in this case Arthur and refused to let go while he was shaking.

Well, at least he wasn't squeezing my wounds.

Nobody said anything for a good two minutes.

“I think we should get ready to go to Maringand,  Robin if you don't feel up to it you can stay here if you want”

Robin shook his head.

“Gimme a bit, i'll be fine, and i wanna see Maringand”

It still took some time for him to calm down but with mine and Arthur's combined efforts we managed it.

While we calmed the poor ginger down Rikaad was assembling whoever was fit and wanted to go to Maringand.

It was an hour or so later that he had everything set up and we were ready to go in an actual fancy carriage.

I had never sat in one before and I wondered if Arthur would be okay sitting in that thing.

He did have horrible Motion sickness after all.

Yep, judging by his face he was not thrilled at all.

But he seemed willing to bear it to go help his cousin.

It still didn't make the ride anymore pleasant with him hanging out the window and throwing up.

At least the cushions and the rest of the carriage was nice.

Robin spent most of the ride in silence and Rikaad was sitting outside of the carriage to give Orders to the riders who had come with.

He had also taken the crown Winton had been wearing as a sign that he was defeated.

The only good thing that had happened today was Arthur's look of joy when we told him that Nea was keeping an eye on Winton.

I also hoped that the little guy, Rowley, was alright.

He looked so scared when we brought him to the castle, scared and frail.

The carriage had to go back and forth for a bit to find a stable bridge over the river but after some time over uneven terrain and avoiding what I hoped was just stone and fallen wood we reached Maringand.

I knew though that it had not been stones and tree trunks.

The carriage stopped and I pulled Arthur inside again.

He looked rather green in the face though.

The door was opened and I saw that we were standing on some sort of Plaza.

Rikaad had already gone and began telling the population that Winton was defeated, holding the crown he took up in the air as he did so.

From the threehundered people that were here only about nine started to fuss about it, all some rich fucks by the looks of it.

The rest of the crowd seemed to be relieved that the tyrant was finally gone.

There had been some questions about who was in charge now since Winton killed the competition.

Rikaad simply answered that we were on the way to the castle to sort it out.

While he spoke Arthur made sure to not show his face in case anyone recognized him.

Since the rich fucks here had seemed to side with Winton that was probably a smart move.

We stopped two more times on the way to the Maringand castle until we finally reached it.

The castle itself was very different from the Kamerasc one. 

This one had a different shape and was built with a dark gray stone and reddish brown roof shingles and was located right into the mountainside.

But it was easy to make out the south tower seeing as south was where the ocean was.

Though somehow the place where it was built seemed oddly familiar, and not from the time I had spent trapped in that outpost tower.

Then I realized it, that was the place from the book! 

The place where the Maringand creature had gone to die!

That really made me wonder how historically accurate it was.

But that could come later, for now we needed to find Arthur's cousin.

Luckily he already knew where to go and led the way through the way less confusing halls of the Maringand castle.

Man, why couldn't the Kamerasca Castle have been built like this? 

This was way easier to navigate!

Arthur then led us to a door that opened to reveal a lot of stairs going upwards in a spiral.

I hoped the Tower wasn't too tall but was disappointed in that as it took a good ten minutes to get to the top.

At least the sight from the occasional window was pretty.

At the top was a blue painted door with silver ornaments and Arthur immediately went to open it in his anticipation of seeing his cousin he even forgot to knock.

He had barely made it two steps inside before what looked to be the leg of a chair collided with his abdomen and he went to the floor.

“WHAT THE FUCK!”

A figure appeared from the blind spot of the door and I could definitely say that this must be Arthur's cousin.

They had the same eye and hair colors and looked similar overall.

She was also wearing what appeared to be a hastily sewn pair of pants and clutching the chair leg.

“ARTHUR? Wait, what the hell? I was told you were dead!”

She went to hug the fallen man but did not apologize for hitting him.

“Yeah yeah, why'd you hit me? 

And where did you even get that chair leg?”

Arthur slowly got up and Amicia tossed the wooden furniture piece aside.

“What leg? Now please tell me how you are alive! 

Winton said you got eaten by some beast he refused to describe!”

I felt my ears heat up, right I kinda had brushed off that part.

And I was actually glad Winton didn't describe what I looked like or else this would have gotten extremely awkward.

Arthur finally got up and brushed some dust off of him before he was immediately swept into a hug again with Amicia holding and poking his face as if to make sure he was real.

“Amicia, I'm fine, I'm here to rescue you! Winton lost! 

Kamerasca won and he's rotting in a dark cell for now.

We also left him with one of the most terrifying guards so he wont have a good time”

Yep, Nea was probably making this hell right now.

Amicia looked past Arthur and seemed to see us for the first time.

“And who are these guys? They don't exactly look like soldiers”

That was true, I was still in my normal everyday clothing aside from a new shirt, Robin was wearing a sleeveless red tunic with an off white undershirt and Rikaad was wearing what I assumed to be some uniform.

Yeah we did not look like soldiers.

“Oh, those are my friends! After I uh, ‘left’ the castle I ended up in Kamerasca, they were nice enough to help me when I needed it!”

Amicia waved all of us inside her little chamber which was surprisingly well decorated and looked all of us directly in the face as we passed her.

Being stared at made me uncomfortable on a good day and today was not a good day.

I self consciously put my hands over my ears as she looked at them.

She seemed to get it and instead scrutinized Rikaad’s uniform.

“Are you a General or something?”

She looked rather distrusting of those in power which nobody could blame her for, but she also looked like a weird mirror of when Arthur was distrusting of me.

Yep, definitely related.

Rikaad didn't seem bothered by the hostility though,  Instead he bowed and introduced himself.

“My Name is Rikaad Drayton, and I'm the King of Kamerasca.

Pleased to make your acquaintance Lady Amicia”

I found him to be overly formal now but considering that Arthur planned to give Amicia the right to rule it was probably just some dumb formality.

Amicia blinked for a second before turning back to Arthur.

“What the Hell? You're friends with the King? 

Wait, I thought the King was some old guy?”

I started to wonder how much she knew of what had been going on, considering she was trapped in a tower for who knows how long probably not much.

Arthur just shrugged.

“I mean yeah? Didn't know he was the Heir when i met him though, besides the only reason we became friends is because Robin started hanging out with both of us”

He turned around to try and introduce Robin but the ginger had climbed into the bay window that faced towards the sea and looked out to the land below.

Yep, Brain all over the place once again,  i'd better get him in case the glass wasn't stable.

“Robin? What are you doing? C’mere and say hello”

I lifted him up from where he was like one would hold a cat they just caught and carried him over to where we were before setting him on the ground again.

He pouted up at me but I ignored it,  he could at least say hello to Arthur's cousin after all.

He then turned to face Amicia who was the only person in the room that had the same height as him.

“Hi! Im Robin”

Amicia just stared at the cheerful little rusthead for a few seconds before she answered him

“Nice to meet you? It's nice Arthur finally found some friends!”

Then her eyes flitted to me once again.

“And you are? As far as I recall Fae are banished from Kamerasca, where are you from?”

Oh, was she under the impression I was a full blooded elf?

Well that wasn't correct.

“Im Donovan, and well, i'm only half Fae,  Besides with Rikaad in charge the Fae Ban doesn't exist anymore”

She looked briefly to Rikaad, now with just a tiny bit less hostility.

“Well that's nice of him, since i'm freed now or whatever why don't we get some tea? Or some other beverage you want”

I could tell she wanted to get out of this room already,  not that she could be blamed for that.

She spent possible months here without being able to go wherever she wanted.

But that also meant going down all those stairs again.

Damnit.

But we did end up a little while later in a smallish room adjacent to the kitchen that had a table and six chairs.

Tea and some sort of tiny little cakes were served that smelled of Lemon.

The meager staff here then left as fast as they could and closed the door behind them.

I doubted any of them would lock it but even if there was a window and we were only on the second floor.

Amicia then addressed us again.

“So you guys won? With how Winton bragged about a secret superweapon that would make you turn tail and flee,  I'm surprised you were this fast, what was the weapon anyway?”

Secret weapon? Oh, she must be talking about Rowley.

Rikkad leaned forward a little before speaking.

“Secret weapon? Well there was a magic based being do you mean that? Also what do you mean by ‘this fast’?”

I was glad Rikaad didn't mention the Ardua or Rowley, 

who knew what kind of problems that could cause.

But yeah what did she mean by this fast?

“Oh well Winton was really just setting himself up for failure,  Almost everyone hated him! 

Of course his Soldiers would half ass the fights and turn as soon as they got the chance!

I mean come on, he was THE most disliked person in the Kingdom!

I'm not surprised he lost, nobody is, I just find it funny he lost so fast!”

The most disliked person in the Kingdom sounded accurate enough, If the only people that like you are some greedy rich fucks you are doing something severely wrong.

“Thats, well you are right it is not surprising, he’s currently being questioned by, how do you put it? Most skilled Guard”

Rikaad assured her and I had to hold back a laugh,  most skilled Guard, that was one way to put it.

Well she was skilled, a lot so but she was also somewhat unhinged and I would not be surprised if there were broken fingers when we came back.

“Most skilled? I hope so,  Winton deserves every bad thing he's got coming!”

As much as I was against violence I did have to agree with her.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Robin eyeing the tiny cake I had gotten with the strawberry tea and I shoved it in his direction.

He happily went to munch on it.

If I was honest this entire thing was weirdly uncomfortable,  at least for me.

Arthur was happy that his favorite cousin was alright and Rikaad seemed to be at least somewhat okay.

Robin of course had no concept of awkwardness and just munched his small cake which was previously mine.

I just slowly sipped my tea to try and avoid talking.

Amicia then decoded to make it awkward for everyone as she addressed Arthur again.

“So you still like boys or was I wrong about that?”

Arthur spit out the Tea he'd been offered and started coughing.

Liked boys? Amicia was really just outing the poor guy in front of us? 

That was really fucking rude.

Being rude must lay in the family, at least this branch of it.

Arthur slammed the cup angrily and flustered back on the table.

“I told you before that I like both! Men, women who cares! 

Now shut the fuck up thats not even any of your business!”

He was redder than he'd ever been before and looked like he wanted to disappear into the chair he sat on.

Well what Amicia just did was rather uncalled for.

It took me a few seconds to register that another reason why Arthur was so upset about it was that a LOT of humans didn't take kindly to men liking men or women liking women.

So having that information out in the open could be really dangerous to someone, especially if the church heard about it.

I didn't care about all that though. 

If Arthur liked both so be it,  it really wasn't any of my concern what he did with his life.

Though now I was convinced that Amicia liked chaos,  at least judging by the look on her face.

It was not the most surprising thing though.

Considering the circumstances of everything she either had to be a Noble lady with barely any freedom or was locked in a tower for possibly months on end.

Saying stuff out loud and seeing people's reaction to it was probably her only source of entertainment for years.

To be honest in the past i would have found it funny to see Noble fuckers react vividly to stuff they deemed improper.

Still, that had been really inconsiderate of her.

“Arthur, you told me before you left that by a specific date you'd tell people, did you not check the calendar? That date was four weeks ago”

Wait, so she just assumed we already knew? Well this had gotten even more awkward now, but at least she didn't do it out of Malice.

Arthur however still looked extremely embarrassed.

“I fucking forgot, there was too much going on at the time,  you could at least make sure in advance before you just say it outloud”

Amicia now looked actually regretful but still tried to cheer him up.

“Oh come on it's not that bad, I mean, Robin, right? what do you like?”

Robin looked up from where he tried to sneak Rikaads tiny cake.

“Cake!”

Rikaad shoved his cake as well to Robin who immediately bit into it.

“Yeah okay that question was badly worded, What about you Donovan?”

Me? I didn't actually know,  I had been preoccupied by surviving instead of figuring that out.

Also I really did not care.

“Dunno, was more busy with not getting murdered,  also i kinda don't care”

Why were we even talking about this now? 

That was not what we were here for.

Luckily Rikaad interjected before she could ask him as well.

“As nice as talking about mundane things is that is not what we are here for”

Amicia looked confused at him.

“What else are you here for besides freeing me? 

Oh wait, with Winton in jail Maringand has no king!

You're here to give Arthur his title back!”

Close enough, probably,  but Arthur did not want the title nor rule this place.

Amicia was nice enough if a bit tactless,  but she was the only other living relative that could lay claim to the title.

Which Arthur just told her bluntly.

“No, i'm not gonna be King, i don't want to lead people that did not give a fuck about me when i need help,  you can have this entire shitshow but im leaving”

Amicia just stared at Arthur.

“...are you sure? I know most people still think you are dead but if you show them that you are not maybe they'd change?”

Arthur just shook his head and I felt like we should have left these two alone to sort it out.

“Yeah, I'm sure, this place has been hell to me and I'm not staying here!”

“So, I'm the one in charge now? Some people wont take kindly to that”

“Eh just don't tell anyone that i'm still alive and they cant really complain”

“Okay, but only if you come visit at least once a month! 

And write me letters!”

“Sure! Now have fun sorting out all the logistic stuff!”

While they talked Rikaad motioned for us to sneak out, which we did.

Robin did snag Arthur's small cake as well before we left though.

We quietly closed the door behind us.

“Amicia is very similar to Arthur”

Robin mumbled into his cake.

“Yeah, they are for sure related, should we go back? 

To Kamerasca i mean,  Arthur can just come back later after he's done with whatever this is”

Rikaad nodded.

“He's probably going to take a while,  i’ll inform him, you can go ahead to the carriage”

He knocked on the door we had just left and I steered Robin outside again while he was munching on what I assumed to be his fourth cake.

“You really like that Cake huh”

He nodded.

“Mhm, it's good”

I could see that, he had crumbs all over his vest and his fingers were sticky with what was probably jam.

“Sure, now let's go to the carriage, i don't like being out in the open here”

He nodded and followed me while trying to flick the jam off his fingers.

“Maybe you should get a hat? 

If you don't like people looking at your ears”

Of course that was the thing he picked up on.

“I don't like hats, besides that could fall off or someone could yank it from my head, also i just don't have a face for hats”

I generally didn't like them, it alway felt like something was about to fall on my head.

“Mhhm then not, do you have a cloth for my hands? 

I don't wanna make the pretty carriage dirty”

I fished out the new handkerchief I got some time ago and handed it to him.

“Here ya go,  now let's get a move on or Rikaad will end up there before us”

He laughed and quickened his pace while he cleaned his fingers.

“He does have longer legs than us, well at least right now”

That drew a laugh out of me,  yeah i could just shift and then he wouldn't even reach to my knee.

But shifting here probably was not a good idea.

“True, but i'm not gonna shift here, i'm not keen on causing a panic”

I was not keen on getting shot at again.

“You would be faster than the carriage though!”

“I'm also covered in bandages and i have no idea what would happen to them”

While it was true that my clothing shifted with me I didn't know how that would be with wounds covered in bandages,  Would the bandages fall off? 

Would they also disappear like my shirt did and reappear? 

Yeah not testing that.

We reached the carriage pretty quickly and hopped in before any of the Marignand people could get a closer look at my ears, Man id be glad as soon as all of this was over.

Just then the door of the carriage opened again and Arthur and Rikaad came in.

And Amicia.

What?

———————————————————————————

NEXT / PREVIOUS / OVERSIGHT

[klanceyuri]

Surge

Summary: Lare is dead, as expected she freaks out a bit- it's her first time! Who can blame her? She'd like to consider herself lucky that someone else is there, if that someone else was helpful.

Warnings: Implied character death, check Ao3 port for full tags

Authors Note: @bree-sae wrote a fic, and I went, 'crossover time' and proceeded to explode. @sobredunia it's a Kenikari fanwork, I am obligated to tag you in every single piece of Kenikari I write ever.

Why is it so bright? And warm? And never fucking ending, everywhere her eyes land all she can see is white.

Panic settles into her form and she's frozen where she stands, unable to move her legs. Wait, standing. She can, she can probably sit down if there's something that she's standing on. But she should be looking for an exit before anything else, try to scrape up some idea of how she got here.

So Lare walks. Presuming she's heading north instead of south. Or east instead of west. But she walks, she walks through the blank void laid out below and above and all around her.

She walks into someone and they both fall, she's quick to start apologizing. It's returned with a couple shockingly low it's fine's as she takes a moment to look at what she bumped into.

A humanoid, dirty blonde, orange outfit- snow gear in every essence of the word. He's got a knife stuck in the side of his throat but he doesn't seem to notice it. He blearily blinks himself back to awareness and he has indigo eyes.

"You're new here," Was what he said before anything else and that only left Lare with more questions than before.

"Where even is here?" Lare asked, trying her hardest to not ask a hundred other questions.

"This? This is death, you are dead, and so I am," He said and Lare could feel herself panicking, It must've shown because he was quick to try and rebuttal, "Don't worry! You aren't dead dead, you're just yet to return."

"You have a knife sticking out of your neck," Lare said, he feels around for it blindly. He gives a hum before tugging it out, there's almost no blood.

"Almost forgot about that, you get used to it after a while," He said as he drew his knees to his chest, "What's your name?"

"What's yours?" Lare spits back defensively.

"Kenny- Kenny McCormick, from South Park Colorado!" He wears a grin as he speaks despite the fact he's dead.

"I'm Lare," Lare said stiffly as she held out a hand to shake, Kenny gladly took in a shake.

"Look, I doubt you wanna talk about it but how did it happen?" Kenny asked.

Lare stiffens up, "Why would I tell you?"

"Helps the process go faster," Kenny answered with, "I mean, if you like purgatory I'm not judging."

"I'm pretty sure I froze to death," Was Lares response.

Kenny gives a hum, "Skill issue, anyways, my good friend stabbed me over something stupid- probably pissed I'd rather fuck Kyle than him, might've been monopoly."

Lare has so many questions at the statement.

"I don't know when you'll die next, but if your life is as cruel as mine I doubt we won't see each other again," Kenny said as he tightened his grip on Lare's hand, already fading.

She glanced down to her hand, "Oh fuck what's happening now?!"

"Relax man, you're just reincarnating," Kenny said calmly as Lare started to fade.

"What?!" She sounded distraught at the notions, Kenny placed a hand on her shoulder.

"You aren't gonna wake up a tadpole or some shit, you'll just end up back at home, or somewhere near your death- I don't know how your shtick works," Kenny said in an attempt to console her.

And then Lare passed out.

-/-/-/-

The time between her first death and the next death blur together in a horrible mix of everything and nothing at all. She can still hear him, that stupid voice singed into the back of her head and it's driving her mad. It was some dumb dream her brain produced while she was passed out in the cold room, nothing more.

Which leaves her with the question of how it felt so real.

The ice grasping at her skin. Chills seeping deeper into her lungs. Hands shaking her. Voices begging her to stay awake. It all felt so real, but when she asked questions, ever so subtle, worded carefully at that, they all looked at her like she was insane. Murasaki, Chuyo, Bee, even Mako and Detah- and maybe for a second she believed them that she was insane.

It had to be a dream, it could be nothing else. She pushed it all down and acted like it never happened because who would believe her if it had? No one, no one would believe her even if she wanted to act like they would.

She really hopes that releasing the cart when she trips is the right choice, that Bee and Mako make it out while she doesn't. She can feel the pain start at her feet and then crush the rest of her in an instant, she's sure she's been flattened into a paste rather than a pancake. She can hear Uzomi's scream of her name even after she's been thoroughly killed, the few seconds she gets before being thrust back into the void.

She finds that idiot in orange sipping on a juicebox with a slice down his throat that's still oozing. She walks over and takes a seat down beside him, he perks up a bit and has the audacity to smile.

"You're back!" Kenny sounds happy when he speaks, placing his juice box down beside his thigh as he speaks.

"I actually died," Lare got out quietly, disbelief heavy on her voice. She draws her knees to her chest, "And it's happened before."

"Yeah, the first couple times are always rough," Kenny said, voice softening a bit. He slings an arm around her shoulders, "I had an Italian who only communicates in wahoo! and yippee! with a heavy dose of body language for my first deaths."

"You had Jumpman Mario around when you died?" Lare asked, she sounded a bit hysterical.

"The one and only, he was hard to deal with, but I doubt he enjoyed consoling an idiot third grader who got turned to a platypus and mutilated," Kenny said as though it was common. Lare rested even more of her weight on him.

"Kenny when is it gonna stop?" She choked out quietly.

And Kenny didn't know how to tell her the truth.

"Well, I've been coming back here since the third grade and I'm what, fifteen? Yeah, about fifteen, so, a while," He got out sheepishly, "But hey! You aren't dying a lot which is nice, I used to die every single day."

"Really?" Lare asked, wrapping her arms around her legs as she spoke.

"Really, and then I got some weird ass disease that destroyed my muscle cells. I really thought that I was gonna stay dead when that happened, just me and Kyle, and then I was gone. I was here, but I wasn't there, and then I stayed here for weeks straight," Kenny said, he heaved a sigh, "But I'm back to my usual death schedule with slight alterations, so far you've only died twice which is rather impressive."

Lare was crying now.

"It'll be fine," Kenny said, "Promise," He rubbed Lares arm a bit.

Lare didn't answer.

"Ready to say how it happened?" Kenny asked.

"I was crushed to death by a rolling stone," Lare choked out on a strangled sob, "It was fast, but really shitty- children watched it happen Kenny! There were two kids who I hope lived even though I died."

"I'm sure that they did," Kenny said, he tightened his grip on her a bit, she wasn't fading yet.

"How about you? Who slit your throat over a game of monopoly?" Lare asked, almost jokingly. She had a gut feeling it would be much worse than that.

Kenny quirks a brow before realizing what she means, "Oh, that, that's nothing- most of the damage is internal. I don't know what they slid in through the hole," He brought his fingers to pull it open further and Lare gagged, "But it was something sharp and probably poison coated."

"Nasty," Lare said, sticking out her tongue a bit as she spoke.

"Super, but I've had worse deaths," Kenny said, he grinned a bit as he thought back on them, "Wanna hear?"

"Why not, pass the time or whatever," Lare said dismissively before her partner in death started to ramble.