#but he can't live not being himself either

[rosenclaws]

ma meilleure ennemie || Worst!Logan x Reader

summary: Logan loved, lost, fought, and killed you in his world. Now after being thrust into another universe. He finds you in a world where things worked out. How unfair.

warnings: angst, fem pronouns are used for the reader, its kinda a sad ending but like bittersweet more. talks of fighting and violence

wc: 4.2k

a/n: This is based on the song from Arcane! I would highly recommend watching the show btw its amazing and the scene this song is from is absolutely gorgeous. Anyways I hope y'all enjoy <33

Logan was really sick of all this multiverse stuff. Like seriously.

He barely remembers what happened. Wade had taken another one of this universe hopping devices from the TVA in order to complete some mission but as usual the two got into it. Shouting and fighting until Logan's claws went right into the little device. Before either of them could react it exploded. Logan felt like every atom in his body was being ripped apart and put back together. The world was spinning and he wasn’t quite sure where he was anymore.

In the blink of an eye he's not standing next to wade anymore. He in a bedroom. The light shining through the window and birds chirping outside. Logan looks down and sees that he's no longer in a bloody yellow and blue suit, but simple sweatpants and a black shirt. What the actually fuck. He catches a glimpse of himself in a mirror.

He looks different, just slightly. He had less wrinkles and the bags under his eyes were gone. His hair was a little longer too. It was uncanny as hell. It was him, he was moving his hand and touching his face but it doesn't fully feel like him. He hears laughter outside of his door.

Slowly he opens it, poking his head out to see the hallways bustling with students and teachers. He catches a glimpse of blue fur and he slams the door shut. No no no this isn't real. This is some weird fucked up nightmare dream thing. His heart starts to race as the sights and smells of this odd world start to fuck with his senses. He shuts his eyes and bangs his head against the door. Just wake up already Logan.

Wake. Up.

"You drink too much last night honey?" Logan acts before he can think.

Claws out and slamming whoever had snuck up on him into the door. Logan's eyes widen as he sees you under his arm. Confusion in your eyes as you tug at his arm.

"Fuck! Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." You push him away with your powers but Logan's gaze only hardens.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" He growls. He should bury these deep in your fucking head.

"I live here?" You furrow your brows as you put your hands up.

You take a step forward but Logan takes on back. His defenses are up and he won't make the same mistake this time. You're dangerous, you're the enemy.

"Logan what's gotten into you?" You ask softly. You try again to reach out and touch him but he flinches away.

"Stay away from me." He pushes past you, shoving you into the wall as he rips the door open and runs down the hall. Ignoring the call of his name.

He wanders aimlessly around the mansion until he finds Charles office. If anyone can explain what was happening it's him.

"Ah Logan, I've been waiting for you to arrive, please sit." Hesitantly he sits down, he can't help but observe everything around him.

The last time he was here, at the mansion, was the worst day of his life. But now everyone's laughing and happy. He blinks and the memories flashes in his mind. The blood that stained the walls, the smell of burning, the screams.

"So much pain. I'm so sorry." Charles wheels over to Logan.

"Hey chuck. Been a long time." Logan grumbles. His hands dig into the chair handles, almost tearing them off the more he lets his mind spiral.

"Forgive me for prying, but your thoughts are incredibly loud." Charles pokes and prods Logan's brain. Seeing glimpses of his world and this one mashing together.

"You're not from here." Logan nods his head.

"I don't know how I got here but, I need to get back."

"Start from the beginning." Logan spills it all.

Starting with his own world. How he walked away and it led to everyone being killed. The years of grieving and killing. How he was found and kidnapped by Wade and how it led to him saving the universe. How their fight led to him being thrown into a completely new timeline. Appearing to have taken over the body of this worlds Logan. And you. How you were in his bedroom and the flurry of emotions that came with it.

In Logan's world you were a very powerful mutant with mind powers. You were kind and friendly, but rumbling deep within you was a terrifying power. Power that could level a city with only the snap of your fingers. Charles had taken you in as a child and nursed your abilities. Teaching you the importance of control. You were his prized student. But then Jean came along and Jean became everything you couldn't be. At least that's what you had always told Logan.

She took the spotlight. She got everyone's love an admiration. People weren't scared of her. Her power was graceful and strong while yours was reckless and something to fear. When Logan rolled around you were a professor. He had caught your eye from the moment he was brought in. A handsome, mysterious stranger. But as always it seemed that Jean was the one to grab his attention. Which Logan admits is true, at first. But Jean didn't want him and he respected that.

Logan met you in the middle of the night one day. Small talk turned into more as the sun came up and the two of you were still wrapped up on the couch. You understood him more than anyone and he got you. Your romance may have started slow but it grew into a pillar of Logan's life. He loved you. God he loved you so fucking much. You were his light, his love. You were never a second choice to him, but the right one. The only one that mattered.

But he got to you too late.

All that pain and doubt had been manifesting years before he got there and after one bad mission you exploded. The team had turned on you, told you that it was your fault. It was misplaced anger from everyone. Including him. A shame he carries to this day. Your powers became uncontrollable. If not for Charles and Jean together you could have leveled the entire mansion. Logan tried to console you, to bring you back to him but it was too late. You saw the fear and the hatred growing from those you once considered family.

So you left. The brotherhood got to you before Logan could and the next time he saw you was on the opposite side of battle. You had changed. He barely recognized you anymore. You were cruel and ruthless with your powers.

For years the two of you fought on opposite sides. Logan tried to fight for you. He was convinced the you that he knew was still in there but no one else believed him. They told him over and over that you were gone. That the woman he loved was no more and only a cold blooded villain remained.

You hurt his friends, you threatened the mansion, the kids who once looked up to you now shivered at your name. It hurt him to his core, but eventually he accepted it. His love wasn't enough. Nothing could bring you back. You were gone.

It all cumulated about five years after you left. The brotherhood wanted to use you to wipe out all those who opposed them. Innocent people included. Anyone who stood in their way. The X-Men were sent to stop them. It was a bloody, long, intense fight. Allies and enemies being taken down left and right until it was you and Logan left.

"Please sweetheart, I miss you." Logan begs.

"Come back home."

"That place is not my home anymore." You spit. Nothing but hatred in your eyes as you pushed Logan to the ground. Your powers keeping him from moving.

"I'm going to kill you and all your friends. Nothing is going to stand in our way. Nothing!" Your powers let him go but you grab him by the neck.

For a split second Logan thought he saw regret in your eyes. Something. Anything other than the empty soullessness from before.

Logan! Take it! He hears Jean speak in his mind.

She was nursing Scotts wounds, she could barely stand on her own. With a broken roar he digs his claws right into you. He watches as the light drains from your eyes. As the blood pours from the wounds he gave you. He holds you in his arms. Silently whispering that he loves you, that he's sorry.

Your body goes limp and when Logan can no longer hear your heartbeat he knows that you're truly gone.

Why you let go of Logan he'll never know. You had to have known what the risk was. Why would you ever give him free use of his hands, of his claws? A part of him wonders if this is what you wanted.

Your death took a heavy toll on him. He started drinking more and more. The conflicted feelings weighed heavily on him. Most would celebrate your death but he mourned you every damn day. Mourned the woman you were, the woman that you loved.

"What is she doing here?" Logan asks lowly. Memories of his version of you flashing through his head.

"Here she never lost control, never joined the brotherhood.

"What changed?"

"In this world, Jean came to me first. She was my student first and thus Jean helped me train her to control her powers. She was my star student. Never feared her powers." Logan scoffs.

Was that all it took? Was that little difference all it took to save you? If he had loved you enough could he have saved you? Or were you already too far gone by then.

"We'll work on getting you home. I'll talk to hank and get back to you. For now, just try your best to adjust." Logan is dismissed.

Now what? Maybe he should just hole himself in his room until its time to go home. Until he remembers that you're there too. Suddenly he hears kids screaming, his senses kicking into high gear as he runs outside, claws out on instinct. He sees you with a bunch of kids running around screaming. He doesn't have time to think. He just acts.

"Get away from them!" Logan yells. Making everyone stop in their tracks. He lunges at you and you use your powers to slam him to the ground.

"What the fuck is your problem! We were playing a game!" You shout.

"Kids, go back inside." You command and they slowly file inside, whispering amongst themselves.

"How was I supposed to know that?" Logan growls once you let him back up.

He puts his claws away but the hostility doesn't fade. How could it? His brain is so fucked up right now, he had long accepted that you were gone and now he's thrown into a world where you aren't a villain anymore. That you're the woman he loves again but he just can't let himself trust this. He can't. What if Charles is wrong? He just...he can't do this.

"What did you think? Did you actually think I was going to hurt them?!" You ask mostly as a joke.

"Logan, you've been off since this morning." You reach your hand out but he doesn't take it. He pushes himself up. Putting up these walls that you swore you broke a long time ago.

"I think its best if you stay the hell away from me." He walks away without another word.

Leaving you utterly confused.

Logan locks himself away for the next couple days. Only coming out when he was called by Hank and Charles. He could feel your eyes on him every time. Like a sad puppy he kicked to the curb. He doesn't even look at you. He knows he can't. If he does he'll cave. The problem is that Logan knows he can't stay here. He's only setting himself up for heartbreak if he lets you in. Nothing but pain and what could have been. He just doesn't think he can mourn you anymore. He just wants to go home. To forget this ever happened.

Once again he can't sleep, deciding to walk around the mansion instead. Pictures line the walls, some that he recognizes and others he doesn't. He stops and one in particular. Jean and Scotts wedding. Scott looks happy and Jean is a beautiful bride, but that's not what catches his eye.

It's you standing right beside her. A big smile on your face. You look gorgeous. So happy and carefree.

"I remember that day," He jumps hearing your voice once again. He turns to see you standing away from him, but staring at the picture. His claws don't come out this time at least.

"Can't believe Scott even wanted you as one of his groomsmen with how much shit you give him." You say softly.

"Yeah," Logan looks over to the other side of the photo. Seeing himself dressed in a suit. Except Logan's eyes are on you.

"Charles told me. About your situation. I understand why you reacted the way you did. I'd be freaked out too." You rub your arm awkwardly.

"How much did he tell you." He asks.

"Not much. Just that you're from another timeline and you're trying to get back." Logan grunts.

"That...you've been through a lot of pain and loss." Logan's breath hitches. So Charles didn't tell you any specifics. Maybe that's for the best.

"I don't know...what we are in your world. But I want you to know that I'm here for you Logan." He clenches his fits, god how can you be so sweet to him after he almost stabbed you twice. He'll never understand.

"Thanks. I'm sorry If I scared you before." He says.

"You can never scare me." You say and Logan shuts his eyes.

You used to say that to each other. Logan was made to be a weapon and you were a ticking time bomb. Yet not once were you ever afraid of each other. Both of you looking past what others saw.

"What...what am I? To you?" You ask hesitantly.

The question's been eating you alive since you learned about this whole thing. Logan takes a deep breath. Turning to look at you and feeling his heart sink down to his feet.

"It's a long story, one you don't want to hear." He says with a sigh.

"I mean, I have time. I just. I don't want you to have to carry it all alone." You reach up and touch his arm. Logan's eyes close as he feels your fingers trail down to his hand, lacing your fingers with his. It's been so long since he's held your hand.

"Maybe another time sweetheart." Logan squeezes your hand, using all his willpower to let go of your hand.

You watch sadly as Logan walks away, disappearing back into his room without another word.

He lays on the bed staring at the ceiling nursing a glass of whiskey. It's been a week since he got here. They're close to getting him home. There's muffled music coming from the living room.

It's Storms birthday. Logan should be out there, maybe to keep up appearances but a party is the last thing he wants to be at right now. There's a knock at the door and he ignores it. Until another one, and another. Finally he just gets up to tell them to fuck off. He opens the door to see Charles.

"I said no." He mumbles. Ready to slam the door but Charles stops him.

"I'm not here for that. We should be ready to send you home within the hour. That being said. I know it's been a long time since you saw most of us. Consider saying goodbye this time." With that Charles leaves, leaving Logan stunned.

Quietly he grabs his jacket and heads to the party. Sneaking in as best as he can. Sticking to the corner of the room. He sees Storm talking to Jean and Scott. They're smiling and laughing. Jean spots Logan from across the room. Offering him a small smile.

His eyes move over to the middle of the room. They had pushed the furniture around to make room for a dance floor. He watches as He's not strong enough for this? Rogue, Kitty, and Bobby were dancing. Laughing as they take turns making up stupid dance moves. Jubilee was using her powers to create fireworks that lit up the whole room.

She catches Logan's gaze and waves happily. Seeing everyone again, seeing them happy and thriving. It made his heart ache. To know that at least in one universe, everyone is okay. No thanks to him that is.

"Logan! Come dance!" Jubilee shouts, making everyone's eyes turn to him.

"No thanks kid, I don't do that." He grumbles.

"Oh come on Logan, it's a party." She begs.

Logan sighs and pushes himself off the wall. Walking to the dance floor taking Jubilees hand and spinning her around a little bit. A small smile crossing his face.

He remembers Jubliee asking him to dance once. Back in his timeline. She was a kid. There was this school dance and she wanted to go so badly. He took her hands and she stepped on his toes. He made her swore up and down to never speak of it but he remembers it fondly.

"Mind if I cut in?" He turns to see you standing there. You're all dressed up looking so pretty. Jubliee bows out, wiggling her eyebrows making Logan roll his eyes.

"Hi." You say softly as Logan holds out his hand.

"Hi." He says.

You and Logan move in sync. Like nothing had happened as the two of you move to the music. Logan smiles as he twirls you around and dips you. He lets go of the weight on his shoulders. Letting himself just exist for once. To enjoy holding you in his arms and dancing to the music. He'll face reality when he goes back. But tonight, he'll dance.

When the music lets up he drags you outside away from the noise and the prying eyes. You walk through the garden in a nice quiet. He leans down and picks a flower from the ground, putting it behind your year.

"Pretty." You bite your lip as you tug your coat tighter.

You sit on a bench and Logan joins you. From this angle you can see how lively the mansion is tonight. The party, the lights on in the bedrooms. Its so homey. Logan smiles, a part of his heart feels like it's patching itself up. At least its not all bad in every universe right?

"You go back tonight right?" You ask and Logan nods.

"Are you happy to go back?" Logan looks over at you, grabbing your hand and squeezing it tightly.

"I uh, I don't know." The truth is he wants to stay.

God he wants to stay so badly. To live here and be happy. No worries about the world ending or being reminded of his dead friends. But...He can't stay. As badly as he wants to this isn't his life. You aren't his girlfriend.

As he was told before. All the pain he went through made him the man he is now, there are people out there who still need him. Who need the Wolverine to fight for them. You lean your head on his shoulder.

"I wish I could stop time. Just for a second." He mumbles.

His arm wrapping around your shoulder as he watches them sing happy birthday. You lift your head, staring into his eyes. What sad lonely eyes they are. He leans in, foreheads touching as he cups your face gently.

"Can we, can we just pretend like it's the first time?" He asks in a low whisper.

You nod your head as you close your eyes and let his lips touch yours. The kiss means fucking everything to Logan. His thumb brushes your cheek as he kisses you with ever ounce of love he still has deep in his heart. He knows that you aren't the same woman but fuck he just hopes you know that he's sorry that he wasn't enough. He hopes you know that he loves you.

You tug on his hair and Logan groans. His other hand resting on your back pulling you closer. He reluctantly pulls apart from you. Breathing heavily as he catches his breath. There's this silly smile on your face, one that always appeared after Logan kissed you no matter how much you tried to hide it. He missed it.

Logan. It's time.

He hears Charles in his head. His smile dropping as he realizes it's time to go. "I can go with you down to the lab." You offer as Logan stands up. He takes your hand and helps you up, leaning in to kiss your forehead gently.

"No, I should do this on my own." The truth is he knows that if you're down there he won't be able to go through that damn portal.

"Don't look so sad, You'll have your Logan back soon sweetheart." He wipes away a stray tear from your face.

"I know. It's just, hard to say goodbye." You take the flower from your hair and place it in his jacket pocket.

"Something to remember me by." You walk hand in hand back into the living room.

Logan takes one last look around the room. A strange sense of peace coming over him as everyone smiles and waves to him. It's not goodbye for them, but it is for him. But at least this time, he got to say the words. Logan lets go of your hand, sparing you one last look as he steps into the elevator. He can't bring himself to say anything. You know what he wants to say.

The elevator moves slowly as he heads down to the lab. Silently he steps out and heads towards the lab.

"Logan wait!" He freezes as he hears your voice.

"How did you-"

"The stairs. I took the stairs." You blurt out. He nods, standing there unsure of what to say.

"Can I ask you one question before you go?" You ask breathlessly. He nods. He can hear something happening in the lab, he doesn't have much time.

"In your universe, did you love me? Were we happy?" Maybe its an odd question. After all you just made out outside. But you don't know what this Logan had been through, if things were different or how different they were. You just needed to know. You always had a hunch your love was stronger than a simple timeline.

Logan takes a long look at you. Committing you to memory, so that now he can remember you like this. Smiling and happy and unafraid of who you are.

"I loved you more than anything sweetheart, I still do." With a soft smile you take one last look at Logan before returning back up the stairs. When Logan returns he'll be the man you knew before, but you don't think you'll ever forget this other Logan. Not for a long time.

"You ready Logan?" Hank asks as he hooks Logan up to a machine.

This was supposed to separate the two Logan's. He just prays it doesn't kill him. Logan closes his eyes. Similar to the feeling before he grunts as his cells seem to tear apart once again. Only this time when the pain stops he's back in his bloody suit. The other Logan is laying on the ground. Knocked out from whatever the hell Hank managed to do.

Before their very eyes an orange portal appears. They must have finally pinpointed the anomaly once the two had been separated. Before he steps through he turns around, nodding his head at Hank and then Charles.

"It was good to see you again Chuck, Thanks for everything." Logan says.

It feels like a weight has been lifted off his chest as he steps through the orange portal. In a flash he's at the TVA headquarters, standing in front of Wade.

"Peanut! There you are, oh I was worried sick." Wade jumps into his arms and Logan just drops him. Wade stands up and dusts himself off.

"We need to get you chipped or something. Maybe a bell to wear around your neck." Logan rolls his eyes and just follows the TVA agent in front of them.

"I went to a world where dogs could talk. What about you?" Wade asks as they're brought back home. Logan thinks for a moment. He sticks his hand in the pocket of his suit. His body freezing as he feels the soft petals of a flower.

"Hello? Earth to Wolvie? What having some emotional flashback to something only the readers know about?" Wade waves his hand in front of Logans face.

"I was thinking asshole." Logan shoves his hand away. Smiling as he tucks the flower deep in his pocket, deciding that he'll keep his adventure to himself for now.

"Anything you want to share with the class?" Wade asks. Logan just shakes his head.

"No, nothing worth mentioning."

[aventurineswife]

Hi! I was wondering if you could do Blade with a reader who can't drive? Like they either don't have a license or are just a horrible drive so Blade drives them around a lot and maybe tries to teach them a bit? Sorry if that's too vague. Hope you're have a nice morning/day/night 🩷

“Hands on the Wheel, Eyes on the Road”

Summary: When Blade insists on teaching you how to drive, you're reluctant but agree. Despite your lack of skill and previous failures, Blade remains patient and surprisingly encouraging as he offers lessons. Throughout the process, you begin to realize that there’s more to Blade than his cold exterior, and his quiet care starts to break through your own walls.

Tags: Blade x Reader, Learning to Drive, Fluff, Lighthearted, Slow Burn, Angst (?), Patient Blade, Caregiver Blade.

A/N: this is giving that one Firefly and Blade scene 😭🙏

You sighed, clutching the seatbelt that was a little too tight against your chest. “I don’t think this is necessary,” you muttered, glancing at Blade, who sat in the driver’s seat with the calm authority of someone who had no time for your excuses.

“You don’t think being able to drive is necessary?” Blade’s voice was dry, his piercing eyes glinting as he glanced at you briefly before focusing back on the road. His hands gripped the steering wheel, elegant and steady, the glove on his right hand contrasting sharply with the pale skin of the left.

“I can walk,” you offered weakly, knowing full well that this argument was a lost cause.

“And if you need to escape?” His tone was soft but unyielding, cutting through any attempt you could make to downplay the situation.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. Blade wasn’t wrong. The Stellaron Hunters didn’t exactly live peaceful lives, and relying on others for transportation in a pinch was impractical at best, dangerous at worst. But still—

“I’m just not good at it,” you admitted, your voice dropping as you stared out the window. The city lights blurred into streaks of gold and silver as the car moved smoothly along the highway. “And besides, the last time I tried, Kafka said I was ‘endangering the galaxy’ or something.”

That earned a quiet huff of amusement from Blade. “Kafka exaggerates.”

“She doesn’t exaggerate when it’s about me,” you grumbled.

Blade didn’t respond immediately, but you could feel his attention shift toward you even as he kept his eyes on the road. After a moment, he spoke. “You’ll learn.”

You blinked at him. “From you?”

“Who else?”

The way he said it—so matter-of-fact, like there was no question that he’d take on the responsibility—made your chest feel oddly tight. Blade wasn’t exactly known for his warm demeanor, but moments like these reminded you of the quiet care he sometimes showed, tucked beneath his stoic exterior.

The next morning, you found yourself in the driver’s seat of the car. The sword Blade usually kept at his side was propped up in the backseat, as though it, too, were judging your every move.

“Start the engine,” Blade instructed, standing outside the car with his arms crossed. His long coat swayed in the light breeze, the embroidered gold catching the sunlight.

“I know how to do that,” you mumbled, turning the key and hearing the hum of the engine spring to life. A small victory.

Blade opened the passenger door and slid in with an effortless grace that you could never hope to replicate. “Now, put it in drive.”

“Got it.”

“And remember—gently.”

“Right, gently,” you echoed, carefully shifting the gear. The car lurched forward, nearly throwing both of you into the dashboard.

Blade let out a sharp exhale, bracing himself against the armrest. “That wasn’t gentle.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have such a sensitive car,” you shot back, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“It’s not the car.” His voice was flat, but you could see the faintest flicker of a smirk tugging at his lips.

You groaned, gripping the steering wheel like your life depended on it. “I told you I’m terrible at this.”

“And I told you you’ll learn,” Blade replied, his tone calm despite the chaos of your driving. “Now, ease onto the gas. Slowly.”

Taking a deep breath, you followed his instructions. The car moved forward at a crawl, but at least it was smooth this time.

“Good,” Blade said, nodding slightly. “Now, keep your hands steady.”

Minutes passed as you navigated the empty parking lot, with Blade offering quiet corrections and encouragement. Despite the initial nerves, you found yourself relaxing under his patient guidance.

“You’re doing better,” he said after a while, and the rare note of praise in his voice made your heart skip.

“Thanks,” you murmured, glancing at him briefly. He looked surprisingly relaxed, one arm resting on the edge of the window, his piercing gaze softer than usual.

“Don’t get distracted,” he warned, and you snapped your eyes back to the road.

By the end of the lesson, your confidence had grown, even if your skills still left much to be desired. As you parked the car—crookedly, but parked nonetheless—you turned to Blade with a grin.

“See? No galactic disasters this time.”

Blade raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. “You’ll get there,” he said simply, undoing his seatbelt.

As he stepped out of the car, you called after him. “Does this mean I’m your official chauffeur now?”

He paused, glancing back at you with a faint smirk. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

You laughed, climbing out to join him. Despite the teasing, you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of pride. Maybe, with Blade’s help, you really would learn to drive.

And if not, well, you were perfectly fine with him driving you around for a little while longer.

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

Okay the idea that grabbed me the most from the Kuttenberg Vampire thing...

(I've not finished the game yet so in terms of Canon Events this is entirely bullshit. Somehow this also ended up being 3.6k words. Rated E but only just. In which Henry gets turned into a vampire, and Hans tries to save him.)

Henry goes to Kuttenberg. He needs to find John of Lichtenstein. He's going to save Hans. But... he never does. He enters the city, and he vanishes.

Weeks - months - later, Hans is free. But Henry never came for him. In fact, everyone presumes Henry is dead. But this is Henry. Hans refuses to believe it, so he goes to the last place he was seen to find him himself, even if all that's left is a pile of bones.

Eventually, he finds someone who tells him a man matching Henry's description was seen going into the tunnels below the city. And he tries, he really does, but the walls close in on him and the ceiling creaks down and he can't breathe, he can't even see, and by the time he comes back to his senses he's back in the air with his heart thundering in his ears.

He really is useless. He heads to a tavern on the edge of the city. He'll either drink himself to death or get enough liquid courage to get back in those catacombs. But there he finds a familiar face: not Henry, but Mutt.

The innkeeper tells him Mutt appeared a while ago, lost and skinny. He's welcome to keep the beast (for a small fee). Hans takes him, and with the animal by his side he feels a little surer of himself. He returns to the tunnels.

Mutt is a good companion, but better than that: he's a good tracker. It's Mutt who leads Hans to the sealed-off tunnel, who scratches at the planks blocking the way until Hans shoulders his way through them.

On the other side is a chamber, rank with rot. The floor crunches beneath Hans’s boots: bones. Hundreds, maybe thousands. Rats, mostly, but some are larger: dogs, cats. A few birds.

He goes deeper. Another chamber. In the corner, a pile of rags. A bed? Mutt is in turn whining and barking. Hans reaches in, desperate to find anything that might lead him to Henry. And then there's a hand on his shoulder.

He spins around, dropping his torch. The flames illuminate the one who grabbed him from below, horrible and hellish.

Henry.

He's alive. But he's different. His eyes are darker, face sunken. He looks sick. He looks like he's close to death: like he died a long while ago, but never stopped moving.

"Henry?"

Hans tries to embrace him. Henry backs away. He moves so quickly that it makes Hans’s head hurt.

"Don't--" Henry backs himself into a corner. He looks terrified. "You need to go.'

Hans refuses. He didn't come all this way and through those fucking tunnels just to leave Henry now he's found him. They argue. Henry won't back down. Neither will Hans. Henry blathers about danger, and monsters, and the Devil. Hans won't have any of it.

And then he sees. He sees the flash of something new in Henry's mouth.

"What the fuck is going on?"

And finally, exhausted, defeated, Henry tells him. He'd been exploring the tunnels. He heard a noise - found a body. He was attacked. Not by a man, but by a creature: a devil spawn which took him down and sank in its teeth and left him drained and dead.

But not dead. He came back. Came back like this - wrong and hungry and evil. Came back with the Devil in him. Hans has heard stories like this before. Demons, blood suckers. Vampires.

"Just leave me," Henry says. "Just go."

Hans will never leave him. Henry has saved him so many times, and he intends to return the favour.

It takes some convincing - and stealing a horse - before they leave the city. They ride by night: the sunlight makes Henry's skin blister. Henry tells him more. He's been living off rats and strays, draining them dry in the mouldy crypt that's been his home these past months. Hans asked if he's ever taken from a human. It takes a while, but Henry confesses: yes, just once. A bandit in the tunnels looking for loot. It had just happened. He didn't mean to.

At last, they return home. Henry is greeted in the way befitting a man returned from the dead, and he hates it. Hans bundles him into his own chambers, telling the others that he's sick and tired and needs a bath and a rest. The part about the bath, at least, is true: Henry stinks.

Once Henry is settled, Hans makes a decision. He's going to find a cure. He's going to fix this.

"What if you can't?" Henry says, in a tub of filthy water. "What if there is no cure. What if you fail? I can't stay here."

The answer is obvious. "Then we leave together," Hans says. "Wherever you go, I go."

"But you can't. You're a Lord."

Hans doesn't care. "I can. And I will. I won't leave you again."

He leaves Henry asleep in his bed and goes to find Godwin. Hans suspects Godwin knows fuck all about vampires, but he is discreet. He has too many of his own sins to worry about anyone else's.

He finds him in the tavern, of course.

"I need to talk to you," he says, pulling him aside and placing a full jug of wine in front of him.

Godwin eyes the wine. "Go on?"

Hans suddenly doesn't know where to begin. It's about Henry. It's about the Devil. It's about sin and God and absolution and Hell. Father Godwin listens to him ramble before speaking.

"I had wondered how long it would take you two," he says, laughing. "I have often wondered why they tell us God is so happy to allow us to murder and seige each other but is apparently so furious with a little light sodomy. What is it you need? Penitence and pardon?"

Hans chokes on his wine. His face goes red. It's not that. At least: not in the way Godwin thinks. That guilt has been eating at Hans for a while, now, the fear of Hell and the noose, but right now he has more pressing problems. The dark heart of him - his sodomical nature - can wait.

"It'll be easier to show you," he says.

Involving someone else in this is a huge risk, but Hans isn't sure what else they can do. Godwin speaks to Henry, examines him, looks at his teeth.

"I cannot say I know how to help," he says.

Hans’s heart sinks. He's already planning how to leave, where they can go where Henry will be safe.

"But... I think I may know someone who does."

Godwin rides off that very day. When he finds the person he's looking for, he'll send word to Hans and they will set out after him. All they have to do is wait.

The waiting nearly kills him. But they find sense in it all. They tell people that Henry is very unwell and that Godwin is looking for something that will help: the truth, in a way. They settle into a routine where Henry emerges after sunset and before dawn, snatching a few hours together where they can, and making sure others see him too.

Henry stays in Hans’s chambers. It's so he can keep an eye on him, Hans says. Just in case. Sometimes he wakes to find Henry near him, watching him. Once he is stirred from extremely pleasant dreams to find Henry leaning beside him, his hand resting in the crook of Hans’s neck.

"I can hear your heartbeat," Henry says, eyes dark.

They don't talk about it.

There have never been so few rats in the castle.

Finally, a message arrives from Godwin. He bids them to return to Kuttenberg where he will introduce them to a friend of his. Hans is keen to set off as soon as possible: he cannot stand the anxiety of waiting for much longer.

How they'll travel to meet him is a difficult question. Henry cannot ride by daylight, but the roads are dangerous by night. Their solution is simple: a covered cart, the canvas lined with wool and sealed at the back to ensure no light can get in. It's awkward and slow, but it works.

Their journey is easy; at first. And then the worst happens. A bandit attack, just after sunset. They're outnumbered, but that has never mattered before, and now there's a new strength thrumming beneath Henry's skin that Hans has never seen before. He takes down the bandits brutally, and its terrifying, and beautiful.

And then he lets his guard down. A man goes for Hans, and Henry turns - tries to stop him - and then there's a second bandit on his back. The knife goes in again, again, again.

Hans has the bandit who attacked him on his back in an instant. Henry rears back and the one whose knife is embedded in his side is taken down in a spray of blood. And then he's on his knees. He pulls the dagger out and flings it aside.

No. No, no: not now, not when they've gotten so far and Godwin is dangling the promise of a cure to this hell in front of them. Hans throws himself down beside Henry, scrabbling at his clothes, trying to stop the bleeding.

"Hans. Hans."

Henry takes his hands and pushes them away. He rips off the ruined tunic. His chest and back is covered in horrible wounds, bleeding sluggishly. But as Hans watches... they close. The bleeding stops. Henry's breathing levels.

But the wounds don't heal entirely. Henry is left with a torso full of dark, angry-looking gashes.

"Shit," he says. "Shit. Normally I-- I heal."

There's nothing they can do. Hans wraps Henry's chest in bandages, more to keep the blood off his clothes than anything else, and they're back on the road. But Henry is slower, now. Potions and tinctures don't work. The wounds don't heal. They're riding down a wide road one night, side by side atop the cart, when Henry slumps sideways. He nearly falls. He would have fallen, if Hans hadn't caught him.

Somehow, Hans gets him into a clearing at the side of the road and leans him against a tree. It takes a lot of cajoling for Henry to admit what's wrong.

"I've not..." he says, through laboured breaths. "I've not eaten in too long. That's why I'm not healing."

Oh. Well that's easy, then. Hans tells him as much himself. Henry does not agree.

"I can't catch anything like this," he says. "And you're a shitty shot."

"I'm not intending to catch you a deer, you oaf," Hans says. "Use me. Christ above, Henry, it's not like you have much of a choice."

Henry looks horrified. "No. No, I can't."

"And if you don't?"

"I'll be fine."

"You'll die."

It's a guess, but the expression on Henry's face makes Hans realise its true.

"What if I hurt you?" he says at last. "What if I can't stop?"

Hans takes his hands. "You won't hurt me," he says. "And if you're that worried about it, give me your dagger. If you go too far, I'll stab you again."

Henry laughs, thank God, although the sound is strained.

"You think that will stop me?"

"No," Hans says, "but it'll distract you enough so you realise what you're doing."

Henry still seems unconvinced.

"Please," Hans says, frustrated that he's resorting to begging. "I... I refuse to loose you like this, Hal."

Henry relents. It takes a little shuffling to find the best position. Henry slots between Hans's legs, and Hans tries to keep his mind on what's about to happen, not the feeling of Henry's thighs between his own. He pulls off his shirt: this, he suspects, will be messy. He thinks on Godwin's words about sodomy. His heart is thundering.

Henry, he knows, can hear it. He wonders if he knows why it's beating so hard.

He grips his knife in one hand. He won't need to use it. Henry edges closer. His skin feels strange, cooler than usual, slightly unreal. His hands come up to tilt Hans's head just so, exposing his neck. His lips brush Hans's skin. Hans can feel his breath. He closes his eyes.

It hurts, but only for a moment. And then -

Hans curses. Henry stills.

"Don't you dare stop."

He's never felt anything like this. The pain peters out almost immediately, replaced with a burning, rushing heat that seems to fill him to the very tips of his fingers. Henry opens his mouth wider, tonguing at Hans's skin. He cannot tell if his neck is wet with blood or spit.

Henry makes a deep, guttural noise. Hans feels it rumble out of his chest. He bucks his hips instinctively, and - God's Teeth - he's never been this hard in his life. He rubs himself against Henry's thigh, too lost to bliss to care that Henry will be able to feel what he's doing.

It's over too soon. Henry laps at his skin, and then - horribly - pulls back. Hans can barely think. He mutters something needy and desperate. He can't hear Henry's reply over the sound of blood rushing in his ears. And then panic grips him.

He's going to lose him. After wars and battles and nearly dying and being fucking shot and weeks of hunting and then, to top it all, a fucking devilish curse, he's going to lose Henry in the way he suspected he always would: with Henry figuring out the shame in the heart of him and turning away.

"Henry, wait--"

He doesn't get a chance to finish that sentence. Henry is back upon him, his lips brushing his neck now not in a toothy bite but in a gentle, soft caress. He heaves Hans into his lap - there's that untapped strength again - and Hans can feel that he, too, is desperately hard.

His release comes embarrassingly swiftly. Henry's takes longer - and Hans is determined to commit the feeling of Henry's cock between his thighs to memory, in case it never happens again.

Afterwards, they lie side-by-side beneath the trees. Henry's hand is tucked into the crook of Hans's neck; feeling his pulse, Hans realises. He looks so much more alive, now, the wounds on his chest closed, his eyes sparkling. There is blood around his mouth.

"It's why I didn't kiss you," Henry confesses in the dark as Hans attempts to wipe it away. "I thought... well. It might be weird."

And there's the Henry that Hans knows and loves. A little awkward, a little off guard, always unsure if he's a peasant or a blacksmith or a nobleman's son. Hans laughs.

When Henry is finally clean of blood, he holds Hans down and kisses him and kisses him until Hans can no longer breathe.

The rest of the journey goes slower; not because of bandits or brigands, but because Hans is insatiable, and now he's been given permission he cannot stop. By the time they finally reach Kuttenberg, Godwin is clearly sick of waiting.

Their destination, it turns out, is further afield: a convent a few days ride out of the city, right on the edge of nowhere. This isn't like an illness, Godwin explains. This is worse.

They need an exorcism.

Hans keeps his eyes lowered and his arms close as they walk through the halls of the convent. It's too quiet, here, save for the sound of singing. Henry winces: the holy songs burn his ears. Hans is more worried that they can all see through him, these brides of Christ. That they're all judging him.

Godwin and Henry speak to the Abbess. Hans is not permitted to enter. He sits outside her solar with his head down and his hands clasped together. He prays. He doesn't know if God will listen to him, but he prays anyway.

It feels like an age has passed when he's finally called in. Henry stays silent and stoic as the Abbess and Godwin explain their task to him. There is a novice, she explains - a girl with exceptional talents. She has the makings of a saint. She has expelled demons before; though never like this.

It will be hard going. If it does not work, it is likely Henry will die. Hans tries to see what Henry thinks of this, but he refuses to look at him across the long table. Hans feels himself shaking.

"What do we need to do?"

Hans isn't well-versed enough in holy teachings to understand it all. They need certain herbs, candles, tinctures. Blessed water. Prayer. Holy books of dubious origin, hundreds of years old.

"We need you there, boy," Godwin says. "The Devil is hateful and powerful. If you want him gone... you need something better than hate. You need love."

Now Henry is looking at him. He looks unsure; as if Hans could ever deny this feeling.

"I'll do whatever you need."

He is given words in ancient Latin to read. A candle to hold. He dares not ask what gives it its eerie red colour. A fragrant garland is placed around his head, a thurible with incense pouring from it around his neck.

A cut is made in the crook of his arm. They collect his blood in an earthen dish, then take it away. He doesn't ask what they intend to do with it.

Henry is stripped and placed on a bed. Hans is commanded to kneel at his head. In one hand he holds aloft the candle, the other he rests on Henry's forehead. Henry peers up at him. It would be laughable if the situation weren't so dire.

The Abbess leads in the novice. They begin. There are so many rush lights burning and so much smoke and scent in the air that Hans nearly chokes on it. The candle in his hand melts, the hot wax burning his hand. He doesn't let go. He never moves his hand.

The novice's voice is clear and high, like an angel. She warbles Latin. She bids Hans to speak his part. When he does, it's like there's ropes around his chest, like lightning under his skin. He doesn't know what's happening, but it feels like it's working.

Henry groans beneath him. The novice drips a thick ointment onto his chest. Henry yells. The room smells like burning flesh. The novice does not stop. She paints letters into Henry's skin, speaking in Latin, swaying as she does. The Abbess prays. Father Godwin places something to Hans's lips. Wine. He drinks down greedily, unaware of how thirsty he is. Sweat comes off him in torrents.

The air is full of fire. Henry writhes upon the bed. Blood pools in the corners of his eyes. Hans wishes he could wipe it away, but he cannot let go, cannot move. He focuses instead on the feeling in his chest; the love, the dedication, the desperate need for a future.

"Don't go," he says. "Don't leave me, Henry. I do not give you permission to go."

Henry swears in a voice that isn't his. Hans is terrified, but doesn't move. The novice's voice reaches a fever pitch. Henry's eyes open. They're black - like pools of ink - like night. Like nothing.

Hans stares down at the thing in Henry's body. It stares back at him, like it can see into his soul.

Let it see, Hans thinks. Let it drink it in. He thinks of Henry. He lets the love fill him, lets it overtake him. Is this Holy, he thinks? Is this a sin? How can it be, when it feels like this.

The demon mutters something. Henry's body shakes. His skin is hot. The novice screams - they're so close. Hans's fingers and wrist are covered in wax. It burns.

He stares down into the face of the man he loves with the eyes of the demon he isn't.

"Audentes fortuna iuvat."

It's not the right words, he knows. It isn't like the words the novice instructed him to say.

Henry goes still. He blinks. One second its those dark, horrible, endless eyes. And then there he is: there's his Henry.

Henry takes a long time to heal. His chest is covered in terrible burns, which must be treated and re-wrapped several times a day. He has to relearn his body, rediscover thirst and hunger. Hans is there beside him every step, holding him, keeping him close.

They do not fuck again for a while; a miraculous act of self control, Hans thinks. He fears what would happen were they to fuck in a convent. They would probably be struck by lightning.

When the Abbess releases them and they're back on the road, however...

Hans has gone too long wanting to give over to restraint. Henry appears to be of the same mind.

Things are not the same, when they finally return home. Henry's appetites have changed - Hans has to stop him from eating meat raw. He can step into the sun, but he burns more easily than he once did. He's very weak, for a long time. That unnatural strength has gone, taking with it some of Henry's natural strength as well.

Things are not the same. Henry shares Hans's bed more often that not, for one; sneaking through the corridors when everyone else is abed. The bathhouse girls bemoan Hans’s sudden change of heart when he passes them by; they're missing out on good coin, after all.

Hans knows that the future is going to be uncertain. Neither of them know what will happen to Henry; if he will stay like this, trapped between two forms, or if he will one day be back to how he was. Or if the Devil will take him again.

Hans watches him sleep, his head pillowed on Hans's chest. He drifted off there, listening to Hans's heartbeat. It makes him feel safe, he says. Hans brushes back his hair so he can better see his face.

Let the Devil try, he thinks. I'll be ready for him this time.

[supernotnatural2005]

Gosh I remember this all now 😤

God I have no words for how much I hate Dick! Pffft, what a fitting name!

And then there's Dean, being sweet and heroic and then an idiot again!

It was hard not to be when his inner alpha acted so possessive over you. ‘Mine,’ it rumbled. Snarling and gnawing away at his resolve piece by piece, even though hours earlier, the responsibility and temptation of a mate was something he didn’t want. ‘She deserves better,’ he tried to reason with himself. Though anyone and anywhere different was an improvement on living here with your alpha in this middle of nowhere cesspool, and ‘We’d never hurt her,’ countered him back.

This whole inner dialogue is making me want to scream!! Listen to your instincts! Both hunter and Alpha you FOOL!! 😭 Also it's giving me Gollum and smeagol vibes? or is that just my nerd brain? 🤣

"We wants it" "No we can't haves it" -- No? 😂

“Your alpha. Do you love him?” He repeated, waiting for any unspoken clues you might give. You took your time. For Dean it was agonising, but when you did speak, his heart panged with relief and dismay. “I thought I did,” you said. “But I didn’t think he’d do this either.”

This was just so heartbreaking!! And then he did it because she met her soulmate 😩 God my heart!!

“Please don’t. That’s not you doing the talking. Your instincts are.” Just as you’d said, your neck and the punctures that formed a ring around it continued to draw his eyes. “You don’t know that.” “I do. Mine are affecting me, even though I have a mate. If you had wanted me, you wouldn’t have taken me home.”

Oooof that one stung! 😖 But now she's being silly, Dean went back for her! That has to mean something!?

“I need you on babysitting duties.” “Babysit—Where are you going?” Sam stared at him dumbfounded until Dean flashed his best smirk. One could say he was being cocky, and maybe he was. But in this instance, he needed all the confidence he could muster. “To deal with Dick,” he said.

Dean's gon' go all overprotective Alpha on his ass. And I am here for it!! 😤

Such an intense Chapter! So many emotions! I'm so pumped for the next!!

Amazing work as always Beth 💖❤️‍🔥

TO YOU I BELONG: CHAPTER 2

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Summary: Dean isn't looking for a mate, and the last place he expects to meet his soulmate is while on a case. Fate ain't real. He still has free will, and saving you is just another part of the job. Except, monsters aren't the only things you need saving from... 18+ only MDNI

Chapter Word Count: 4.1k words

Chapter Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, language, referenced physical abuse, referenced sexual assault, injuries to reader

A/N: I wanted to have this out a few hours earlier, but my brain couldn’t help playing around with things… Enjoy ❤️

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

The way the heat radiated off of you was just as Dean remembered, reminding him of what little memories he had of his mom of all things.

Your softness. The curve of your hips. Your body moulding perfectly into his had his blood thrumming in his ears and down below. Okay, that was nothing like his mother, he hoped, but he was enamoured. Had they been dealing with witches or wood nymphs, he’d say spellbound, struck by a potion or curse and growing soft.

It was hard not to be when his inner alpha acted so possessive over you.

‘Mine,’ it rumbled. Snarling and gnawing away at his resolve piece by piece, even though hours earlier, the responsibility and temptation of a mate was something he didn’t want.

‘She deserves better,’ he tried to reason with himself. Though anyone and anywhere different was an improvement on living here with your alpha in this middle of nowhere cesspool, and ‘We’d never hurt her,’ countered him back.

No, he would not. Nor would Dean ever try to scent or mark you while you were injured. He was determined by that. Knowing if he was gonna claim you, he’d have to wait and do things right. If you agreed and became his, anyone who tried to whisk you away as he had just done wouldn’t live to tell the tale, and…

What the hell was he thinking? Claiming you? Making you his?

How ‘bout where the fuck was your supposed alpha? The one whose stench soured your own. The one he hadn’t bothered looking for, and rather just picked up and took off with you.

Yeah…

Dean would never let you out of his sight. He’d never do this to you in the first place, either though, and his fingers flexed where they held you.

He was quick to release them.

‘Round your side and under your knee, the action caused your thighs to squeeze together and your breath to hiss on its inhale.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said.

He didn’t dare use omega again. Not now. Not to your face. His alpha could call you that term all it wanted, but with your matted hair now feathering the stubble on his chin when you shook yours, his gut churned.

“No. You’re helping me,” you said. “I should be thanking you.”

You may as well have struck him with a blade. Reached right through skin and flesh and into his stomach cavity and assisted the churning; further twisted his insides with your bare hands to yank them out, even. Hell, he’d do it himself. Save some time. Same effect.

“Yeah, well, I let you go back to your alpha before I knew how he’d treat you,” he said. And he should’ve known better, but so should you.

“I told you I—”

“Don’t.” He clicked his tongue. “You know I’ve thrown a lot of punches? Been on the receiving end of them too, and there’s no way those injuries were from a doorknob. So you wanna try me again?”

“I said I fell,” you whispered, and Dean stopped in his tracks, crackling the gravel beneath his boots. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Well, no, he could. You’d used that lie already in the park.

He bent his torso to leer a cocked brow, regretting that decision the second his spine moved. What little light there was above revealed more than he’d bargained for.

Yes, your thighs tightened above his arms. But so did every joint, muscle and nerve ending in his own body along with them.

Your right eye and the opposite cheekbone had distinct patches of mismatched colour, spreading. He’d say you were wearing lipstick. Only the last time he checked, makeup didn’t come with a clear, watery film around it. No. Dean knew an uppercut when he saw one. He knew the strength of an aroused alpha, too.

The shirt you wore had ripped more, and though his initials were still sitting right there, they were harder to distinguish because abrasions and puncture marks now covered them.

He felt sick. That churning in his gut would spill over you if he weren’t careful.

How?

Why?

You were his mate. Even without his scent, the swelling that billowed from your neck gave that away.

You weren’t in heat; from the scent, he wasn’t in rut, and that information just made Dean’s blood boil more than it already was. “Did he force his knot on you?”

“Ritchie…is my mate.” And your pause was telling.

“I don’t care who he is. That’s not what I’m asking you. What did he do to you?”

As if a switch had flicked, or in this case, floodgates opened. The stench of your alpha’s sack wafted up into his nose, along with more fear from you.

Your eyes filled with tears. Your limbs scrambled to pull away from him. The added stench of pine and a cheap aftershave that wasn’t his swept through the remnants of cum and sweat. But as much as that recoiled him, Dean still leaned back, taking a firm grip to shift your weight in his arms. He wasn’t letting you go.

He took a deep breath over the shame hitching in his throat, and, “I’m sorry,” he said again. Only this time, it held more than one meaning. He just hoped he could make it all up to you.

When Dean reached the motel carpark, his feet kicked up faster across the ground. “Sammy!” he yelled, not caring who heard him - he’d punch the lights outta anyone who got in his way.

His steel cap boot was raised and ready to strike the chipped wood as he yelled a second time, only for Sam to beat him to it by opening the door. His mouth, just as wide.

“Dean?”

There was no lost puppy in sight. No soft and caring younger brother who could get even a drill sergeant to crumble with one look. His eyes scanned their way across your form, though, widening along with everything else before they narrowed, honing in on where Dean’s initials should’ve been. “What—”

“What do you think?” Dean curled his frame through the door, allowing your feet to enter the room before him and the fluorescent lights to highlight the marring on your skin.

“I’ll get some ice,” Sam said, and swept his way to the fridge.

“Grab the first aid kit, too,” Dean barked back as he carried you over to his bed.

He dipped your toes to the floor, keeping his arms near as you found your footing; lifting a fraction to see the full extent of his claim. The bruising was still forming. Your skin wouldn’t turn black and blue for another couple of days, but the swelling, plus the dried blood and weeping cuts, showed early signs of infection.

His stomach stopped mid flip only to drop like a stone, heavy and solid. It sloshed the bile up his pipes, crashing over that hitch in his throat, and it burned. His shoulders shrunk. His knees buckled below him.

How could… Damn. Nope. He could ask that ‘til the cows came home. Until his mouth was black and blue from lack of air, it changed nothing. You were still injured. Most likely in more pain on account of holding yourself up now.

“Sit down, sweetheart,” he said. Course, it wasn’t a command, but your hesitation made even his toes clench.

He needed to sit. Chuck. He needed to punch your alpha’s head in - both of them - and he dropped to his haunches, encouraging you down, too. Arms rested on his thighs, holding himself up even though every molecule and thought weighed him down.

He could hunch over this way. Push the acid and lack of self worth back into the pit of his gut and away from you. Close enough to touch when needed - and fuck, he wanted to - his knot still twitched at the thought. Skin crawling with an itch he shouldn’t scratch, just to add on to all the other effects the sight of you did to him.

But what to say? What to do? You still sniffled. Gaze well directed away from him and looking down. It was really fucking awkward, spinning miles ‘round Sammy’s looks in the car.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to see those eyes of yours up close if they were gonna rival the puffiness of your injuries, but he tried getting their attention, anyway. His amber greens flicking over his initials again and running with it. Anything to drown out everything else.

“You know the, ah, the W stands for Winchester.” His boyish chuckle tethered off when your lip curled. “And you’re—”

Dean knew your name from the missing persons sheet, but hearing you repeat it then and there was a much needed do-over. If it weren’t for your injuries staring you both in the face, you could almost class this moment as normal if he tried hard enough. You’d been with him on the hunt after all, and if he just ignored the last two hours, his shower, the park, this could simply be agood old stich-up. Nothing more.

“Right.” He repeated your name, surprised at the way it rolled off his tongue with a pleasurable rumble. It suited you. Hell, it suited him. “Will you let me clean you up?”

“Okay,” you whispered, head nodding. Mouth and body out of sync until he gave you a nod back and your smile spilled a smidgen further into your cheeks.

There you were. Sort of. The omega he’d seen at the nest before he’d touched you and brought all this on.

His fingers flexed. Insides unravelled into a warmth that made his heart thrum faster and his head feel light. “Then we’re gonna need a few things,” he said, and stood up, distracting his mind and knot as he scoured the room for something that resembled a washcloth and a basin. Made easy by the grime and grease before him.

The film on the fridge. The stench of cigarettes competing with Ritchie’s. You didn’t belong with him, but you didn’t belong here either. That became more apparent as he moved throughout the room, collecting what he could.

Coffee-pot, brewed twice with water for cleanliness, then usage. A clean shirt from his duffle, sniff-tested first, and a bottle of Jack he found in Sam’s. By the time Dean returned to sit before you, chair and supplies in tow, he’d returned with the ice, and a compress was made. Dean’s shirt doing wonders.

“Here. Hold this.” He brought the icy bundle up to your mate’s claim and placed it over the inflamed skin. There was that outta sight, outta mind again, except your fingers brushed over his on handover and he took pause through your latest hiss.

It was like a scene from a crappy romance movie. Some guy getting all worked up over the girl. 

The kind were they were almost always soulmates, of course, and always meeting in high school or college and in the most convenient of places - funny ‘bout that.

You in the park, all banged up and injured. Your mate, nowhere to be seen. Of all the cases Sam could’ve found. Of all the people, being the one they needed to rescue was as far-fetched as one of those movies, too. But then there was that warmth from your skin. His damn gut and the newfound tingling of his nerves. It was all too real. 

Was this it? Was this his crappy movie?

You were here, and he was here and…Sam was hovering over his shoulder. 

“Ah, Dean, sorry to interrupt, but can I talk to you real quick?” he said from behind.

He didn’t want to talk to Sam. Real quick never meant real quick for starters, and he had a feeling he knew what he was going to say. 

“What’re you thinking?” he’d ask. Or “What’re you doing, Dean?” 

Well, Dean didn’t know himself, besides knowing he wanted to be near you. To keep you under his watchful eye. His alpha, ready to strike if Sam or anyone else so much as looked at you the wrong way. 

Damn instincts. But was it them, or the pull of being a soulmate? His body reacting and telling him he should want you? His alpha’s primal desires drawn to you like a mother, bonded and bound to her pups, after a single look?

His alpha snarled at that.

Dean sighed. ‘Okay, maybe not.’

He crooked his neck over his shoulder, flicking his eyes over your hand first. “Can it wait?” he said as they landed on Sam’s bitch face. 

“No, it can’t.” 

He should’ve known.

“What the hell, Dean?” Sam said as he paced under the awning outside the room. His hands shoved in his pockets, straining them, arms stiff as a board, even though his elbows flapped everywhere like some giant chicken.

“She’s hurt.” Of course, Dean knew full well what he’s actually meant - he didn’t need to play dumb. He had planned to come to Sam in his own time after he’d finished helping you as intended. Thanks to the interruption, though, he was now indignant, standing tall even with the messed up insides. They still dragged him down, but he put up a fight. 

More so, when Sam struck the cord, he wished to forget.

“What happened to her being nothing to you?” he said all too knowingly.

“I wanna help her.” He needed to.

“And you can. I just wanted to make sure you knew what you were doing. She already has a mate and—”

Dean shook his head. “The son of a bitch raped her, Sammy,” he said, self-blame replacing his usual gruffness and spitfire. He wasn’t at fault for what had happened to you. He understood that, but that didn’t mean he didn’t hold some accountability.

Your alpha had struck you because of him. He’d attacked you. Forced himself on you in what Dean could only presume to be a bout of jealousy, and all he saw was the part he’d played by taking you home to him. 

“You know that’s not on you.”

“Yeah.” Yet his eyes grew dim all the same. He lowered them, focusing on the ground. His boots scraping the pavement, now the most fascinating thing in the world over Sam’s, which widened when he said, “And I ain’t letting her go back to him. If she doesn’t want me, that’s her choice, but there’s no way that fucker will ever lay a hand on her again.

“O-kay. Let’s ignore the part about you wanting her for a second. What’re you planning to do about him? If they’re bonded, chances are he’ll be sniffing ‘round here soon.”

Dean was hearing what his brother was saying. He was, and he had a solid point. He’d need a plan to set you free, but bonding? “I don’t think there’s a bond between ‘em. I found her in the park outside their building, and he was nowhere in sight.”

“He could be asleep?”

Dean’s chin receded into his neck. “You realise how ridiculous you sound?” 

“Do you?” 

Those words turned Dean’s body still as if he were made of stone. Eyes stuck and narrowed like the wind had changed. Jaw tight. Maybe he had fallen asleep after popping his knot. The asshole hadn’t filed the report when you were taken, your coworker had, and “I’ll deal with him if he shows,” he said.

“Dean. That’s not what—”

“Are we done?”

Sam sighed. His right hand left his pocket, and he gestured back to the room behind. “I’ll be in the car.”

Dean hadn’t even finished closing the door behind him when the smell of fresh tears flooded his nose. He’d swept across the tattered carpet once again and sat on the end of the bed next to you before his mind had even registered it was happening.

Just as his own instincts had pushed him to you, yours buried your face in the crook of his shoulder. His flannel soaked up your tears.

He wanted to ease your pain, but what could he say? He didn’t have the right to comfort you because he hadn’t protected you when you needed him. His soulmate. Not that he understood what that meant.

He was a grunt, with nothing to his name, and you were, well, he still had no fucking clue besides knowing you had his initials on your skin.

The norm was for him to want you. The scary thing was, he did. Far too much for his liking.

He had lusted over you and continued to do so even now, when he was supposed to be helping you. If your mate’s jealousy was dangerous, Dean’s instincts were more so.

They swooped his arm behind your back, letting your fingers grip his shirt. Letting your tears soak into it. He even had the audacity to brush his lips through your hair and place a chaste kiss, only to feel disappointed when your body tensed and you let him go.

“I’m sorry.” You sniveled and swiped at your eyes. Only to wince when your palms got too close. “Where’s your brother?”

Of all the things you could have said, your concern for someone other than yourself had him more smitten. There was seriously something wrong with him.

“He’s sleeping in the car tonight.”

Your hands wiped at your eyes, and you pushed yourself out of his hold. “I don’t want to put him out.”

He should’ve been happy you’d considered Sam, but his inner alpha snuck through, rough and a little snappy. “He’s sleeping in the car tonight.”

“I don’t want to put him out.”

“You’re not,” he muttered, reaching down to pick up his now wet shirt that had dropped to the floor below. He didn’t want to talk about Sam. He didn’t wanna talk about your mate either, though he knew it was inevitable. “Let’s get more ice on your neck. We gotta stop that swelling.”

He stood up and moved to the table where Sam had left the bucket earlier, and after refilling his makeshift compress, came back and took your hand again. “Here.” He positioned it over the icy bundle to hold it in place. “You’ll need some on your eye too, but that bite is a priority at the moment.”

Of course, there was still that ulterior motive to keep the offending section of skin covered, but as selfish as it was, Dean hoped that by forcing his own scented item over the top of it, you might form a bond with him.

Yeah. He was delusional, so he set the internal struggle aside, and got to work.

His hand reached for a piece of gauze floating in the now tepid water and squeezed the excess back into the coffeepot, while the other cupped your chin and pulled you to face him. With steady fingers, he brought it up to your cheeks and dabbed as gently as he was able.

“Sorry,” he said when you hissed at the touch. He needed a recording if it would save his throat some pain and allow that lump to heal. “If you wanna do this yourself, I’ll help you to the bathroom.”

“No.” Your head jiggled more than shook. “It’s bad enough I can feel it.”

Dean could understand that. Not that he feared what he saw. For him, what he couldn’t grasp was seeing your face marred that crushed him, raising the question of how.

He knew the logistics of it. You’d been struck a number of times, and while he still suspected jealousy was the cause, it made no sense. Why would your mate do this to you?

“Do you love him?” He knew he was crazy to ask, but truthfully, he wanted to know if this douchebag did or not.

“What?”

It was a simple question, and very telling that you answered that way.

“Your alpha. Do you love him?” He repeated, waiting for any unspoken clues you might give.

You took your time. For Dean it was agonising, but when you did speak, his heart panged with relief and dismay. “I thought I did,” you said. “But I didn’t think he’d do this either.”

Dean’s eyes glassed over your neck. Your claim didn’t swell like that earlier. It seemed unusual to him for an Omega not in heat. “You wanna tell me what happened?”

“I met my soulmate.”

He swallowed hard. “So he did do this because of me.”

Your head moved against him. “He didn’t believe me when I told him you didn’t want me.”

You had struggled to finish your sentence, but you didn’t need to for Dean to understand. Though he couldn’t see your face, the room was now flavoured with rejection, and while it relieved his doubts of self-worth, it upset him to know you thought that.

“But I do want—”

“Please don’t. That’s not you doing the talking. Your instincts are.”

Just as you’d said, your neck and the punctures that formed a ring around it continued to draw his eyes. “You don’t know that.”

“I do. Mine are affecting me, even though I have a mate. If you had wanted me, you wouldn’t have taken me home.”

Dean often struggled with words, spitting out whatever came to him at the moment, whether they were full of shit or something else. But he wouldn’t let that thwart him. Not when the stakes were this high.

He dropped everything and adjusted his arms to scoop you up into his lap.

Your chest heaved, your brow grew sweaty, and his sharp senses heard the blood as it flowed to all the correct places in your body. Inside his, it did the same.

“You’ve got it all wrong.” Dean’s fingers moved on their own accord, pulling the hand and arm that attached to them to trace over the scratches and cuts that covered your shoulders. “I thought you’d be safer with him.”

“So did I,” you said. And it sliced him deep.

You hadn’t meant it that way, but Dean’s psyche was so full of self-loathing that even though he wished you weren’t, he had already decided you were fearful of him.

Depleted and forever quick to act, he lifted you with ease and set you back onto the bed. “I should get you some more ice.”

He picked up his shirt and moved to stand, but before he could, your gentle touch gripped his arm. “Alpha?” The pleasant sound warmed his ears and tugged at his chest. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not scared of you.”

You were more perceptive than Dean thought.

“Well, you don’t need to be scared of him anymore either,” followed the smirk that curled his lips as his back turned away from you. He really did need ice.

Four hours later, Dean was still wide awake while you slept under a pile of blankets in the bed next to him. Wearing sweats instead of his jeans, he sat up against the headboard. His ass, purposely on top of the covers. His knot just as alert as he was. 

Morning wood had never been more painful.

It hadn’t taken long for you to go down for the count after the first-aiding was done, no doubt exhausted as well as sore, but he worried about how your body would react when it woke up.

Last he’d seen you walking, your step held a jockeys gait. All movement, purposeful and slow. 

You’d had no issues showering. It had just taken some time. Maybe if he’d helped, things would’ve gone faster, but he didn’t dare offer. Even though his inner alpha wanted him to.  

You’d also had no issue stealing his jacket, having taken it when you thought he wasn’t looking. The washed-denim sleeve poked out, as did your toes next to it. The sight of both bringing out his biggest grin. 

No wonder he couldn’t sleep. It was just a shame he had to confront your mate. 

He wasn’t scared at all. Nope, far from it. He couldn’t wait to punch the fucker’s lights out. But you were still his, and a small fragment of Dean’s mind feared you may choose him, even after the horrible treatment you’d endured at his hands.

With a groan, he leaned over and fished for his phone. It was close enough to six to not be too early for coffee, and he swung his bow legs to the ground, stretching his arms out wide; gaining two large cracks from his neck and shoulders as muscle and bone satisfyingly pulled away from each other. 

He then braced himself to stand with his hands on his thighs, but the sound of blankets shifting and a fresh wave of omega scent laced with undertones of him flew under his nose, stopping him in his tracks. It brought another smile to his face and another rush of blood to his groin.

But he had a job to do. A mission. A quest. And without further ado, he jumped to his feet and shuffled towards the bathroom, keeping his morning wood pointing in a direction he hoped you couldn’t see if you were to rouse. There was no way of hiding it when he was standing.

He was quicker about things behind the closed door. No one could argue Dean Winchester wasn’t a multi-tasker. From brushing his teeth to taking a much needed leak, he accomplished it all under the icy stream he’d chosen to cool himself off with.

Thoughts of you, Ritchie, and what he was going to do plagued him while he washed. They continued to follow him as he dried off, then carefully slunk through the main room to further afield outside, where he found Sam cramped on Baby’s back seat.

The deep brown mop of Sam’s hair rose behind the matte black paint of the Impala’s side, sticking up against the window from the static that came with a cooler morning’s air.  

“Rise and shine, Sammy.” Dean fisted the glass above his brother’s head for added effect. Sam was lucky he hadn’t opened the door on him, because that had crossed his mind. 

He wasn’t that cruel. Mediocre at best.

“I need you awake, man,” his voice hissed through the cracked open window.

“Dean?” Sam’s startled head flayed around the Impala’s cabin.

He stepped back to give his brother space to get out, throwing the room keys at him when he surfaced with no warning. 

Sam’s large hands fumbled as they landed on his chest. The silver tumbling through his knuckles like a creature come alive. “What’s going on?” 

“I need you on babysitting duties.”

“Babysit—Where are you going?” Sam stared at him dumbfounded until Dean flashed his best smirk.

One could say he was being cocky, and maybe he was. But in this instance, he needed all the confidence he could muster.

“To deal with Dick,” he said.

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

Are we feeling the connection? Do we hate her mate? Did I name him Ritchie just so I could make a tonne of Dick jokes? You bet I did! Have I used it enough? Eh, time will tell, but I sure had fun with the next one!

Chapter 3 - Confronting - 07/03

Inside, Dick’s every movement was under his scrutiny. He wanted him to fuck up. To say or do something stupid. That way, Dean had probable cause. It would make whatever he ended up dishing out sit better on his conscience if he heard Dick admit it himself.

So Dean poked the bear. Outright asking him, “Did she say that while you were raping her?”

“I marked her as mine.”

Those words were Dick’s second mistake. He’d just given Dean the chopping block.

“And I suppose she didn’t ask you to stop when you hit her and tried to scratch my initials out of her skin, either?” Dean’s voice remained void of all emotion, even as the anger bubbled in his gut. If he held a mirror to his soul, Dick’s face would have been its reflection.

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[dubiousanon]

Do you have any more kakanaru ideas?

God, you don't even know the half of it. Here have a few but I'm dead serious, they're fucking unending. Title: 'Til Death Do Us Part Summary: In which Kakashi agrees to let Naruto practice seals on him, only for Naruto to go and "accidentally" bind them together for eternity in the first ten minutes. This wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if Kakashi weren't actively head over heels in love with him, and now their emotions are connected and Naruto knows it. -Post war, Kakashi falls in love with Naruto over the course of the village's reconstruction and sits silently on his crush for about two years, hoping it'll go away. News flash: it does not, in fact, go away. It gets like, ten times worse.

-Little does he realize, Naruto loves him back and the whole seal thing was fully intentional. Kakashi thinks that Naruto can't remove the seal. Naruto completely knows how to take it off, but after realizing Kakashi feels the same, he pretends he doesn't know how.

-Kurama cheers them on like the fangirl we all know he is and Naruto does his best to woo Kakashi, who is firmly in the "this is wrong, I'm a dirty old man, I couldn't possibly!" camp. So much so that, despite their emotions being connected, he remains blind to the fact that Naruto feels the same. Title: The You Inside of Me Summary: After Kakashi gets hit by a jutsu that de-ages him, suddenly he's nineteen years old again and has no idea what's going on, how he got here, or what to do with himself. When Naruto takes it upon himself to help Kakashi adjust, Kakashi can't help but notice how... pretty he is. Like, really, really pretty. -Naruto is also nineteen years old. It's just after the war and everything is kind of in shambles. Kakashi still believes himself to be ANBU and almost runs off thinking he's stuck in some genjutsu, but Naruto practically sparkles like gold in the sunlight, so Kakashi stays. -Naruto is unendingly kind to him to the point that Kakashi doesn't know how to react other than to melt. He's basically side-lined from missions while they try to bring him back to his actual age and with every passing day, he finds himself falling harder and harder for Naruto. To the point that he doesn't want to be aged back up again if it means he can't have this.

-As if age would stop Naruto Uzumaki from getting what he wants. Though honestly, he doesn't mind either way. Watching Kakashi discover Icha Icha for the first time is a true novelty.

Title: A Spoonful Of Sugar Summary: Post war, Naruto comes back to his apartment to find its been leveled to the ground. With so much destruction, Konoha is launched straight into a housing crisis that makes hunting for somewhere new to live impossible. Enter: Kakashi, who has an entire house to himself and is hardly ever there anyway now that he's Hokage.

-Kakashi thinks it's a great idea up until Naruto sleep walks into his bed in search of warmth in nothing but a tank top and the smallest shorts known to mankind and makes himself at home. Naruto's a cuddler, too, but Kakashi loves it so much that he silently hopes every night that he'll wander in. Even if the guilt practically devours him alive.

-Konoha is on pause for missions, but Naruto will die if he doesn't keep busy. Kakashi wasn't trying to get a live-in maid or anything, but the homecooked meals every time he comes home make his heart flutter. Naruto's also is helping with the reconstruction, which means he comes home sweaty. It does NOT help. -Basically, Naruto moves in, never leaves, and accidentally seduces Kakashi by doing absolutely nothing but being himself. Kakashi is helplessly enamored by it. Title: No Time (Like The Present) Summary: Naruto reaches adulthood and it's like a switch flips. Whereas he had absolutely no interest in relationships before, suddenly all he can think about is being with someone. Couple this with the strange urge he's had to let Kakashi-sensei bite him, he's pretty sure he knows exactly who he's going for.

-Or: Naruto's animal hindbrain belatedly kicks online and suddenly he's desperate to find someone. He feels naturally drawn to people who ALSO have animal hindbrains, whether he realizes it or not. This narrows his options down to Kakashi or... Kiba.

-Obviously he's not choosing Kiba, ew. After coming to the astute conclusion that he wants Kakashi to bite his neck and pound him into a mattress, he starts to relentlessly pursue him in the bluntest way possible. Which is to say he marches up to him and boldly declares that they should fuck.

-Kakashi is flabbergasted, terrified, and also desperate because now that Naruto's mentioned it, he can't stop thinking about it. And Naruto also smells really good, and Kakashi's hands would be so big on his waist, and it would be amazing. But also wrong. But also... well, he'll only hold out against Naruto for so long anyway, I guess.

Title: Planetary Summary: After a seal gone wrong, Naruto thinks he got off without any consequences. The sudden wet dreams he keeps having about Kakashi-sensei are weird, but he kind of enjoys them a ton, so he doesn't mind. It never occurs to him that they might be real.

-Naruto blows a seal up and suddenly he and Kakashi have connected dreams. Neither of them realize that they're both cognizant, that the dreams are real, and they're both lucid. Kakashi thinks he's having the same old wet dreams he's been having for the past year. Naruto thinks it's a cool, neat new feature.

-Kakashi basically ravishes Naruto every night thinking none of it is real and that he's finally just gone off the deep end and is having insanely detailed dreams as a result. Tons of filth, but also a lot of desperate kissing, 'I love you's, and various desperate apologies. Naruto is slightly taken aback but enthusiastically there for the ride.

-Eventually, a few vague mentions make it click that hey, they're both experiencing this same thing. The tension is insane. Naruto wants to climb him like a tree. Kakashi is drowning in self-righteous guilt. You know the drill.

[whateverisbeautiful]

I am so glad you're back and I hope you continue to get better each day!

I wanted to see what you thought Rick would have done if Michonne had actually executed his plan and escaped the CRM in episode 3 and returned home without him. I can't imagine he'd be able to just return to being CRM Rick or as he said, "die all over again" and just let her go without being beside himself with worry about her making it back safely and wondering about her and kids' life back in Alexandria. Curious to know your thoughts! And I am enjoying your posts so much!!!

I appreciate this a lot, thank you! 💖 And really good question. It was tough even imagining a scenario where Michonne goes against her character and actually leaves in ep3. But had she actually gone along with Rick’s getaway plan and gone home, I think, like you said, Rick would have a lot of trouble trying to remain CRM Rick. He’d try for a bit to stay 'dead' and apart from them because he’s convinced that's what’s best and safest. But I think eventually his need to be with Michonne and to know for certain she and their family is safe would overpower his fear that was keeping him away. Especially because I feel like part of why he was even able to decide to die and no longer try to get home in ep1 was because he’d gone so many years apart from Michonne and Judith that he was resolved in assuming they already think he’s gone for good. And he sounds like he found comfort in how being apart meant he could always believe they were alive and hopefully living a good life without him.

But with Michonne coming back into his life and so clearly wanting/needing him with her and still being as in love with him as he is with her, I think he wouldn’t be able to ignore that or deny that forever. Plus, in reuniting with Michonne he went from having her face fade from his memory to holding her in his arms. And so with that all coming back to him so vividly, I think it would reignite something in him that eventually would wake him up to the fact that he and Michonne aren’t better off apart and he can’t really let her leave - not when you're magnets of Richonne’s magnitude. 🧲 So I think in due time after she left, he’d have a renewed drive to escape and get home. But I also think that Rick might not even have to do a solo escape after Michonne left. Because if Michonne did go home when Rick asked, you just know the A in her would have gone home just to rally Daryl and an army if need be to come break Rick out themselves. So either way, I believe Richonne would end up reunited and home together. 👌🏽😌 Thanks for asking and reading my posts!

[satureja13]

This dream again. Where he dreamt of being back with Jonathan. Where his life was light and easy and exciting. Where he had nothing to worry about because Jonathan was in charge and took care of him. Where he felt carefree and loved and never wanted to wake up again. These dreams of Jonathan carried him through all his traumatic events and hard times. Helped him to stay strong for Jack when they'd been kidnapped and abused. And through his struggles of being responsible for the others as their leader. All the troubles they had to face.

Sai looked around. This wasn't a dream! Jonathan shot at him! Was he dead? At least it seems he'd been a good boy after all - when he was allowed to spend his afterlife together with Jonathan.

Jonathan stirred: "You're awake." Jonathan carefully filled in Sai about everything that had happened since they'd been separated on that fateful night. And about everything about Tiny Can they'd already discussed while Sai was sleeping. This all was a lot for Sai to take in. And his heart was heavy how cruel fate had been to tear them apart. His curiosity won though. He could drown in his sadness later. Saiwa: "So you think Tiny Can wanted us to meet you here? Why?" Jonathan: "Let's go and have breakfast and meet the others. We waited for you to wake up so we can discuss this together and figure out what this is all about, hm?" Sai: "How am I supposed to face them? We betrayed each other. I don't think there is a way back for us. And I'm so tired. All these years drained me. You know me, I'm not made for a life like this."

True. Jonathan knew Sai for all his life. And for all those 17 years they'd spent together, he was the one who cared for Sai, made all decisions and set the direction - and Sai was happy to follow and just care about his stuff. He must have suffered a lot all these years being responsible and in charge for himself and 5 others. 5 others that were just as hurt and damaged as Sai. How could the Resistance ask this of him?

Jonathan: "I'm here for you now. Let's just see what Tiny Can wants from us. And after we solved this, you can decide if you want to come with me. And live the life you'd left the elven realm for. I'll make it happen, I promise."

Meanwhile in the other room, the others aren't eager to meet Sai either. They know how much he struggled to be their leader, even though they helped him to carry the burden. And even though Sai tried so hard to overcome his struggles. But in the end they had to learn it wasn't something Sai could handle. Jeb: "Lets face it. When this is over, we need a break. This is almost three years us fighting nonstop. And we achieved enough. They can't ask any more of us when it means we are going to waste. Sai can go with Jonathan, I will go back home to Francine (his grandmother) and you - Jack and Kiyoshi and Ji Ho and Vlad - deserve to spend some time together before you fall apart like Sai and me. This isn't worth it - us giving up on everything. We deserve to have a life outside of our duties. And we outdid ourselves already. Just look how much of a help the Therapy Game alone is - for all the lost creatures out there. And all the other victories we earned by defeating the Council. We're not even dependant to work for the Resistance, we all can make a living from our side jobs." Kiyoshi: "Let's think about this later before we make any decisions. Jonathan just texted. Let's meet him and see what's going on here." The others are relieved. As tempting as it sounds to take a break and spend time alone with their loved ones, they don't want to be apart from each other. And Vlad does still not feel comfortable - all alone with Ji Ho ö.ö'

They just finished setting the table when Jonathan and Sai arrived. Ji Ho: "Look how beautiful he looks." Even though Sai seemed a bit tense to meet them after they betrayed each other and Sai tried to kill Tiny Can, Ji Ho never saw him this 'soft'. Jonathan's presence did something to him. Something good. And despite Jeb's words of wisdom a few minutes before, his heart skipped a beat. How was he supposed to give up on Saiwa? But it had to be. The urge to see him happy - and living the life he sacrificed so much for - outweighed his selfish need to be with him. Barely. But he loves him too much to just think of himself. So he tried to remain strong.

This wasn't the time for thoughts like this anyway. Time to focus on their last mission before they'd each went their separate ways. Jonathan started with the facts: "So what we know is that Tiny Can here contains coding that is mine, but I'm not capable of this kind of programming - yet. Many of these functions are still in my development and others I only barely thought about. So seeing this already accomplished is a bit much to wrap my head around. And on top of all that, you told me that there was a message from a future Jeb and Jack and there was a Professor Callahan who predicted the meteorite crash a hundred years ago. Which was quite weird since none of the astronomers confired ot nor had any sightings that this would happen..." Jack: "Does that mean...?" Jonathan: "This is the only conclusion." Kiyoshi: "For what?"

Jonathan: "I think Tiny Can is a kind of - eh ... time traveler. I will have built Tiny Can in the future and he returned. Though, we need to find out why. Since he broke, he does not communicate anymore. But he wanted us to meet here and Future Jeb urged you to stay together. So I fear you'll have to get along to face this final task together." Sai: "I will participate if I need to, but I can't be the leader anymore." Kiyoshi: "You won't have to." Jack: "We haven't forgotten that you tried to kill Tiny Can. You're disqualified anyway."

Jonathan: "Let's listen to Tiny Can's new message. When I repaired him, I saw short glimpses of Future Jack and Jeb. But he refused to show me more." That was Tiny Can's cue. He played the message. Future Jack: "Come on Tiny. Just one more message. They need to get them out of there. Tell them just to open that last save and..." And then there was only white noise and the message flickered and faded.

Saiwa hissed: "I knew it! There is someone trapped in the Therapy Game and suffering! We never should have started this damn game! And now we can't stop it anymore!" Jonathan: "That's not fair, Sai. This is the first known issue. Don't let it taint the fact that he already helped so many."

Vlad: "This must have happened before Tiny Can made the modifications and spread it all over the galaxy. From when is that save file?" Jonathan: "20th July 2024." Jack: "Gods. That was the day we got kicked out and Ji Ho almost died. The day Tiny Can saved us and broke." Kiyoshi: "Then it's not even Tiny Can's fault - it's ours..." Jonathan: "Tiny Can rescuing you must have caused an interference and someone must have been caught in there before Tiny Can could log everyone out. This might be the reason he wanted us all together here. Some of you need to log in again and the others need to make sure to keep the game stable and monitor. To get you out of there, should something go wrong. But Sai and I going to find out anything I can about that save file so we can prepare before you log in again. It might be corrupted." Kiyoshi: "There is an other issue. We need the meteorites to set the game up. We shouldn't use the network - for safety reasons." Saiwa moaned. Nothing is easy in this world. And his new carefree life with Jonathan must wait...

'Darkness on the edge Shadows where I stand I search for the time On a watch with no hands I want to see you clearly Come closer than this But all I remember Are the dreams in the mist

These dreams go on when I close my eyes Every second of the night I live another life These dreams that sleep when it's cold outside Every moment I'm awake the further I'm away'

Heart - These Dreams

Outtakes

Lenny waiting for his breakfast

From the Beginning 🔱 Underwater Love 🔱 Latest

Current Chapter 'Goats in Space': starts ▶️ here Last Chapter: 'Piglets in Space' from the beginning ▶️ here

📚 Previous Chapters: Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 23-29

[raven5056]

On Maedhros

My take on his character, and me trying to figure him out.

Maedhros is not a good guy. I think that much should be obvious by his deeds and while I think some of that can be attributed to The Oath™, definitly not all of it.

But I think he's not an inherently bad guy either. Tolkien is big on characters "turning" to evil rather than being evil by nature, so the same must be true with Maedhros.

And I don't think Mae can be classified as evil at all. He's an antagonist in much of the story but in the overarching plot he takes the role of a tragic antihero.

In my opinion Maedhros tries to be good. He tries and fails over and over again. He does something great and shows strong morals and the next thing you know he's kinslaying all over the place. He renouces The Oath™ and goes on to sack Doriath and Sirion anyway, and it's not just his brothers making a mess of things. It's a cycle.

To me he tries to adhere to a moral code up until the point where things go significantly downhill, instead of going down with his morals he throws them out of the window.

And later he hates himself for it. And I truly believe he wants this to change, but given a situation his stubborn will (inherited from his father) to achieve his goal is stronger than his ideals (due to his more tempered spirit via his mother) and he fails over and over again.

The fact he willingly gives up the crown of the Noldor to me speaks at least of a certain awareness of his inherent character flaws.

That to me makes him so tragic.

I've always have had a darker take on Maedhros. I generally don't think of him as redeemable. Not because he would not find forgiveness, but because he would never forgive himself. Because he thinks he is broken beyond repair and does not allow himself to heal. He will never leave Mandos because he believes he has no right to set foot in Aman again and walk among those he has harmed.

While Maitimo in his youth is generally a pleasant person he is also generally not okay.

Being the eldest son and heir to the guy the whole species literally peaked in in every possible way imaginable, and who also happens to be the crown prince, there is obviously a lot of pressure.

It doesn't really help that in his early youth —aside from his looks— Mae is utterly regular. He doesn't show any great talents or interest in a craft. (He had to take care of six younger siblings and fulfill his duty in court, he has little time to figure out what he actually enjoys) His grandfather teaches him about diplomacy in court and he is decent at it. Speaking comes easily to him. So he latches on to that. He tries to be the best at something (aside from his dad of course, no one beats Fëanor)

He can't be as good as his father but he can be good at one thing if he tries hard enough. (Whether he enjoys it doesn't matter if you've got Fëanor to live up to)

Slowly he is building up a facade of the perfect Son, Brother and Heir but underneath he grows more and more desperate for (his father's) approval. When his mother leaves he wants to go with her. He was always closer with her. But that means tearing down the entire facade so he stays with his father. Later he will regret that and think that maybe, just maybe had he gone with his mother (some of his brother's might have followed his example) some of the suffering could have been prevented.

When he comes out of Angband he carries a certain resentent towards his brothers.

He knows why they decided not to rescue him but he can't help but be angry after all he has done for them. Because he hates that he hates them, he keeps them at distance. He doesn't want them to know.

I also think he comes out of Angband a very different (very dark) person and the Nelyafinwë Maitimo is dead. His brothers realize that and there is a certain resentment towards this Meadhros Person. Especially through Maglor. I think Maglor absolutely hates who Mae has become but tries to not let it show, he knows it's not Mae's fault. (Mae knows of course, he always knew what Mags was thinking)

After Fingons death Maedhros gives up. (I vary between seeing them as romantic and platonic, so this works either way)

He knows the world is cruel, sure but seeing Fingons fate, the gruesome death of such a kind, brave and unendingly loyal person, his last hope dies. The Union of Maedhros is defeated and the one person who was able to look upon Mae with love, even after everything, is dead. He who deserved the world, died an undeserved horribly gruesome death and Maedhros is still there.

At this point he stops caring. He doesn't pretend to be a good person anymore, he knows he's not. He stops trying.

When Maglor decides to take the twins, they are terribly afraid of Mae. Of Maglor too, but they warm up to him. Of Mae they are still afraid. They sense the darkness in him. But they also sense the pain. One night, Maglor isn't home the kids are scared of a storm. With no other choice they turn to Mae. He does his best to comfort them. After that they warm up to him a bit more. But the uneasyness stays.

As The Oath™ is fulfilled and the Silmaril scorches his remaining hand, Maedhros feels empty. His biggest fear has come true: everything was futile in the end. He gave up everything including himself and any future he could have had for nothing.

There is no point in going on. And the twins are old enough to not need their protection. They are better off on their own. He has burdened their lives long enough.

He will not leave Mandos.

He cannot forgive himself. His Mother will try to see him, he doesn't want her to see what he has become.

Fingon will try to see him, he thinks Fingon hates him for giving up after his death (Fingon does, but he can forgive)

Eventually Elrond will come to the Halls to tell him about Elros' fate and Elronds own family. Elrond knows Maedhros will not return. He just wants to tell him.

[justsomerandomfanfic]

heyy, I would like to request a platonic and romantic DC mashup if that ok with you!

I'm 19 and I go by they/them, I haven't really figured out my sexuality but I like every gender. I have light brown hair, dark green eyes, really pale skin, a small nose and freckles, pretty tall (1,90m) and curvy.

my hobbies are reading, drawing and just learning random facts. My favourite book is howls moving castle, my favourite show is haikyuu and my favourite movie would be your name. I love punk rock but I do listen to every genre but my favourite band is stray kids. My favourite colour is purple. I'm russian and am fluent in russian, English and German since I live in Germany. I'm an introvert and red bull addict. I have social anxiety and ADHD.

Already thanks if you are gonna write my mashup. If not that's fine too. Also feel free to correct any mistakes!

Hello!

I would love to write you romantic and platonic matchup for DC for you!

I love DC so much!

<3333333

It usually takes me a moment to really find a romantic match for someone, but after reading your information, I instantly thought of someone!

So I hope you like them!

(Also, living in Germany? That's super cool!)

<333333

I hope you like your matches!

Enjoy!

<33333

Romantic and Platonic Matchups; DC

~~~

Romantic;

~~~

DC;

Conner Kent -

You met Conner through Tim Drake, your close friend from college.

Tim had mentioned his 'broody, sometimes grumpy but loyal' best friend before, and one day, Conner randomly appeared when you were studying together in Tim's dorm.

Conner had flown in through the window, much to your surprise, (and mild panic).

Tim, completely unfazed, just greeted him with "You're early."

Meanwhile, you were sitting there, wide-eyed, clutching your Red Bull like it was a lifeline.

"Who's the deer in headlights?" Conner teased, smirking at your startled expression.

After introductions, you quickly realized Conner was more than just a superhero - he was awkward, sarcastic, and a bit of a dork.

You made a joke about his dramatic entrance and to Tim's horror, Conner actually laughed.

That's when Conner decided he liked you.

At first, your friendship was slow but steady.

You were introverted, and Conner wasn't exactly the most social either.

But somehow, your dynamic just worked - you bonded over mutual sarcasm, deadpan humor, and chaotic ADHD energy.

You started to text a lot, mostly sharing random facts you learned, like "Did you know octopi have three hearts?" or "Cows have best friends."

Conner thought it was adorable and even started replying with his own facts.

And memes, lots of memes.

He found your love for punk rock fascinating and, despite being more of a country-rock and rock-and-roll kind of guy, actually asked for song recommendations.

He now has a few Stray Kids songs on his playlist because "You like them, so they can't be that bad."

Since you were friends with Tim, you naturally got roped into Wayne Family chaos, and Conner always made sure to stick around, just in case things got too overwhelming for you.

He noticed how social anxiety made large gatherings exhausting, so he'd sometimes pull you aside for "recharge breaks" - flying you to a rooftop where you could just sit and breathe.

Inside jokes galore!

Tim constantly sighs in exasperation whenever you and Conner get sidetracked talking about conspiracy theories.

"For the love of Gotham, focus!"

Conner found your drawings amazing, and he treasured every single one you gave him.

If you caught him staring too long at a sketch of him, he'd just awkwardly look away and pretend he wasn't totally swooning.

The shift from friendship to something more was subtle.

It started with little things - Conner offering you his jacket even when you said you weren't cold.

Him memorizing your coffee or tea order.

And the way he always seemed to position himself protectively near you in public.

One day, you were having a bad ADHD day, struggling to focus on an assignment, and Conner helped keep you grounded.

He read out your notes while gently running his fingers through your hair absentmindedly.

You had to fight the urge to melt into him.

The moment Conner realized he was in love with you?

You were talking about your favorite book, Howl's Moving Castle, and when you mentioned how much you loved Howl's 'extra, dramatic, but soft-hearted' personality, Tim snorted and said, "Oh, great, you basically just described Conner."

That made Conner go completely quiet, watching as you scolded Tim, lightly hitting his arm.

You started subconsciously mirroring each other - the way you sat, the words you used, even your habits.

Tim was sick of it.

The confession happened accidentally.

You were ranting about something (probably about an annoying professor), and Conner just... Blurted it out.

"You're really cute when you're mad."

You froze, "What?"

Conner immediately looked like he wanted to yeet himself into space.

"Uh, I mean. I think you're cute all the time. But, uh, I especially like you when you're mad. Or happy. Or just... In general."

Cue awkward silence and staring.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, you said, "That was an adorable, but terrible, confession."

"Yeah. I know."

But then, you smirked and nudged his shoulder. "Good thing I like you too."

Conner's relieved grin was so soft, and instead of saying anything, he just pulled you into a hug.

Being with Conner meant lots of simple, domestic moments.

He wasn't big on grand gestures, but he was big on consistency - always showing up, always taking care of you.

He was already fluent in Russian, but quickly grapples with German for you.

Late-night Red Bull runs, where Conner flies you to random gas stations or stores just because he knows you need your fix.

He loves cuddling.

It took a while for him to admit it, but he melts when you run your fingers through his hair.

Kisses on your forehead when you're stressed.

"I'm not letting you go to bed without something to eat."

He's so stubborn about making sure you eat.

Movie nights where he lets you pick everything.

He doesn't always get what's happening in 'Your Name,' but he loves the way your eyes light up when you talk about it and watch it.

When you're drawing, he watches in fascination and sometimes leans in really close, just to see every detail.

He would do anything for you.

If you ever had a bad day, he would drop everything just to make sure you were okay.

You ground him - on his bad days when he feels like he isn't enough, you remind him that he's not just a clone, not just a weapon - he's Conner.

And that's enough.

You bring him a sense of him he never had before.

He always has a hand on you - whether it's holding your pinky when you're walking side by side, resting his hand on your knee, or just gently tugging on your sleeve.

He remembers all of your little quirks.

The way you get lost in thought when reading, the way you bite your lip when focused - he loves it all.

"You're my favorite person."

He says it so casually, but every time, it makes your heart race.

He tries so hard to draw something for you once.

It's kind of awful.

You treasure it anyway.

Whenever he sees something purple, he thinks of you.

"Dude, you're obsessed."

"There just flowers, Tim."

"Conner, this is the third purple bouquet that you gave them this week."

"They like purple."

Protect your fiercely - not just physically, but emotionally.

If anyone ever makes you uncomfortable?

They are gone.

Fly you to see the stars on bad days.

Be your biggest supporter in everything you do.

Learn your favorite songs just to hum or lightly sing them when you can't sleep.

"'Cause when our eyes lock, it's like my heart stops~"

You help him find his place in the world.

You make him feel so loved.

You are always in his corner, no matter what.

You give him a home - one that isn't just a place, but a feeling.

~~~

Platonic;

~~~

DC;

Tim Drake -

You and Tim met in college, both showing up to the same advanced literature class.

You had arrived early, sitting in the back corner with a Red Bull in hand, already engrossed in your book.

Tim, equally early but looking exhausted, took the seat next to you without a second thought.

It wasn't until you muttered a sarcastic comment under your breath about the professor's overuse of the word "paradigm" that Tim smirked and responded in kind.

That was the moment he decided you were worth getting to know.

You didn't bond immediately - both of you being introverts, there was a lot of comfortable silence before you started causally exchanging book recommendations.

One day, he caught a glimpse of you sketching in the margins of your notebook - doodles of fictional characters, little concept art pieces, and even a tiny, detailed Batman sketch.

He was intrigued.

Your friendship started with shared study sessions in the library, where you two would sit in silence for hours, only occasionally muttering sarcastic remarks about your coursework or the absurdity of college life.

Tim found your ability to hyperfixate on learning random facts fascinating - sometimes you'd randomly blurt out things like, "Did you know cows have one stomach, but it is broken into four different segments?" in the middle of studying, and he'd just blink at you before filing it away in his own brain for later use.

He was the first person who truly understood your ADHD brain in an academic setting - if you got distracted or overwhelmed, he'd gently guide you back to focus without making you feel bad about it.

Since both of you are introverts, you developed an unspoken rule: no unnecessary small talk.

It was completely normal for you to just sit together in the same room, doing your own thing without feeling the need to fill the silence.

Caffeine-fueled study marathons.

You'd bring Red Bull, he'd bring coffee, and together you'd survive sleepless nights before exams.

He'd be the one reminding you to at least try to sleep though.

Music-sharing sessions.

You introduced him to Stray Kids, and while it wasn't his usual genre, he begrudgingly admitted that some of their tracks were pretty good,

In return, he'd send you deep-cut punk rock playlists that matched your vibe.

You forced him to read 'Howl's Moving Castle,' and he actually really liked it - Howl reminded him too much of some people in his life, but he wouldn't elaborate.

He, in turn, introduced you to detective novels, and you'd spend hours theorizing about plot twists together.

Since you loved learning random facts, Tim made it a game - who could find the most bizarre, obscure fact first?

It became an ongoing competition, and you'd both randomly text each other things like, "Did you know wombat poop is cube-shaped?" at odd hours of the night.

Tim was the first to notice that you and Conner had a thing before either of you even acknowledged it.

He saw the way Conner's gaze softened when you spoke, how he always seemed to find an excuse to be near you.

When you finally admitted to liking Conner, Tim's response was very flat.

"Wow. What a shock. No one saw this coming."

He acted completely indifferent but was secretly pleased because he trusted Conner to treat you right.

If anyone else had tried to date you, Tim probably would've done a full background check, but since it was Conner?

He just sent him a text saying, "If you screw this up, I'll know."

Tim was 100% behind the scenes helping Conner plan the perfect way to confess.

But, well, you know how that went.

Conner never got to use Tim's advice.

He quickly became the person you ranted to whenever Conner did something dumb but endearing.

“Tim, do you know what he did today? He tried to cook me breakfast and set off the smoke alarm.”

He got used to seeing Conner drape himself over you like an oversized golden retriever, and while he pretended to be unimpressed, deep down, he thought it was cute.

Whenever you and Conner had a minor disagreement, Tim would be the neutral party - he’d listen to both sides, then calmly say something brutally logical that made you both realize you were both being ridiculous.

If Conner was away for a mission, Tim made sure you weren’t lonely, even if it just meant sitting with you in silence while you both read or drew.

He always remembers your favorite drinks and snacks.

If you’re having a bad day, he’ll show up with a Red Bull and a pastry, no questions asked.

If your ADHD made it hard to remember important deadlines, he’d subtly remind you without making you feel bad about it.

“Hey, didn’t you have an assignment due next week? Want help planning it out?”

He’s your low-key bodyguard in social settings if Conner's not there.

If he sees you getting overwhelmed at a party or event, he’ll casually swoop in with an excuse to leave.

He never forces you into uncomfortable social interactions - if you don’t feel like talking, he gets it.

You don’t need to explain.

Since he’s a workaholic and forgets to take care of himself, you make sure he eats and sleeps properly.

Sometimes you’ll just shove a granola bar into his hand and give him a pointed look.

You doodle little sketches of him as a detective, which he pretends to roll his eyes at but secretly keeps in his notebook.

When he’s deep in a case and hasn’t slept, you’ll text him reminders like, “I will physically fight you if you don’t take a break.”

If he ever gets overwhelmed with work, you’ll just quietly sit with him.

No pressure to talk - just silent companionship to help him focus.

You and Tim have a quiet, understanding friendship.

You both respect each other’s introversion, and there’s no need for constant chatter to fill the space.

He’s not overly affectionate, but in his own way, he cares deeply - he just shows it through quiet acts of support rather than big gestures.

Your friendship is the kind that lasts a lifetime, built on mutual respect, sarcasm, and a deep, unspoken bond.

He's the best friend-brother you could ever ask for.

[laurelonde]

Since I get nothing done right now, have some old art.

Mairon before he became the copper-haired menace. Tho, the mopey expression means he was restored from his poltergeist stage post 4th Age. Now, what to do with life? Fight on Melkor's side and go out with a bang during the Dagor Dagorath? Void? Mandos? Scrubbing the floors of Valmar for all eternity? How do you redeem such a character? Can they even be redeemed?

[ruporas]

need to exist in your warmth (id in alt)

[ubejamjar]

pain, pain, go away

"You must needs be more careful, what will you do when I am not here to heal you?" "Don't be silly, Hades. We'll always be together!"

two other shots below from when i was trying to figure out the angle

[dxxtruction]

Louis' "You're boring!" Could mean so many things, but I think what's most apparent about that line is that Armand takes no initiative just for himself. He's not really anybody, because he never goes out and finds himself or gets attached to anyone but Louis. Without Louis as his guide he's literally just sitting on a couch picking lint! That's the thing.

He orbits constantly around what would make Louis happy, and never really fully going what would make me happy? Ultimately that drive to please Louis is what drives him to torturing Daniel, not so much that he'd care to just do it. Ultimately, not giving proper care to Louis is just a way to make sure Louis knows he has to orbit around him as well, with shoving Lestat onto him just that other nail on the coffin. So, even if he fails to figure out how to make Louis happy with him, he still knows what Armand is good for, and better than.

That dependency is what drives Armand's abuse. It really just comes down to that. Armand doesn't even realize how suffocated he is by his own dependency. This is just how life is to him. (It shouldn't be lost either that dependency is a theme considering this episode also deals with addiction).

Daniel's fascinating because he's just so driven to be somebody. He's largely independent, he seeks things because he wants them. It's his drug to poke and prod at all the things that he shouldn't. Daniel's exciting because he lets Louis in to something different, lets him in to all this potential in another person that he can also do the same with for himself. It's a real connection. A two way street. It's easy to tell how Armand can be smothering then because he's never introducing him to anything really new, and most the ways both of them connect are all painful and traumatic. It's never just fun because there's always that layer of that pain. Fun died with Claudia.

50 years on they've gotten to a lot better place, both of them, but it's still that same shit. No seriously, "How is this any different from last time, Louis?"

Well... Because Armand's going to be, at the very least, making one [1] decision only for himself - and that's to hold power over Daniel's life. Fucking sick foreshadowing.

They aren't driving each other to the brink anymore but "The vampire is bored" STILL. Maybe it's even worse, despite being in better places, because Louis' sort of just been defeated by it. (I mean, can he even really leave this either?). He's accepting the dependancy cause he kind of has to. He'd literally ended up letting all the enjoyment be up where he can't reach [The book shelves]. Armand so desperately wants Louis happiness but what really ends up happening is that Louis ends up having to give Armand all his own. He's got no one or anything else to get it from. But like an iPad and an over the top eating ritual. Two extremes of what's just more lint picking.

This whole relationship is one I find just tragic inside and out. You have to just pity it, really. There's ways in which you can find yourself feeling bad for both of them. But you can only really be mad at Armand for any of it. Armand, who isn't even 'free' in any sense, having so little concept of his own independence, but is at the same time so controlling over other's. It's a tragic cycle. It's an infuriating one.

Louis at least has the mind to know when enough is enough. If just needing that extra push to get there. Armand's too scared of it being over to even try.

[luna-is-out-there]

So many folks on here are from a country that's decided to rely on deterrence theory in criminal justice, but to most people that has just turned into "people deserve punishment if they break a rule", and combined with slavery being a legal thing to do with prisoners, as well as taking away their ability to live normal lives after prison (not to mention the state of the working class and their not being treated as people with needs that matter, plus unionbashing), you live in a place where it's become normal for humans to be disposable. Rehabilitation is a foreign concept. Of course you're all scared of doing anything anyone might perceive as wrong. All your society knows to do when someone makes a mistake is put them in a cage for the rest of their lives, hiding the problem for a couple of decades, of course it's difficult to be a person!

Some magical countries out there try a rehabilitative theory of criminal justice. I think it helps to know that if you were ever to fuck up in some way, what would happen is that you'd get help to figure out how to not fuck up again, and society would work on reparations for victims where possible. Your life isn't forfeit. That makes having healthy discussions about change and responsibility feel very different, because responsibility doesn't mean you get the electric chair if you step out of line, it means maybe you'll have to get therapy and study while confined in a place that's frankly better than most student housing nowadays. The punishment isn't the point.

Anyway, my point is that I think this influences internet behavioral patterns a lot. I think this is why some of us react to bad things by unfollowing, and others try to crucify and prosecute individuals. Fundamental cultural differences in perception of justice.

[titansarmy]

and if i say canon adjacent, ivy inspired jasonxnico fic. i can’t stop you putting roots in my dreamland.

[mangled-by-disuse]

Tried to put this in the replies, but it got long and is relevant to the OP, so:

Less so than the average British/South African white guy of his time, which is to say: yes, but not notably so.

He did also speak very bluntly in his response to the Nazi requests to translate his work, claiming he would have been proud to be a genuine Aryan [that is, from the Indian subcontinent] but unfortunately he's just German and English. Some of that is "Oxford fellow thinks he's being very smart" rhetorical devices, but he also does seem to have been pretty vocally of the belief that different cultures and ethnicities held value, and while he left South Africa very young and considered himself English, he did also remark on the brutality and inhumanity of the apartheid regime there. He also criticised C.S. Lewis' assertion (in The Last Battle) that some people couldn't get into heaven on the basis of race and culture, but "have a theological argument with C.S. Lewis" does seem to have been one of his primary hobbies at the time so idk if that was purely anti-racist.

At the same time: this was at a time when the N-word was in common parlance (including in children's nursery rhymes and even in leftist discourse), when Britain had an empire and Tolkien had been raised in one of its colonies, and when the school system emphasised "the white man's burden" and the savagery and primitivism of "lesser" cultures. And Tolkien was not a radical, and not sufficiently concerned with race as a topic to break fully from that social conditioning. So it's not like he wasn't a racist, but he wasn't a racist by the standards of his time, background, and immediate environment. (Bearing in mind that his immediate environment was the same one that saw the rise of Oswald Mosley and Winston Churchill.)

What Tolkien WAS was a genuine, old-school British conservative, which I think is what right-wingers pick up on in his work. He had an engrained belief in hierarchy and traditionalism, and his arguments against capitalism come from Catholic semi-feudalism, not socialism. "The rich man in his castle, the poor man at his gate/God made them high and lowly and each to his estate" is very much an underpinning of a lot of Tolkien's work, which emphasises the importance of working to, and being satisfied with, your status in life - Sam's strength is his humility and desire to be a simple gardener, but, while humility remains valuable throughout, Aragorn's strength is that he knows that he is born to be King. Ruling is all he can ever ethically do (noticeably, whether or not his people consent to be ruled - note that the first Man of Gondor he comes into contact with is Boromir, whose response of "ok mate where the fuck have you been when we were fighting and dying for the past forty years?", and that is cast as a mistake on Boromir's part, and he is told to sit down and respect the rightful king by Literal Voice Of The Gods Gandalf), and it would be wrong and evil for him to try to do anything else, just as it would be a moral wrong for Sam to try to be a king.

Lord of the Rings in particular is very concerned with noblesse oblige and the burdens of power - while, yes, the core story is "minor gentry [Sam is the only actual working-class character] rises above his presumed station and, through being literally and metaphorically one of the little people of the world, slips under the radar and completes a heroic quest", almost all the surrounding stories are about the difficult duty of managing power. And, unfortunately, this lends itself very readily to a "white man's burden" kind of reading - these people, you see, are simply of superior race (literally, in the case of the Elves, and in the case of Aragorn, Boromir, and the ruling class of Gondor being measured by their proximity to Númenorean bloodlines), and so it is their unfortunate duty to command and to cleanse the lesser (Orcish, and by extension Easterling and Haradrim) races from their nice, functional societies.

To be clear: I do not think this is how Tolkien intended it. I think, in his own traditionalist, cloistered-academic, Catholic way, he was pretty egalitarian. He doesn't treat the ruling class as actually better than the working class - Sam is no less a hero than Frodo, Merry, and Pippin, all of whom are gentry or nobility, and none of them are lesser as people than Aragorn or Elrond or even Gandalf or Galadriel - even if he does view class distinctions as fundamental and immutable differences. He values friendship, peace, and the laying down of grudges (against all the problems caused by revenge, note that Éomer's first and most noble act of kingship is "accepting the Dunlendings' surrender, treating them kindly, and making peace with them", and they are so impressed by this that they too put aside a centuries-long war and help rebuild the country they helped to destroy). While he often forgets that women exist (I will die on the hill that "three out of 22 rulers of Númenor were women, despite equal inheritance being explicit" is evidence that Tolkien just did not think of women as being half the population), he is quick to defend their value in both masculine and feminine pursuits, and to express them as people outside of marriage and childbearing - and his own life, in which he married a much older divorcée from a different religious background against all voices from their families, reflects that same sense of valuing women on human terms. He is a humanist, not in the religious sense but in the sense that he values humanity above all things in his writing; he writes consistently against power for its own sake, against war as glory, and against bigotry and condemnation.

BUT

he was also a traditional, dyed-in-the-wool Tory, Catholic-restorationist, pro-feudal Oxford don who was raised in a much more conservative time, place, and social class than most of us, and he brings that to his writing too. From a conservative perspective, reading with an eye for right-wing ideas:

Éowyn ultimately turns from the aberration of being a warrior and becomes a wife and mother, embracing "feminine" traits of healing and caring as part of her own healing.

Class is reified through Sam's heroism being that of a servant, and Aragorn's that of a king, and the return of the king is the source of great rejoicing.

Some races, and some classes, are simply better at things. Dwarves are better craftsmen. Men are better warriors. Elves are better at everything because they're special. they are also tall and fair and European

The idyllic Shire is a cottagecore dream of traditional British rural life, in which people know their place, women are real women, and everyone has good manners.

Most of the "good" societies are coded with European or Classical trappings (the exception is actually Gondor, which is pretty easily read as Byzantine), and opposed against a literal rampaging horde from the East. Some of the horde from the East are literally inhuman, while others are elephant-riding brutes who hold oblique historical grudges and strange religious customs. Compassion against these foreign invaders is looked upon favourably by the narrative, but only after you've killed them.

With the previous point, and the films, in mind, it is easy to conclude that regardless of species diversity, the Fellowship is a cadre of brave white men fighting to protect their society from a monstrous foreign threat - one in which a cunning trickster from within the main setting has puppeted the less evolved races into destroying Western civilisation.

While the story is anti-war, it is anti-war in a way that allows for cool battle scenes and noble deaths, and there are several points at which Dying For A Cause is lionised and seen as redemptive in a way that slots nicely into a lot of more militaristic ideologies (including fascism).

again, I cannot underline enough, I DO NOT BELIEVE THIS IS A FAIR READING OF THE NARRATIVE. I think it's an ideologically-motivated reading that ignores both Tolkien's personal views and large chunks of the text. But the thing is: the people who read it in the way I've described would probably say the same thing of your description.

The thing about Tolkien's much-discussed distaste for intentional allegory is: Lord of the Rings is not 1984. It is not an explicit political polemic. It is one man unpacking his Great War trauma and political anxieties, his expertise in Anglo-Saxon literature, his special interests in folklore and etymology, his love of the English countryside and his dislike of modernity, his Catholicism and his conservatism and his egalitarianism and his loneliness and his loves. It is not absolute in its politics, because it isn't trying to give you a political solution: it's trying to give you morals, yes, but they're as much personal ones as societal ones.

It is not a shock that right-wingers latch onto Tolkien's work, or see parts of their beliefs reflected there. It's still a fucking insult to the work, but it's not a shock.

Seeing conservatives and bigots being fans of Tolkien works is a special type of jumpscare bcs what are you doing here man? In the franchise about folks from different backgrounds and races come together in brotherhood to vanquish the villain? Where kindness and compassion and sinple happiness were seen as the best ways to keep evil at bay? Where war is not glorified and seen as a grim necessity to the point where the son of the author gor criticised the movies for glorifying the war too much? Where men openly engaged in feminine activities and were open about emotions other than anger? Where multiple characters gender presentation varied from those we normally associate with their gender? Where women were empowered in multiple different ways? Where greed was presented as turning one into a literal monster?Where the villains are all thinly veiled depictions of capitalism? Where care for the enviornment is seen as a given?