#cosmos' death was one of his best character moments ever

[eyestrain-addict]

Funny how both Sonic and Shadow are "Even if I'm exhausted and broken I'll keep moving forward, and I'll hide it from everyone because they need someone to believe in/ I won't let anyone emotionally close to me" type characters but Shadow is loud about it and Sonic is quiet about it

[nijigasakilove]

Beautiful Shogun finale that encapsulated everything that’s good about this series. My only complaint is that we didn’t get to see Toranaga’s plan fully realised and him becoming shogun. But, narratively I guess that’s consistent with what the story has been about anyway. The 3D chess political manoeuvring and Anjin’s journey.

So many moments got me emotional in this finale from Fuji and Anjin’s “no translator” conversation after Mariko’s death to them letting go of their loved ones in the lake together. Very powerful scenes. Direction was superb as per usual. For a finale with no action, there was no shortage of tense and impactful moments. Honestly felt way shorter than an hour and we do get that final scene of Toranaga I wanted more.

Cosmo(Anjin actor) was brilliant in this. Hope he gets more roles going forward cause this dude can act his ass off. Been a Sawai Anna fan since Monarch TV show and I think the whole world can see why now. Her Mariko character and Anjin’s relationship and character arcs were so satisfying. While they might not have got the ending we wanted, that’s the way life goes sometimes. We live and we die, we control nothing else.

Hollywood can learn a lot from a series like this. Telling a satisfying story in only 10 episodes, no need for sequels or add ons. Without a doubt one of the best tv shows ever made.

[fountainpenguin]

Favorite underrated FOP episodes? (Definition of underrated is up to you, can just be a random small episode you like)

I think "The Odd Squad" will forever be top of the "underrated faves" list for me. The pacing and style are both so good, it has a lot of cute worldbuilding in it, the character interactions are fantastic (including a wholesome moment with Timmy and his regular parents), and it has Juandissimo saying "Nice wheels, Timmy! :D" I am a massive sucker for Jorgen freaking out over Timmy driving in Fairy World and wrecking the place but Juandissimo was more or less on the sidelines giving him an enthusiastic thumbs up because he is too silly and oblivious to foresee a problem skldfj. The dialogue is lots of fun and Timmy is happy the entire time. It's a sweet one.

I'd say that "Shelf Life" and "Which Witch Is Which?" are episodes I would classify as "episodes I enjoy that are less commonly remembered." The former has a lot of wit and clever dialogue and a silly ending, and the latter gave me a lot of worldbuilding to play with by canonizing witches in Crocker's family tree.

I love "Crocker of Gold" and "Chicken Poofs" for a lot of the same reasons- a pinch of worldbuilding and a lot of goofy character interactions. I'm sure that description applies to a lot of episodes, but there's a special place in my heart for the flower quest, Bring Your Chicken Hawk to Work day, and for the "Everything is so green here" scene, which is one of my favorite jokes in the world.

I'll always hold a soft spot for "Mr. Right" as well for being one of the first episodes I ever saw when I was out at a pizza place one time. I also really enjoy the concept of "The Big Scoop" and how it portrays Timmy in a creepy way from the perspective of his friends as they worry about what's going on in his life. Also I feel like "Please Don't Feed the Turners" says a ton about Timmy's parents... the LOOK they give each other when they're on the same page is the best.

All the Learnatorium and Pixie episodes, I'm a big fan of. "Hassle in the Castle" speaks to my soul and I think "Big Wanda" is hilarious. "Yoo Doo" will always be a favorite, and I love the silliness of "Presto Change-O," "The Gland Plan," "The Masked Magician," "The Good Old Days," "For Emergencies Only," "Talkin' Trash," "Parent Hoods," and "Formula For Disaster." Also "Fly Boy" because Timmy yelling "This is all your fault!" at Poof while Poof slightly cringes away just cracks me up.

I love the wackiness of "Dad Overboard" and "Take and Fake." They're hard to top; they're so very good. Poof playing in the sand and he finds a freaking missile, Crocker takes his class on a field trip to watch Timmy's supposed death, Dad accidentally kidnapped an elf from the North Pole who becomes a good friend, there's a line of dialogue that goes "I'll get Stanley and his headless wife! :D" and these are all the same episode. "Take and Fake" is just... goofy and nice, it's very difficult to watch without laughing so it's just lovely.

I'll also throw in "Wishing Well" because it's one of my all-time faves. The vibe it gives is kind of chilling while also being delightful the whole time because you know it's about learning life skills and it's such a positive viewing experience, plus it's one of very few episodes where Timmy meets other godkids and has a positive relationship with them.

"Fairy Friends and Neighbors" is a huge fave. Idk if that counts as underrated (imo Seasons 4 and 5 are the best in the series; they're almost all winners)

"Cosmo Rules" and "Jerk of All Trades" both feel nice because they're highly specific to the FOP world (i.e. they're about Jorgen's duty of overseeing Da Rules) and they're really fun to watch together. Facing the Fairy Council are two Fairies: one of them is Cosmo the estranged von Strangle who should care for Da Rules because it's his blood right, and the other is Juandissimo who straight-up broke Da Rules by fleeing Fairy World and returning stolen memories to his godkid, and the Fairy Council really said "Screw the bloodline, the rulebreaker gets to be in charge now." Obsessed with how after Jorgen announces he's been replaced, we pan over to Juandissimo who just sits there quietly in a chair with wide eyes like he doesn't know how he got there or what he's doing.

Let's see... "School of Crock," "Crockin' the House," "Viral Videots," "Dust Busters," "Fairly Old Parent," "Anchors Away," "Cosmonopoly," "Dog Gone," "Lame Ducks"... those are also episodes I really enjoy. Season 9 has a lot of underrated faves for me. I don't care for Sparky, but Season 9 is so good... Some of the best lines in the series are in there.

For underrated Season 10 faves, I'll throw in "Clark Laser" (idk if that counts as underrated since it's gotta be one of if not THE best of Season 10), and "Chip Off the Old Crock" with the same disclaimer. Then "Whittle Me This" and "Summer Bummer." Those are good.

"Kale Patch Caper"... It's got bits and pieces that don't click with me, but I LOVE morally gray Chloe committing B&E on her neighbors. I love how if Chloe didn't have godparents then canonically her fate is to lose an eye and join a gang. Like. What on earth. They really just dropped that on us and refused to elaborate. What. Love that.

Special shout-out to "Beach Blanket Bozos" for giving me one of my favorite FOP moments of all time, which is Jorgen grouchily sitting on Da Rules to scold Timmy for locking his parents in "I wish they were both the best surfer ever" wish limbo.

We don't talk enough about what a hilarious character Jorgen is. Big boss fairy godparent who can crush your skull. He's not allowed to have a godkid because he'd physically and emotionally destroy them. He's married to the Tooth Fairy... We love a man who's obsessed with his muscles and threatens to destroy you on the regular but in reality he just files paperwork. Which will ruin your life. I love Jorgen.

[love-kurdt]

Beat You to the Phone (steddie)

@cosmos-lore asked: 40 steddie

Prompt: “I want a baby.”

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: homophobic slurs, grooming (in the context of eddie’s parents), parent death, parental abuse and trauma

A/N: i hope this is what u wanted! i took this in the angst/fluff route. for all my other readers who have sent in asks, fear not! i’m working on all of them as we speak. they’ll be rolling out soon, slowly but surely.

For as long as he could remember, Eddie Munson had sworn to himself that he would never, ever become a father. It wasn’t in his blood. It made sense, since his own dad didn’t have a cell of paternal instinct in his body, and the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

Charles Lancaster had never been a good man, let alone a good parent. After all, he had met sixteen year old Marie Munson when he was twenty-five. He groomed and brainwashed her into thinking that she loved him before knocking her up. After Eddie was born, he was barely present, citing work as his reason for being an absent father.

The first five years of Eddie’s childhood were good. He never went without, and always felt safe. His mom was an angel on earth. She was the one who bought Eddie his first guitar, and taught him “Here Comes the Sun” by the Beatles for his first tune. She was the one who brought Eddie to have picnics in the park, with peanut butter and honey sandwiches. She was the one who’d tuck him in at night, say a short prayer, and kiss him on the forehead. She was always there for him, until she wasn’t. He had found Marie dead on the bathroom floor after his first day of kindergarten, and it was all downhill from there.

Charles had been selling drugs to keep himself (and Eddie, of course, how could he ever forget) afloat. It wasn’t long before he got caught carrying copious amounts of cocaine over state lines and was sent to prison, meanwhile Eddie was on the brink of being registered into the foster care system. That was, until Wayne Munson swooped in and saved the day. Or rather, saved Eddie’s entire future.

Wayne hated the phrase, “like his own.” He did not raise Eddie “like his own,” or love Eddie “like his own.” He raised and loved Eddie as his own. He saw his nephew as a son. From the first day that little Eddie ran into the trailer, stood still for a moment, then ran right back to Wayne to jump into his arms squealing, “Thank you Unc’o Wayne,” Wayne knew that he’d made the best decision of his life.

He watched Eddie grow up. Eddie became fascinated with fantasy and mythology, and Wayne watched him spend hours upon hours creating characters for that dungeons game he was always talking about. He watched Eddie play his acoustic guitar, scribbling lyrics into his marble composition notebook. Wayne always felt as if he was looking right at his sister whenever Eddie would play. He watched Eddie approach the trailer with a black eye, asking Wayne what a “faggot” was. They had a long talk that night, filled with hot cocoa and tears.

Years later, in 1986, he watched police carry a girl (Chrissy, they called her) out of his home who looked like she’d been tossed off a cliff. He watched the entire town lose its collective mind and accuse his nephew, his son, of murdering that poor girl. He watched Eddie return home, half dead, carried on the back of a kid with the most terrified look on his face, as if he were to say, “I need him alive just as much as you do.”

He watched as Eddie brought that same kid home one sunny day in 1987, and his suspicions were right on the money. His name was Steve, Steve Harrington, and he had the tallest hair that Wayne had ever seen. “He’s my boyfriend, and I love him,” Eddie had said. Wayne could have been skeptical; after all, he was a Harrington, but he had saved Eddie's life. And for that, he loved him too. He didn’t even hesitate to say yes when Steve was kicked out of his parents' home for his sexuality.

Though they were young, they got married in a small ceremony in the company of friends and family in May of 1989. Eddie and Steve moved into their own trailer, right next to Wayne. That way, he was close by if they needed anything, and could also maintain some sense of safety for his nephew and his illegal husband.

The topic of grandkids was never really discussed. Wayne knew how adamant Eddie was about not turning up like his father, and if not having kids was part of that vow, then so be it. He respected that. However, Wayne had absolutely no idea about the conversation that was happening next door.

—

“I want a baby,” Eddie heard Steve whisper in his ear. They’d been cuddling that morning for the past half hour and Eddie was just about to fall back asleep. His eyes snapped open at what his husband had just suggested.

“Jesus H. Christ, Steve, warn a person!” he turned around from his little spoon position to face Steve, who was blushing red and removing his hands from Eddie’s waist to cover his face in embarrassment.

“Shit, I should have prefaced it or something,” he shook his head. “Sorry. It’s not like it could actually happen anyway, because… well, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Eddie chuckled, reaching up to caress Steve’s cheek with his cold rings, which he knew he loved. He leaned into the touch as Eddie continued, “And that’s kind of a blessing in itself, because I honestly don’t want kids.”

Now it was Steve’s turn for his eyes to snap open. “But like, you know I’ve always wanted a family. And I want it with you. I want to have it all, the six kids in a Winnebago, the dog and cat, the whole nine yards.” Steve rolled away on the bed, laying on his back, leaving Eddie feeling colder than before. “And I swear to god, ever since Nance and Jonathan had Austin, I’ve had the worst baby fever that any man has ever had”

Of course Steve was jealous of Nancy and Jonathan. Who wouldn’t? They’d rekindled their relationship over the winter break of Nancy’s sophomore year at Emerson, and she wound up getting pregnant after one time of having sex before going back to school. But she persevered through school and endured the pregnancy, because she and Jonathan both wanted to start a family, even if she was only twenty and Jonathan was twenty one. Both of their families had been extremely supportive and accepting as well, which made things even harder for Steve to watch, because, why couldn’t he have that? Oh, right, because he was gay, and now because his husband didn’t want children.

“And you think I haven’t had it too?” Eddie sat up, running his fingers through his messy hair and looking down at Steve, whose face implied shock. “Believe me, I have! Do you know how much I want to be the dad I never had?” Eddie’s voice got wobbly. “To teach them D&D and guitar, to make funny voices for every single one of their stuffed animals, to make ring-o-noodle soup when they’re under the weather, to watch them standing backstage at one of my shows when they’re old enough?”

He cleared his throat before continuing. He could not cry. Not over this. “I want that more than anything! But what you don’t know is how sick to my stomach that makes me feel. The thought of me, Eddie Munson, as a fucking father? No way! It’s not in my genes, man.”

Steve sat up now, scooching towards Eddie and pulling him into his chest. Eddie obliged, because he could never resist Steve’s chest hair. It should have been illegal. “Well, man, will you maybe at least think about it?” Eddie shook his head and went to talk, but Steve spoke again, “It doesn’t even have to be through surrogacy, so it wouldn’t be biological if that’s what you’re worried about. I found this adoption agency in New York that just opened their doors to same sex couples—”

Steve was desperate. Eddie couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “No. I can’t. I just… it’s a whole thing. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” Steve exhaled into Eddie’s hair, pulling him closer and squeezing his heavily tattooed bicep. “We can revisit this ‘whole thing’ another time.”

At that, Eddie pulled away once more, standing up next to the bed and looking down at his lover with disdain. “I don’t think you’re understanding what I’m saying. I don’t want a kid, I will never want a kid.” He paced for a few moments. “I can’t end up like my dad. He already haunts me, and he’s in fucking prison.”

“But you aren’t your dad!” Steve protested. “I for one think you’d be a great one! You’re so good with the teens.”

“Yeah, because I’m their dungeon master,” Eddie laughed incredulously, “I’m not feeding, clothing, and tucking them into bed every night.”

“Baby,” Steve said, standing up to join Eddie on his side of the room, “I know you’re scared, and I know you’re hesitant to even consider the thought of being a dad, but this is… fuck, this is everything I’ve ever wanted.” He took Eddie’s left hand in his own, rubbing his thumb over the black band on his ring finger. He heard the familiar clinking of metal against metal when his silver band collided with Eddie’s. “I lost my parents, and regardless of how shitty they were, they were still family. I lost the house, which was supposed to be in my name until I came out to them. And I lost my reputation, which I’ve been working for years to improve.”

Eddie dropped Steve’s hand, taking a step back. “Why, because King Steve can’t reign over his kingdom if he’s a fag, right?”

“King Steve died the moment Dustin dragged me back to my car in 1984, you know that,” Steve snapped. “You know damn well that’s not what I meant.”

“…But you thought about it,” Eddie replied in a deeper tone than usual that made Steve’s skin crawl.

“No, I—” he threw his hands up in the air, “I mean that I’m tired of sacrificing! Jesus, Munson, I gave up everything for you! The least you could do is put your feelings aside for this one thing!”

“Like I said, Munson,” Eddie retorted, their shared last name rolling off his tongue with fire, “I cannot, and will not change my mind about this. I am not fit to be a father, and to be honest, I don’t think you’re meant to be one either.” Eddie finally broke, feeling a tear run down his face.

“How can you say that to me?” Steve crossed his arms against his chest. “You’re just projecting your own insecurity onto me. That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it, though? If you’re so upset about making sacrifices, good luck having kids. Because that’s what parenthood is alllll about. You put your own ambitions aside and support your kids through everything. You give them what they need, and even if you can’t, you find a way,” Eddie let out a choked sob, not even caring at this point. “You find a way, because your kids are not supposed to do it themselves. They’re supposed to be happy, carefree, stupid, funny, ignorant little shits who just want to be loved.” His heart was breaking with every sentence he spoke and the walls he’d constructed to protect himself were now crumbling to the ground. “No kid deserves to find their dead mom at home with her eyes still open. Steve, I see her eyes all the fucking time. They were bloodshot. I can’t listen to the Beatles, not because I hate them like I told you, but because my mom taught me all of their songs on the guitar and I can’t bear to hear them. I still feel the metal shears against my head from when my dad shaved it, telling me to ‘man up, I didn’t raise a fairy.’ I remember the way my dad would lose his temper and beat me until I passed out. I don’t want my past to affect how I would raise them. Like, what if I get angry and hit my own child? What if I make rash decisions and end up causing more harm and trauma than good? I’m absolutely terrified of being the antagonist in my kid’s life. And I’m absolutely terrified that you’re going to leave me for someone who can give you what I can’t.”

Steve’s expression softened, feeling absolutely horrible. He slowly moved back towards Eddie, who was trying his hardest to stop the flow of tears, but it wasn’t working. When Steve pulled him in for a hug, Eddie didn’t even object. He cried and cried into Steve’s shoulder, grasping onto the back of Steve’s shirt for dear life.

“I’m so, so sorry, my love,” Steve pulled back the slightest bit and kissed Eddie’s temple. “It’s okay, I understand. We don’t have to have kids. It’s okay, I was being selfish and wasn’t willing to listen to your side. I’m sorry.”

Eddie only shook his head. “No, you’re right. You’ve sacrificed so much for me, and I don’t want something like this to cause me to lose you.”

“You could never lose me, even if you tried,” Steve replied, to which Eddie barked out a laugh.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that. Robin literally got us shirts that say ‘If found please return to Eddie’ and ‘I’m Eddie.’”

Steve pulled back and held Eddie’s face in his hands, wiping the stray tears off his cheeks. “We really are meant for each other, aren’t we?” he asked. “I can be okay with just us two. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Eddie replied, and leaned forward to kiss Steve. He wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck as Steve’s met his waist, pulling him in closer. Steve swiped his tongue over Eddie’s bottom lip, and he let him in, gasping for air while Steve let out a low moan. Eddie tugged at Steve’s hair, making him pull his head back from Eddie’s, feigning a pout.

“Eds… lemmemakeoutwithyou,” Steve whined, going to kiss Eddie again, but was stopped with a bony hand on his sternum.

“Before things go any further, I… I think we could maybe give that adoption agency a call.” Eddie said, and Steve’s eyes widened.

“Are you serious? Like, I don’t want you to do something you were very much against barely ten minutes ago. But if you are serious… can we?”

Eddie smirked, twirling a piece of Steve’s hair at the nape of his neck. “Beat you to the phone.”

[pidayforpi]

Small Mouse in a Small Cage

Pinky never knew why Brain would like to take over the world.

He never needed to know, anyway.

He just knew that achievement would make Brain happy.

And he would do anything to make Brain happy.

That's all that mattered to Pinky.

"In this room, there is only you and me

Let us continue singing our song together

Anything in the outside world...I don't have to know about it

...If that's what you wish for"

[Mention of (major) Character Death]

For a genetically modified mouse, Pinky was quite naive.

Unlike others of his kind, such as Snowball or Julia, Pinky harboured no ill will on his mind, nor any idea of an "ill will" was.

He did not grow bitter of the cruel world he was so unluckily born into, nor develop thoughts of vengeance towards the merciless scientists who had experimented on him.

Even after all those electric shocks and drug injections, Pinky never lost that innocent heart of his.

Also retained was his ignorance to the world.

While the others were drafting equations and hypotheses in a computer, Pinky was doodling a sketch of himself on a piece of paper. While they were seeking to travel through waters and the sky, Pinky was more than happy to stay in his little cage. (And why was he still living in a cage, anyway?)

To him, there's no need to travel beyond his home. Everything of the outside world was already within his reach: The lights on the ceiling were the sun in the morning, the stars at night. The tall desks and tables were the mountains, and the huge bathtub the deep blue sea. Everything he needed was already with him.

As for company...Well, Pinky had one and one only, but that person alone meant everything to him.

That person was the whole world to Pinky.

From the moment Brain opened the cage door, Pinky felt his heart being opened as well. When Brain held his hand, it was as if Pinky was touched to his heart.

Pinky remembered that day as if it had just been yesterday. Brain grabbed him by the wrist, leading him away from the laboratory room and out of the building. The two rodents ran and ran, climbing through secret passages that Pinky hadn't even known existed, evading traps which he would have otherwise stepped right onto. They kept running away hand-in-hand, until they stepped out into the open field.

It was a grass field outside of the secret laboratory building, in the middle of a wilderness. The two fugitives lay on the grass field, their chests heaving heavily from their great escape just now. Pinky asked nothing, and Brain explained nothing. They were both too exhausted to talk. They only looked up at the night sky, listening to the surrounding ambience.

For the first time in his life, Pinky knew what the stars were like. For the first time in his life, Pinky learned what cricket chirps sounded like.

But more importantly...for the first time in his otherwise pathetic life, someone had done something nice for Pinky.

The cosmos and insects meant little to Pinky. What mattered that day was Brain. What mattered that night was feeling loved for the very first time.

Of course, if he had shared with anyone about how grateful he was for Brain's "rescue", almost everyone would tell Pinky he was only being taken advantage of. After all, why would Brain go through all the hassle of saving a mouse he didn't even know? Everyone knew Brain was much smarter than that, and the word "sympathy" didn't even exist in his mental dictionary.

Brain might have only wanted a fellow escapee in his jailbreak, or a scapegoat if he was caught. He might have only wanted a lackey in his future plots, or maybe even a guinea pig in his experiments. Others might never know what the cunning mouse was thinking, but everyone always assumed the worst when it came to Brain.

But not to Pinky, for the naive white mouse saw only the kindest in someone's heart, for the worst and the best.

And Brain was the kindest person Pinky had ever known.

"I called you 'father'

While you called me 'daughter'"

After a restful night, the two returned to the construct that was once their prison, only to find the entire building to be abandoned. Brain must have scared off the personnel with his...not-so-pleasant escape plan.

And so, the laboratory they had been so unfortunately accustomed to became their new home sweet home.

Even after becoming practically roommates, Pinky knew little about Brain. He never asked nor answered trivial questions. While Pinky told Brain literally everything about himself, the only things Brain told Pinky was his name, his ambition to take over the world, and how Pinky could help.

And Pinky just took what he was told as it-is, and became Brain's partner in "taking over the world", whatever that meant. Perhaps part of his compliance to something he didn't even know was because he was Pinky: He wasn't the brightest of mice, after all. But a bigger part was because that was Brain: The person who saved him, and showed him what it was like to be "loved".

He would do anything for Brain, whatever it was.

"Because you worry about me who cannot walk

You filled the room with beautiful things for me"

The man-made laboratory soon became fit for two mouse-size residents. There were ladders and stairs to climb to higher places, and even elevators for both cargos and mice. Needless to say, all of the constructs were made by the shorter mouse, whose intelligence and creativity astonished Pinky to no end. Seeing Brain making impossibilities into possibilities always made Pinky admire him so much.

"A red glass

With a blue spoon inside

Along with a pair of yellow-framed mirrors"

When sunlight shone through the windows of the building - whether it be the noon sun, or the dusk twilight - it always illuminated their shared home in an amber sheen. Something as simple as natural light would already show Pinky the beauty of the world.

Such a beautiful scenery would always make Pinky want to sing and dance. If he was alone, he would just sing and dance to himself without a care in the world. That would already make him so calm and happy.

But what would make him the happiest mouse on Earth was when Brain was there. Pinky would offer him a hand and a silly grin, an unofficial invitation to be his dance partner. More often than not, the shorter mouse would be busy with his schemes.

But when, for some reasons, Brain accepted his hand, that would make Pinky feel over the moon. Every time their paws touched felt like the first time, when they had been escaping the facility they now called home. Even if it was just a 1-in-a-1000 chance, it was this rare occurrence that Pinky treasured the most. It was like a lottery, but how much money won from an actual one could not compare to Brain saying a simple, free "yes".

Brain would always be the one to lead, despite being the shorter of the duo. Perhaps the mastermind just didn't like being told what to do. Not that Pinky would care, though. As soon as Brain had said "yes" or nodded, Pinky wouldn't have any more requests.

Under the gentle sunlight, the two mice stood hand-in-hand, their snow white coat reflecting the glittering light. They would dance to Brain's selection of classical music, which would always be played when the mad scientist was working. None of the mice knew much about choreography: Brain had no time to explore such trivial knowledge, while Pinky had no interest to study at all. Still, they danced according to the smooth, soft rhythm, guided by nothing but their little thumping hearts.

At times when no music was available, Pinky would hum his own song. It would always be that one song, the melody of which he heard during his time still in captivity. There were lyrics to the song too, but Pinky could not quite remember. All he could sing was with simple vocalisations of different pitches, which were something taught to him as part of an experiment in learning (not that he knew what he was taught was called "solfège").

His singing voice was the only talent Pinky was proud of himself. Brain would never admit it, but Pinky's voice was something that would always bring a smile to his face. And Pinky noticed that. He knew he was too daft to help in formulating a plan, a formula or an equation. He knew he was too clumsy to assist in an expedition, an operation or a heist. All he could do was to cheer Brain up, with the only thing he was good at.

"In this room, there is only you and me

Let us continue singing our song together"

Every second of those moments felt like heaven on earth. Worries and fears melted away like chocolate in the sun, while sadness and despair washed away like seashells on the waterfront. In those moments, nothing in the world mattered. Just Pinky and the Brain, and that alone was everything to Pinky.

"Anything in the outside world...I don't have to know about it

If that's what you wish for"

Countless days had passed (or perhaps not a lot in reality, but very long in the eyes of a mouse). Brain had drafted and executed plans after plans, made inventions after inventions. The stack of scraped blueprints piled only higher, yet the goal of "taking over the world" seemed nowhere closer.

Brain started staying at the laboratory for longer and longer periods of time. Even if he did go out, it would be only for the preparation or execution of his plans. Afterwards, he would be back in his office, disappearing from the rest of the world.

Away from the working table, Pinky only watched. He could only watch, as Brain grew more elusive day by day. The sight of his partner so indulged in work had always made him feel swoony. Now, however, Pinky's heart was clouded in worry and helplessness.

And a deep feeling of guilt, too.

Pinky did everything he could to help. Anything that would lessen Brain's burden as much as possible: He kept the abode sparkly clean every day. He prepared all the meals from breakfast to dinner. He did every manual labour Brain told him to.

Still, Brain's smile never came back. That smile, so rare yet so precious, was truly gone.

And Pinky could do nothing about it. He hated that he could do nothing about it.

"The dark bedroom, and the scenery outside the window

Those are the entirety of world to me"

From a certain day onwards, Brain had never accepted Pinky's hand anymore. Pinky remembered so deeply, that one time, when he wanted to cheer Brain up with a small dance...his hand was slapped away. It couldn't have been Brain - Brain would never do such a thing - but there were only two mice in the room.

Pinky held his retracted hand, but it was his heart that hurt.

Their feelings became distant, as Brain began working alone a lot more often. When Brain went outside, he no longer brought Pinky along with him. He didn't say if it was out of concern or annoyance, but Pinky thought to himself the latter. It was because of his incompetence that Brain had to work alone, the poor mouse thought.

On days when Brain was out on an expedition, Pinky would stay behind, eagerly waiting for the return of the one he loved. His home never seemed so empty, although what was missing was only a single short mouse. His heart was working fine as ever, yet it seemed as if a hole had been punched through it.

"Although you are always gentle to me

You never tell me about the outside world"

When sunlight seeped through the windows now, not even the noon sun could purge the coldness in the room. Although the bright light illuminated all the fantastic constructs in the laboratory, such a beautiful painting would always be missing something. The music player spun no more, and the abode was a painful silence. Except for the clattering and clunking of machineries, which sounded like gossips and mockeries.

Sometimes, Brain would even be out overnight, much to the remaining mouse's worry. Pinky never doubted Brain's ability, yet the pitch black darkness outside sent his heart racing in anxiety.

And the cries of the crickets filled it with loneliness.

"The trinkets in the room laugh at me

'We are just the same thing'"

In those lonely nights, Pinky began to sing.

It would always be the same song, the same melody, but it sounded different with a sour heart. Under the veil of moonlight, the lone mouse danced and serenaded, to the one he loved. Even if his voice trembled, even if his eyes teared...He never stopped singing.

"Lu Li La Lu Li La, I sing this melody

As if the world outside cannot hear my voice"

Though so far away from his dear Brain, Pinky only hoped the night wind would carry his voice to the one he loved; or the gentle breeze would carry his song to the wishing star above, praying that his beloved one would come back safe and sound. After all, his singing was the only thing that could make Brain happy.

And he would do anything to make Brain happy.

"I will only sing for you

Because that's what I wish for"

In another lonely midnight, when Pinky had fallen asleep after singing his feelings to the moon and stars...his wish was granted.

Brain was there, right in front of his eyes, waking him up. It was much better than any sweet dreams he could have.

Pinky would love to give Brain a tight, affectionate embrace, congratulating him on his triumphant return.

But Brain didn't seem to have the time for that, otherwise he wouldn't have woken Pinky in the middle of the night.

Instead of his usual smugness, Pinky saw something he had never seen on Brain's face.

Fear...?

Brain yelled something to Pinky, but he couldn't remember clearly in his drowsy state.

"I heard from you about the word 'war'"

He also remember hearing some other unknown voices and noises, like angry shouting and hurried, heavy footsteps.

The normally cool laboratory felt somewhat hot, too. And a strange smell was getting stronger and stronger.

Without another word, Brain grabbed Pinky by the wrist, just like how he did when they first met. Pinky would have thought that had been a dream, if it wasn't for how real it felt. Brain frantically brought him to the nearest window, and struggled to open it even with the help of machinery.

Pinky was confused, so confused. Especially when the foreign noises kept getting louder, and the room kept warming up despite the cool night breeze. But he decided to keep silent. He trusted in Brain. He knew Brain would always make the right decision. Whatever the pickle might be, Brain would always come out victorious. He would always come home, safe and sound.

In a split second, shorter than Pinky could comprehend...The window was opened, and he was pushed out of the building.

He didn't have the chance to ask what. He didn't have the chance to ask why.

All he saw was Brain standing on the window sill, getting further and further away from him.

Were those tears in his eyes? Why was he so sad? Why wasn't he coming along?

And...

"Why is the room on fire?"

Those were Pinky's last thoughts, before the small mouse hit the grass field below.

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

"So...this is Pinky and the Brain's lab...?"

"And home..."

"And 'was', I guess..."

"Yes...sadly."

Turning the knob of a burnt door, the Warner Siblings and Chairman Plotz entered their mice friends' abode.

Former abode, now in ruins.

Even though none of them voiced out their feelings - not even the talkative Yakko or the straightforward Wakko - all undoubtedly felt a heavy sense of dread.

"It's...all burnt down..."

Dot inspected her surroundings, the sorrowful emotion in her heart unconsciously being muttered out. She remembered Pinky having invited her (and her brothers) to the lab: It was a marvellous design then, much better than the interior and exterior of the water tower combined. It was almost like a tourist attraction, albeit being a legitimate working and living space.

Now, however, Dot not only mourned the destruction of an aesthetic, but also the loss of someone important. The tourist attraction was destroyed, along with the tour guide. One thing could be repaired, the other could not.

"H-how did this happen, Mister Plotz...?"

Wakko held the hand of his elder brother, his speech demeanour being unusually polite. He could still recognise the remnant of the dining area, where Pinky had once challenged him to an eating contest.

"Yea...How could this happen...?"

Yakko added, although his eyes were focused on the ruined office section. Unlike his siblings, he bonded with Brain more, whom he looked up to as a teacher-figure. How else would he know about the countries of the world? That megalomaniac mouse was more than happy to share the places he wished to conquer.

Chairman Plotz had been hesitant to break the news to three children, but they deserved to know. If there's anyone who absolutely deserved to know, it would be the Warners. They were already the last to be informed, yet had been the closest to the two mice.

"I...I hate to say this, but..."

Thaddeus Plotz was never good with words, and now was even harder.

"...It was an inevitable outcome. No one could have predicted this, but everyone could have seen that happening someday."

He chose his words carefully, trying not to hurt the children more than necessarily.

"Brain had made too many enemies...His ambition in world domination clashed with so much of the others. His plans and schemes angered and frightened so many."

"And when you have enemies...vengeance is something you have coming for you."

"Brain...He had it coming. It had just been a matter of time."

"I'm sorry, kids..."

Chairman Plotz looked away from the three siblings, who were understandably silent. His heart was still conflicted about telling them the cold truth.

Yakko was the first to take in the news.

"But...but what about Pinky...? He...he couldn't have had it coming, too?"

Not the innocent, friendly Pinky. This made it even harder for Plotz to explain.

Luckily, he didn't have to, when a soft singing voice was heard all of a sudden. Everyone turned to the source of the sound, but no one could believe their eyes nor ears.

The mouse in question was sitting on the window sill, carefully camouflaged in the white background until now. His short legs were dangling outside, while his long tail was hanging inside.

It was the same song, the same melody. But he finally remembered how the lyrics go.

"Found in the burnt-down mansion"

The Warners slowly approached the window, tears forming in their eyes.

On the window sill...

"Were the body of the lonely man"

"And a charred clockwork doll"

(22-11-2022 ~ 26-3-2023)

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

So, uh, this is something...

First of all, this is my first time writing about your favourite mouse boyfriends, and I immediately killed off one of them. So...yeah.

Secondly, this was actually quite an "impulse idea". Aside from writing about a new production, you can see I started in November of last year...and almost immediately paused. I blame exam, stress and exam stress.

I only resumed writing in this March, after I finished the Ducktales piece (which had also been an impulse idea but I did it in one go at least). I would say...80% of the story content was written in (the second half of) this month.

Also, after this piece, I plan to finish my WIPs first before starting any new productions (they have been WIPs since 2020 omg). All of them are long stories. And plan, so if I fail to adhere to myself please don't use this against me orz.

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

[Back to the actual story]

Another song fic featuring another song, this time showing my otaku side. Not sure if you may know this one. Or, may at least know the musician.

The song is "Miniature Garden Girl" (箱庭の少女) by Mothy/Akuno-P, "sung" by Hatsune Miku. The (translated) lyrics are the sentences "in quotations and italics".

If you have been a Vocaloid fan since ancient times, you probably will have at least heard about Mothy and/or some of his songs. Some of them are really classics in the Vocaloid history.

This song was one of my favourites from like >10 years ago when I was a somewhat passionate Vocaloid fan. It was quite hard to find a calming Vocaloid track, so this one stuck out to me (also I was a fan of Mothy's productions at that time). The song itself isn't nearly as famous as Mothy's other works (Daughter/Servant of Evil, anyone? Regret Message?), but it is still one of my favourites to this day.

Obviously the quality sounds pretty subpar nowadays. I believe the Vocaloid software used was still more or less a prototype. Mothy actually remastered the song a few years ago, with a more modern Miku voice bank. I will link both versions below.

https://youtu.be/2q1HqQEc4OY

https://youtu.be/DCdLi6z_jmg

[thedecadenceofwar]

that God would grant my desire : a character study on Aziraphale in the elevator to Heaven.

read on ao3

The Second Coming.

It was a surprise, to be sure: not one that he couldn’t handle, but it’d be a tricky one wouldn’t it? Goodness, it was as though he hadn’t faced down Armageddon before. It would have been better had Crowley been by his side, of course – all things were better with Crowley by his side, belligerent and charismatic and smart in all the definitions of the word. (Ow; that smarts!) Acerbic, like a flick of hot oil onto one’s arm from the pan. Memory was a strange thing when one was incapable of forgetting. He’d thought about it quite a bit, over the past few days with Gabriel, though he’d not had a moment to truly sit down and sort everything out in his head. It had all happened so fast. Goodness.

Finally, thought Aziraphale, a second to think. The elevator ride to Heaven was a relatively lengthy one, and the Metatron didn’t seem to be in much of a talking mood once the doors had closed. It was for the best, perhaps, that the Scribe was well aware of Aziraphale’s turmoil, and was giving him a moment to collect himself after all the hubbub. For this, Aziraphale was grateful.

For this, of course, and the reason he was here – the honor! The honor to be named Supreme Archangel after Gabriel had absconded with his – with his Beelzebub. (There were no words for that sort of relationship, anyhow; and Aziraphale was well and truly chuffed for them, gallivanting off to Alpha Centauri to do whatever an angel and demon might do together in a place like that.) That the Metatron had deemed Aziraphale, of all angels, fit for the job, was a validation of his actions over the past six thousand or so years – Heaven may have sullied his name, sentenced him to death, sent their Angels (and Hell their demons) to his doorstep, but Aziraphale had only ever done what he felt to be  right,   and the Metatron was here, now, to show him that like Job it had not all been in vain! That Aziraphale’s sense of morality, once thought to be askew, was not light gray, or slate gray, or dark gray or any shade of gray but White, the White of Heaven and God and Goodness! That all that Aziraphale had done among humanity was not to be dismissed or reprimanded or penalized in sin, but glorified and commended in the spotless halls of the Almighty! Glory to the Highest!

And he’d thought in his naïvety that once Crowley saw reason, that once Crowley saw that he was not so damned or so besmirched or so soiled in his soul to be unLoved by God, that he would come round, that he would stand by Aziraphale’s side in Heaven an Angel once more! On his love, Aziraphale would never forget his smile as they were amongst the painted stars and marching birthing chambers of the cosmos; that brilliant smile, the one reflected ten-fold in its magnificence beyond the boundaries of thought. Pure Light; pure light. Once Crowley Fell, well, he no longer could form a smile of pure light, could he? But Aziraphale could not understand why he would not want to. He had presented happiness, perfect happiness on a golden platter of light to him and begged him to take it! He would have pleaded, fallen to his knees to appeal him if only Crowley had not been so –

So – so –

His thoughts stuttered. He still couldn’t make sense of it. One final temptation. It was like no other. Aziraphale had never been so wanting in all his life to do such a thing, and yet –

But this is what temptation was. Wanting selfishly, slavishly, brazenly. It was a fiery and burning thing, the shock of it and the force with which it hit him, both the Angel and the physical of him, down to the soles of his feet and the whole of his scalp.

Had he not been tempted before? With wine, with food, with art and music and literature? But these were not questions; these were not things defiled. These were human creations, the limitless light-years of mortal imagination. Aziraphale had not Fallen for meat or champagne or Jane Austen, as his Love for mankind was pure, selfless; Love executed solely to appreciate the vast capabilities of humans. But if Aziraphale loved Crowley, it would be different. He Loved Crowley, to be sure, as he Loved all of God’s creatures; but if he loved Crowley, wanted Crowley–this was a selfish desire, and a temptation of the most dangerous order. Because Crowley was a demon. Because he would want Crowley to himself. If Aziraphale loved Crowley, he would want Crowley for no other reason than to have him, for no altruistic or practical or scholastic purpose… Because in truth, if Aziraphale did indeed love Crowley, then Crowley would have had to be Good, holy, even, for if an Angel loved in self-indulgence he who was not holy in the eyes of God, then the Angel was no longer an Angel but led to temptation and Fallen... Did Crowley want Aziraphale in such a manner? He must have, to have resorted to such extreme measures. But Aziraphale, despite being tempted to want, had not given in.

He had put his hand on Crowley’s back. Like a part of him wanted to draw him in. He forced himself to consider it. Yes he had laid a hand on Crowley, for that was temptation, that lightning-fast, electric, gravitational feeling. I forgive you, he’d told Crowley, and meant it. Aziraphale could love Crowley if he were an Angel. If he was forgiven.

But Aziraphale had always respected Crowley, hadn’t he? If not his methods, then his mind? If he was going to take this position in Heaven, there would be trials and complications he would have to face, and face honestly. He resolved to. Crowley was good but not Good. Aziraphale cared for him, trusted him, lied for him, spent hours in his body as they became each other in front of Heaven and Hell. He knew Crowley.

But evidently he didn’t. It was all the more reason to take into question the last things they had said to each other. If he could have been so blind as to think that Crowley would want to return to Heaven, what else might he have been blind to? No. Aziraphale cut himself off. No, that line of thought ended there. Angels didn’t hold grudges, and that way lay wrath, and Aziraphale would not fall victim to sin. Crowley was misled, as he had always been, and would be until he found his way into the Light, and into truth. Aziraphale Loved him. That would have to be enough. Crowley was forgiven until he found the Good inside him to come forth and stand by Aziraphale’s side, an Angel once more.

But all this he would have to put out of his mind. Things were changing. Aziraphale couldn’t return to Earth, it was true, now that he and Crowley had parted ways and his bookshop was under new management. But now so was Heaven. And perhaps Aziraphale could make Heaven more earth-like in some ways; like he said, he certainly hadn’t Fallen just for a couple pieces of sushi and a pork rib or two – and one might even argue that it made him a better Angel, his understanding of humanity and his time spent amongst those who chose sin and who chose Goodness. The Supreme Archangel was the Best Angel, the most perfect, most righteous, closest to Godliness beside the Metatron, and with Aziraphale in that position he would fix things. Perhaps even then Crowley might saunter back and Aziraphale would give him his halo again, once he saw that Aziraphale really had done this because it was the right thing to do, that Aziraphale had always done the right thing, that Aziraphale was justified in the eyes of Heaven and the Metatron and God. Toxic. Pah!

It would always be about Crowley.

No, that was silly. It hadn’t been in the past and it wouldn’t be in the future. Their short sojourn as friends in the human world had ended. Aziraphale would return to Heaven better, and he would make a real difference for the world, and the future would be bright. The best part about it was, Aziraphale thought, as he felt himself start to relax, was that he would be amongst Angels again, all the time, after so long on Earth. He was already happier, after those six thousand years, going back to Heaven now. Yes, he would finally be among his kind, a Good Angel, and that made him happy.

He smiled.

[callgespenst]

I recently finished watching Space Runaway Ideon (1980) and movies, and that most certainly lived up to its reputation as one of the shows of all time. I’ve been thinking about it for the last week, and some of my thoughts follow. Spoilers, obviously, abound.

- Anyone who tells you to skip the last episode and skip to the second movie should not be trusted. The first movie’s a bit of a mess, for sure, but it re-contextualizes the first two cours in a way that leads in really well to the second movie. And the second movie, if you watch the last episode beforehand, you know when the original series ends so you can brace yourself for when shit REALLY starts going down.

- Also if you watch the last episode, you can notice how the animation gets substantially better once the TV content ends and the new movie content begins. Not that Ideon’s animation is bad, it looks great, but the movie stuff looks much more crisp.

- The rest of the second movie is fascinating for a lot of reasons but also because it’s a clip show for episodes that never actually came to fruition, and the manic pacing lends itself extremely well to how completely miserable the film is.

- The Buff Clan is the least subtle criticism of the Japanese military during WWII imaginable, down to the Emperor being just kinda there and having one line.

- Gije’s journey from just another named samurai looking to prove himself, to proto-Viral from TTGL, to being possibly the only bitch in the whole show who dies content, is really something.

- I didn’t expect to be grabbed so much by Sheryl’s arc. From “kind of a bitch” to falling for a former enemy and finally opening up only to end up so totally broken she throws a baby in the line of fire. And yet, what would be abhorrent anywhere else, is understandable and even pitiable here.

- Jordan Bes is a good dude. Went through hell several times over and still kept everyone together somehow. When did he find the time to have sex?

- Karala and Sheryl are totally hatefucking in the first cour. Also, Hatari and Joliver are totally dating, if you ask me.

- I like Cosmo and Kasha but neither of them feel quite as developed as you’d expect by the end of the series, the rest of the crew gets the lion’s share of character moments. Which isn’t a problem, just the reverse of usual since they’re the ones piloting the robot.

- This applies triple to poor Moera, who only got any development when he was on death’s door.

- I think Kasha is neat because she’s your standard early super robot show girl pilot, but actually given a machine that can do something. Like if Sayaka Yumi was given a Mazinger of her own.

- You know that bit from Toei Mazinger where Kouji and Sayaka are beating the shit out of each other, and shouting “You’re worse than Baron Ashura!” over and over? Take that, sub in Cosmo and Kasha, and “Buff Clan” instead of Baron Ashura. 100% in character.

- It’s really fucked up that they gave a squirrel a custom space suit that fits both of his tails and also that no one ever mentions this in the show.

- Ideon feels a lot like Star Trek in how there’s a lot of exploring the galaxy and finding exciting and strange new worlds, but in a perverse sort of way where instead of being about humanity’s bright future and potential, it’s about how no one can understand each other except when stockholm syndrome’d together on a ship you can’t ever really leave.

- It’s the little cultural differences that really make it. The Buff Clan and humanity looking the same, being able to understand each other’s language, but to the former, a white flag means “we’re going to kill you all without quarter”? That’s the good shit.

- The episode where Cosmo meets that nice older lady who looks after him for a bit before she bites it gruesomely might be one of the most awe-inspiring bits of media I’ve ever seen.

- The more I think about it, Ideon getting cancelled was possibly the best outcome. Managed a decent ending despite that (better than any of its contemporaries that got axed) and then had its planned conclusion on the big screen. If the show had continued for another cour, the blowback from concerned parents once everyone starts dying would have done it in anyway.

- I got genuinely upset over the big space worms.

- I like how weird and alien all the Buff Clan machines are. Definitely still recognizable as enemy mecha, but they’ve got weird numbers of arms or legs, or things shoot off in ways you wouldn’t expect.

- And last, but absolutely not least, here’s the hot take: anyone who tells you “Evangelion is garbage, watch Ideon” is the dumbest motherfucker alive. Anno is the only dude on the planet who watched Ideon and really and truly understood the assignment.

[halaboyz]

crowns and thorns, jyh

pairing: royal king! yunho x gn! reader genre: angst wc: 1.6k warnings: major character death, profanities, blood, swords, plagues, let me know if i missed anything ! notes: this is based and inspired on that scene in hotel del luna, and is also based on gina's work one step forward, three steps back! please give it and gina lots of love <3

a/n: HAPPIEST BIRTHDAY TO MY LOVELY LOVELY GINA !! @sunlightwoo !!! i still can't believe i am moots with you and NOW i'm giving u a small token of appreciation on your birthday :( ILYSM and enjoy !!! i hope you are having a blast muah

“Like I’d forget about you and the forgotten village. I promise I’ll come back for you and the forgotten village.”

You stare at the nothingness, the first time the blinking stars didn’t show up despite being the village that is known for its breathtaking night sky with thousands and millions of stars show in the view every night— the Cosmos village.

Maybe it was a sign.

The lack of stars that you found staring at every night after his coronation— which was a little over two years ago, was your last straw. It felt emptier, now that you were sitting right where he promised you baseless words, and you stupidly believed them.

You thought he’d be a great king. You should’ve known better that he’ll just turn out like how everyone else is— how his father was. As he sat on the throne, the moment he sat on the throne, you should’ve known than to believe he’d even bat an eye on your beloved village.

Your beloved village that has now gone to ashes.

Two years ago, despite being the forgotten village with 10 people including you— five being children and two being too old of age to support their families, only three adults have managed to keep the village going, helping each other to your best abilities. Because if you weren’t going to help each other, who will?

That’s the question that shouldn’t have gone when Yunho left.

You believed his promises too much that you let your guards down.

Your eyes hopelessly drifted down to the bright lights emitting from the castle from the dark sky, as if all the stars were in the castle itself.

“And they have time for balls,” A scoff leaves your lips, and even with the disbelief that you’re feeling, tears filled your eyes once again. “It’s been two years and you’re still crying,” Disappointment over the friend you trusted, you stand up from where you’re standing, tattered pants now full of ashes and you didn’t bother dusting it off.

It was a sign. The stars that were nowhere to be found tonight.

And you were going to follow it.

As you lifelessly, yet habitually walk through the central village, a lot of those who knew you were only giving you pitiful stares and apologetic smiles. As much as they missed the old y/n— the one who smiled as if the forgotten village they’re residing in is not forgotten, the one who did nothing but help the people around them, they still understand the fact that they cannot, ever, bring the old y/n back.

How bad you must’ve been feeling when you were the only one to survive the plague.

You were only minding your own life, reminiscing the memories you had when you were still able to help the only people you called family when you are suddenly pulled to a narrow alley, his voice more painfully familiar than you would like it to be as he wore commoner clothes.

“y/n,” He looks and sounds livelier than he should’ve been, even giving you a light hug before meeting your eyes.

“Wooyoung.” You only give him a small smile, and with him– you’re reminded of everything. Your family, your smiles, Yunho. It only makes your eyes well up, and your chest only becomes impossibly heavier.

“God, how have you been? It’s been so busy in the palace I literally have no idea what goes on outside,” Wooyoung explains, unaware of the tears flowing out of your eyes because of the darkness of the alley.

“I could only imagine,” You mumble, lowering your head only because you can’t bear seeing him right now— him at his highest because finally, he thinks his friend was doing so well in the throne, and you being one of the many proofs that he is, while you, on the other hand, is in your lowest’s lowest.

“Anyway! Yunho is about to make his first rounds around the kingdom! Isn’t that nice?!” Wooyoung has finally pulled you out of the alley, and you could now see people making their way out of their home’s warmth to welcome the king. “He couldn’t do his rounds on his first year because of the plague so… I’m just glad to be here,” Wooyoung excitedly grabs on your arm as he jumps around, looking afar to see the armored men already making his way to where you were. “I wanted to see from the people’s perspective so I’m here! I’m so glad I ran into you, He’s here!” Wooyoung pats your arm as he points at Yunho who had his head held high as he rode on the horse and for a second, you felt so proud of what he’s become. But that’s only for a second.

Because the minute your eyes met, even from far away, it makes you all remember again. How you see your family die right in front of your eyes one by one, how you begged for help to save them but nothing came, how his promises became a lie.

He almost smiles at you, but it stopped only because you only gazed at him with tearful eyes, and he can’t fathom why when he’s only acted poise and elegant for you. He wanted to see how you’re so proud of him— just like how you said before he came back to the palace from your village.

But you only avoid his eyes, and he feels his shoulder slouch the slightest when you do.

“What…” Yunho mumbles, a small pout forming on his lips. He remains like that the rest of his rounds. Even though he isn’t knowledgeable of Wooyoung pulling you to follow the king, you remain on his mind all day.

He should’ve known.

He should’ve known before, he should’ve known when he met your eyes even for a brief second.

He should’ve known before, not when you draw a sword at him, now holding it right at his neck.

You’ve caused so much chaos at the palace, half of his guards left lying in their own pool of blood. He doesn’t know how you did it— but with the anger overflowing out of you right now, he thinks anything is possible. His hand motions to halt the other guards now standing guard, along with an obviously shocked Wooyoung in the big doors, the stars he always gazed at beaming so bright through the windows as he saw how much you were broken— as much as the stars in the night sky he adored.

“y/n…” He carefully mumbles, his hands slowly making their way cautiously to yours to stop you.

“Do not… even think of it, Jeong.” He breaks when he hears your voice crack, tears also forming in his own eyes to see the once was so beautiful person in his eyes, now so desperate for avenging what happened. “I… trusted you. You promised— and I… I believed you. I told you you’d be a great king. Well, I didn’t think you weren’t going to be for all,” A scoff of disbelief leaves your lips, your glare at him not softening for a second.

He just stares. Yunho does nothing but stares at you, and he hopes he’s able to deliver what he wanted to say with his eyes. Countless apologies, that is. Yearning for you, mourning for your family.

But the thing is, it’s all too late.

“...Yunho. I watched each that was left in that village die. I begged your guards for a doctor— even just one fucking doctor, and maybe I could’ve saved even just one of them… you know what they said? Yunho… they said the king only funded for the central... village,” You laugh incredulously nodding mockingly. “The next thing I know… they were burning the village to stop the plague from spreading. Everybody avoided me, fired me from jobs because, well, I understand they’re afraid of me having it,” Your voice finally softens, “You’re a fucking hypocrite. You’re just like your father,” Your nod slowly becomes a soft shake of the head in a disapproving way, and he hates how you’re so harsh, yet so right.

“I’m sorry…” You don’t even let Yunho finish his sentence before you dismiss him with a hush, and maybe with a little push of the sword closer to his neck, but he doesn’t break eye contact with you. If you must kill him for what he did, which he deserved, he’ll understand. If you’ll be mad at him for eternity, he’ll understand. But what he wants right now is to grant you peace, grant you the assurance that indeed, it will not happen again. “Please… let’s talk first. You’re one, we’re many. You’ll… you’ll get exiled. If not, executed, y/n. I’m sorry, but this time around—,”

“Don’t worry. Because unlike you, Jeong, I am a man of my word,”

“No!” Yunho only exclaims as he catches you with his hands, his royal uniform now stained with his love’s blood, terror seen in his eyes. You had drawn your own sword back away from his neck, pushing it against your chest in one swift move. “No… no…” He mumbles, asking Wooyoung and the guards for help but nothing came, you were already convicted for treason the moment you had drawn your sword on the king, you deserved no right of help— but not that it was needed.

Yunho only wails, taking you into his arms as he looked around hopelessly.

He remembers— how you said if you wanted to hurt him, you would’ve done it long before. You kept your word. And he wanted to keep his.

The only problem was, he had no one to grant his words now. You were gone, along with your family, and now the forgotten village— no, the Cosmos village, is also now gone along the stars. He wonders if you took his heart with you because when you took your last breath, he swears he felt his heart stop along with yours.

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networks: @ficscafe @destinyverse @8makes1teamnet @koffeenet @kflixnet

[urlkssknt]

Hi! I dont know if you take requests, or if they are open anyway, but can I leave an idea here? Im just looking forward to a feral Nanami ngl. Any scenario is fine, but I feel that he would be most feral at his s/o death. So, why not, reverse shibuya arc! You die and Nanami lives, saying your last word in front of him, before being blasted by Mahito. I just wanna see the anger and him snaping his pacient self at Mahito the most. Oh my lord, Yuuji wouls be so heartbroken by this too 😢 Thank you for reading 💝💝

oh my god i love this!!! feral!nanami is a gift the world needs, i love your mind. i will get on this straight away, i’m so excited thank you requesting this!! this is my first request so i hope i do it justice!💗💗🤍🤍

the tight bruising grip on your katana loosened, just enough for the weighted sharp object to fall to the floor with a loud clatter, gaining the attention of the few surrounding people. your eyes move from the ugly bastard standing in front of you to the long pointed shard of his arm piercing your abdomen. oh fuck. suddenly, your body could no longer hold itself up, quickly losing all its energy. you tried your best to ignore the headache which felt like your brain was splitting open and the continuous burn of the sharp stinging sensation in your abdomen, almost replicating the feeling of your whole body being lit by roaring hot flames, burning all of your living cells to death. the atmosphere around you was slowly beginning to fade out and mix into a blur. you could barely make out the sound of your husband’s voice, begging you to hold on, to just wait a little longer. you couldn’t feel the warmth of his palm cradling your face, hugging your body closer to his chest. his cobalt blue shirt, the one you picked out for him as a gift for returning to the school, had darkened to a purple from your blood being absorbed by the material.

“please don’t leave me alone,” nanami could no longer hold back the sob anymore, it felt like heavy weight was pressing against his chest, limiting his own oxygen as the blond shaman forced himself to watch you in your last moments. his eyes were quick to notice the unsteady rises and falls of your chest. “i can’t lose you too.”

magically, you felt your tongue able to form words, the last ones your lover would hear from you. “y-you’re not a-alone…” it progressively became harder to keep your eyes open, wanting to engrave the warm brown eyes into your heart. your chest heaved with every slow breath, the oxygen struggling to travel to the necessary parts for respiration. “i’ll always… be w-with y-you…”

nanami swore his heart shattered into a million tiny shards, never being able to be fixed and whole again, as he witnessed your last breath, the beating of your pulse slowed to a complete stop. it felt as his own heart stopped along with yours. time itself slowed as kento cried the hardest he ever had in his life, holding his dear partner to his chest, praying to any deity out there in the cosmos to take him instead of you. his salty tears rolled off his sharp chin and fall onto your still face like shining jewels, even in death you were the most beautiful sight he had ever laid his eyes on.

“sen-sensei,” yuuji’s voice trembled just like his body, shaking like a leaf in shock before the young teenager dropped to his knees. his own dark trousers becoming dirty from the puddle of blood he landed in.

the blond sorcerer stood up to his full height, wiping the tears across his face harshly, so roughly it irritated the skin of his face. nanami exhaled deeply before screwing his swollen eyes shut. many would describe the ex-salaryman as a calculated and stiff character, never committing an action with a bad intention, nanami kento was an ideal man for most. a loving husband, a kind-hearted teacher, and in your words, the most beautiful soul. for the first time in his life, kento let go of the restraints that constricted him into the stiff man people knew him to be. there was nothing left for him to be proud of, nothing left holding him back and stay reserved.

kento no longer had you.

nanami gripped the handle of the spotted wrapped sword between one bloody hand so tightly his knuckles turned white whilst the other readjusted the glasses which slipped down his nose.

“i’m not leaving till i kill that fucking bastard.”

[animatedrapture]

RINTOBER: [ Achilles' Heel ]

word count: 2,222

suna rintarō x reader

tags: ambiguous end, implied major character death, angst, implied sexual intercourse, toxic relationship, detailed pain(?)

song: achilles come down - gang of youths

a/n: HALLOWEEN SPECIAL because... death...?

a HUGE thank you, once again, to my wonderful wife, love of my life, bby @toffees-main 🥺 for proofreading the final piece and preventing me from sounding like a dumbass like, twice. also, thank you to @newfriendjen and @kaitycole for beta-reading the initial draft!

"Rin, Rintarō, I love you!" You shouted from the bleachers; a proud smile decorating your features as you cheered for him right after he'd hit the ball to the other side of the net, securing EJP Raijin another point—so close to winning.

His gaze and yours were two opposites of a pole with a pull unparalleled—a pull science can only wish to decipher. He finds you as he rotates through the set up and there's a beam in his eyes, making him break out into a grin you just know he couldn't find it in himself to reserve for later.

That day, that match—Suna Rintarō was named the MVP of the game. He owed it all to you and the swell of his heart with each cheer he heard from you; your voice distinct as if it were the only one that mattered in that whole gymnasium. Perhaps, at least that time, you truly were all that mattered to him.

But not anymore.

The first—the first was the lack of replies, the dryer replies. I love you's met with Love you's and very little effort to hide the lack of sincerity beneath. It began through texts until it was the quick, snipped tone laced with the parsimonious manner he answered you. The act of it was much like an attempt to deprive you of water until you're but withering rose in his grasp that he would rather replace than try to plant again and save.

Just how long were you willing to go without the water you needed to stay alive?

"Rin, love, I'll prepare dinner for us tonight, come home early, okay? I'm cooking your favorite!"

"I'll try," was his reply as you watched each of his hasty movements through your shared bedroom.

"I prepared you a bento, too. It's on the kitchen counter," you continued as he attempted to ignore the way you looked at him similar to the way you look when you're lost and searching for something. He hums in response, and just as he was about to reach for the door, you call out to him, "Rin, where's my goodbye kiss?" in the usual tone you would pull back then when he would forget and pepper you with kisses in retaliation, offering an apology before heading out.

He looks back at you with exasperation, "I'm late, Y/N." He doesn't wait for you to answer before he has the door shut close.

That's how you know he also forgot the food you prepared on the kitchen counter.

Foolishly, the answer to the question was that you were willing to wait until your next life for his love to drown you into bliss again. It's that answer that's disrespectful to the mystery of reincarnation—but you're everything Suna Rintarō wanted you to be; that is, if it was a fool he wanted you to be, you would play the part better than any award winning actor to have ever lived could. Even if it was a miscreant he wanted you to be, some sort of heretic to the laws of the world and the conditions of love. You'd be everything he asked of you. After all, who were you if not his other half?

Who were you if not water to shape into whatever container he put you in, right?

The second—the second was the lies that slipped past such sinful crimson lips. Oh, by the heavens, as if the lack of fondness in the timbre of his voice as he spoke to you wasn't enough to put cracks to the cemented foundation of you and him. Cruel, it's so cruel—you wonder if you're lacking somewhere, have you changed? Are you no longer diamond in the sea of glitter—? Worth not of his time nor the beating of the caged heart you thought you've acquired?

Now when he speaks, even the very sound of his voice reverberates like a sharp spear piercing through your chest without mercy—as if you're Spartan in the Battle of Thermopylae. The lies that come along with them about how training ended late again, or that he's travelling for a match again—Huh? No, you don't have to come, Y/N. I need to focus.

Did he have to lie about who he's with, what he's been doing? It's laughable. As if you wouldn't kiss away the taste of anything that lingered in his lips, if it was blood, alcohol or the lips of another girl. Rintarō, did he not know you enough to know you would surrender to his will no matter what mud followed his footsteps?

Ah, but, what would admitting such things do to his pride? Maybe it's that—or maybe he liked the way the lies were like lemon and salt to a fresh wound. You think, you never thought you could be so masochistic.

Third—the third is the sharpness of his gaze. It's the same gaze, same pair of eyes you've loved for such a long time and you fail not to love to this very moment. You're softer than clouds but now most hollow in comparison to the unacquirable stars among the cosmos—you think they're there but they're just a burst of light, something that has probably died lightyears ago.

It's like chokehold, the fourth—the fourth is like chokehold and he, the assassin. Ruthless—he's ruthless when he looks at you as you're not more than a tedious chore to him and the ring on your finger held no promise of relentless love greater than what a deity could offer.

Foolish—you're foolish. Delusion is a coping mechanism to the ones whose realities have been robbed in front of them—delusion is what you're supposed to call it when you fill your head with all the excuses and all the things you tell yourself have to change. You used to be a masterpiece. A masterpiece to him; as though you're Holy Grail found in a gallery of things that could never begin to hope they would ever amount to you.

Delusion is ignoring the liquor in his lips, the intoxicating smell of his cologne mixed with alcohol and cigarette smoke. You're confused and your reality that seems to have been distorting more often than usual. You question the strings that premeditate fate when it's you feeling the drunkenness and hangover the next day when it should be Suna and the tabloids of "Suna Rintarō spotted in yet another bar." You wonder if each sunset and sunrise you watched with Suna was a mere fever dream when it's you who vomits on the toilet. You, who sobs on the bathroom floor.

"Sfumato," your friend tells you, "The gentle blurring of edges to make rendered objects appear as one with their environment." The edges blur when you call that delusion as love—you only have to wait long enough before both are truly one and the same. The pain disguised as martyr sacrifice to the greatest allegory of love to exist. This is what you're told. They say, "Y/N, you've confused love with delusion," and yet you don't listen.

You don't listen most of all when you're back underneath him but you feel like you're being bloodied all over, stained like wine to a white dress. Yet you allow yourself to indulge in the kisses he's abated you of, you revel in each time you ask him to tell you he loves you and he finally does as he luxuriates you of your desires and of your whines for love—nevermind that he was doing it for himself. After all, it is as the word suggests, a luxury.

Suna Rintarō had become a luxury you couldn't afford, therefore, he did not have any business of giving himself to you. Not unless he wanted to.

Is there such thing as a free reign over the heart of someone? Hand it over as they will but how long would they truly allow you to borrow it—? Borrow it because one never truly surrenders such a vital thing to human functioning. Yes, you are and you have been delusional to believe so.

"You own the entirety of my heart, Y/N," you're unsure whenever it echoes in your head. He brings you enough torture, why must your own brain create such clamor in your head. Was such pain necessary? Is pain to love much like Adam's rib to Eve?

"It's a promise ring, bunny," he said as he tucked your hair behind your ears—his gaze is intense, almost like you would disappear from his sight if he looked at anywhere or anything but you.

You stared at the ring that shone under the light of the restaurant, your vision blurring at the tears welling from your eyes and you try your best to choke in the sob that involuntarily escapes you.

"Hey, Y/N, what are you cryin' for?" He questioned with a chuckle, looking at you with amusement dancing in his eyes while his thumbs reached out to wipe away each tear that betrayed you—falling down your cheeks as he cupped your face.

"I-it's nothing, I—I'm just happy, love," you answer him through your tears.

There's a smile playing across his lips, he tells you, "'m just making a promise that I'll marry you one day, bunny, is all."

You nodded eagerly with a wide smile even as the tears that left you continued to fall, "I'm making a promise to say yes, Rin. No matter what," you answered him through your sobs, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Guess I should start practicing to get on one knee then, yeah?" He laughed as he pulled you closer, his arms around you, you giggled along with him—it felt like you were molded together to form one perfect piece, like the act of staying there for all of eternity, in each other's arms, would turn you into one. Entangled together in all the right ways—as if Rapture has befallen the Earth and that was your final state as did the universe.

The fifth—the fifth is the screaming, the fights. Who would have thought you would break like a mere twig stepped on in the darkest forest on this Earth? It was under his shoe did you break from; each word that left his mouth was scathing—they didn't feel like a stab or pins and needles to the human heart, they felt like burns of acid that slowly ate at your decaying soul, breaking heart, dwindling sanity.

"I don't get it, Rin! Why do you treat me like this?!" You screamed through your tears, your chest heaving as your lungs tried its best to support you, even when it's already been punctured by the shattered pieces of your heart that continued to beat in separate shards, digging further into your lungs, damaging your ribcage, piercing your throat.

"Please, God, just tell me what to do—Rintarō, tell me what I need to do to turn us back to the way we were, please," you begged, falling to your knees and you let the shattered items on the floor puncture your skin. You felt numb yet your whole body was buzzing. The pain from the pieces of glass from under you doesn't register in your brain because all you can feel is the pain that was spreading from your chest and out into your whole body.

Under his mercy had he turned you inside out and greedily taken every part of you—everything you surrendered on your own volition until you were nothing, not even a shell of yourself but more like a ghost floating through the air. It looked like a battlefield—and perhaps it was. Love was never something you come out alive from. Love was greedy, selfish, treacherous. Love is like an assailant you allowed to enter in the safety of your own home.

"Don't you get it? Y/N, I don't love you anymore!"

No. You think, no. No, it repeats in your head, over and over. Denial. You were in denial, at this conjecture, you were aware of even this.

"I stopped loving you long ago, Y/N. You were dumb enough to stay." Has he always been this truculent towards you? You wonder but you can't recall anything else but the echoing of his words. Words he used like a champion of the battlefield, liberating away the life of his enemies.

No. Don't say that. You don't mean it. No.

Suna thought you would be the arrow to his heel—the one to bring him to his knees in the most torturous of ways. In reality, maybe you were more his heel than the arrow. He was both Achilles and his actions, the arrow that brought him to his own demise.

Sixth—the sixth was sickening grief. You're so unfair. You're so selfish. How could you run away from him, only to scream his name and the tormenting shout of "I love you" that haunted him awake or in his slumber. How could you be so cruel? To let him fall to his knees in front you the way you made him to. Ruthless—you're so ruthless. The pain was the excruciating kind, crashing towards him like ocean waves bringing him farther from the shore and near to wherever you were now. How could you leave him like you did?

After all, what was he if there wasn't you?

📞 violet is calling... all content featured belongs to ©️ animatedrapture. do not plagiarize, repost, or modify.

[isagrimorie]

So many men on twitter are saying how terrible it was Thirteen didn’t comfort Graham.

And while I like to joke how Thirteen was like Rosa Diaz with one leg out of the window Thirteen actually wasn’t doing that.

Because unlike Rosa at that moment, she wasn’t pulling away emotionally, Thirteen was listening intently to Graham. Her face is open and listening. 

She’s even leaning forward, trying to understand what Graham was saying to her, if there was any request in his words. 

But then he stops talking and looks at her expectantly. 

She looks back at him expectantly, because she was waiting for him to continue with a request. 

She even raises her eyebrows, as if to say: “Go on...” 

He returns it with his own raised eyebrow, “No, it’s your turn.”

And then that’s when it clicks for Thirteen. Oh. Oh! Oh, crap. He wants me to say something and not do something. What do I do? What do I do??? 

Doctor... buffering...

And this is when Thirteen admits she doesn’t know what to say. 

Graham looks doubly amused at the Doctor after this. He got his fears off his chest and she listened but at that time she had no words to contribute and brilliantly, Graham got that at that particular moment it’s all she could give. 

It just seems like just wanted this off his chest.  

Put me in that situation, it’s more than I could manage to be honest. I’d probably try to give commiserating sounds and scrabble to think for something to say with less grace. 

Also, the tweets have the general air of-- The Doctor should be nurturing and emotionally mature because she’s a woman now, and she should have hugged Graham, to comfort him. 

Despite how she looks like Thirteen is not a hugging person, and she’s able to get away not hugging because she’s able to look boisterous and open, and funny when a large part of that is protective coloring. She’s a friendly person and she will drag you to adventures and then it’s only after you realized the best affectionate thing she’s ever given you was a brief pat on your shoulders. 

(TBH I think Graham himself might be weirded out if the Doctor was physically affectionate with him at that moment). 

Also, and I can’t reiterate it enough and I’m glad Graham understands, better than the men of Twitter -- it is not the job of women to comfort and be emotionally wise, and as another guy mentioned on twitter: The Doctor’s been through a lot herself. She doesn’t have the emotional capacity at the moment to deal. She could barely handle her own issues, Thirteen doesn’t have the spoons at that juncture but she wasn’t brushing Graham off either. 

It’s a Doctor MO when they can’t deal with an awkward thing they either don’t comment on it or ignore it and while Thirteen had no words she didn’t dismiss him. She didn’t check out during the whole talk. 

Other regenerations would have. Admittedly to there are other regenerations that would fare better. Also, I have a feeling when Thirteen does find the words, she will say it to Graham.  

But if you ask me Thirteen needed the cue cards Clara made for Twelve, because those cue cards helped Twelve.  He got really better with emotions but before he got to that point Human emotions baffled Twelve. 

As an example, Under the Lake episode when Twelve and Clara stumble into an underwater base and found what seemed like ghosts and instead of reacting the way people expected. Twelve was positively giddy.

Dude was confused when people got angry at him for celebrating Ghosts! 

Doctor... buffering....

So, yeah... the Doctor not being the most emotionally mature person in the room is in character, just because the Doctor is a woman and looks like a nice girl doesn’t mean she instantly contains all the kindness and wisdom of the ages. 

Twelve had to build up to who he becomes in series 10. He wasn’t instantly emotionally aware. It took a long time for him to get there, and it was a lot of effort, around almost a hundred years give or take (including the time with River).  

I fully believe Thirteen will get there too. 

Oh, also, Sophie Aldred also wrote something similar with Thirteen lamenting her inability to use words, any words to reach Ace, which means this really is a characteristic of Thirteen. 

“Ace.”  The Doctor looked suddenly hearbroken. “You know how much I can gabble on, Yaz. You know how good I am at talking. I once talked a Dalek to death. An actual Dalek! And Ace was with me then, right here in London, 60 odd years ago. Good God, all the talking I’ve done. But, you know, trying to talk to Ace... where were the words?” She shook her head, baffled. “I’m pretty good at uncovering things. I’ve discovered the rarest things in the strangest places, clear across the cosmos. But the right words to say to that woman? Nope. Never. She was sat beside me in the car and I still couldn’t find them.” 

- At Childhood’s End, Sophie Aldred. 

By the end of the book she got there eventually. 

So, yeah, it’s not that Thirteen doesn’t care, it’s just that Thirteen couldn’t find the words, the right words to say but she will stay still and listen because Graham was talking to her and she will help anyway she can, if he asked her to. But words, her number one weapon, her gift of the gab failed her at that particular moment but I also trust that Thirteen will be able to find the words eventually, it’s just not at that moment. 

Plus remember: 

(it is really late so i have no idea how coherent this post is, apologies for the rambling).

[sofreddie]

Serendipitous Souls 11

Summary: The brothers find out what's been causing deaths.

Characters: Dean, Sam

Warnings: Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 1,280

A/N: More plot. Because this story decided to just do its own thing.

Dean cursed under his breath as he struggled against his bindings. He and Sam had come a few minutes before, realizing they were tied to chairs, arms tied behind them, ankles tied to the chair legs.

The woman - a witch they had assumed - was living in the hotel’s penthouse suite. They had figured out she was inducing lust - though they hadn’t pinned down how - and feeding off of the sexual energy produced during the lust-fueled marathons. But they also weren’t sure why, to what end.

Deciding that where and what she was was enough, they proceeded with the hunt. Unfortunately, she was expecting them and knocked them out quickly with a flick of her wrist.

“You’re awake,” the woman’s voice chirped happily. The brother’s heads snapped up simultaneously as they looked forward at the woman now standing before them. She was pretty, with a manically happy smile and demeanor and a well-fitted golden and gilded gown, “I was expecting you.”

“I noticed,” Dean huffed, tugging on his restraints for emphasis.

“I’m such a big fan of you Winchesters,” she grins, and her smile gets brighter when she sees that look cross their faces, “Oh yeah. I’ve been tracking you as long as God has. Since your souls were created.”

She sat in a comfy armchair facing them, crossing her legs and settling her gown. She interlocked her fingers and rested her hands atop her crossed knees, smiling between them once more. She looked somewhere between an adoring fan and proud mother. It made the brothers cringe.

“And…who are you exactly?” Sam asked.

“Oh, I’m The Caretaker,” she said, a hand upon her chest as she introduced herself, before resting her hands together once more, “Or at least I was,” her brow furrowed and she pouted. It was the first time she showed anything other than utter happiness. She shook her head and that bright smile was back on her face once more.

“See, once upon a time-”

“Ugghhh,” Dean groaned dramatically, letting his head roll back before meeting her eyes once more, “Why do they always monologue?” he groaned, looking over at Sam as if he was in genuine pain. Sam snorted and shook his head, before turning his attention back to her.

“I love when you do that,” she suddenly spoke and they looked at her curiously, “The silent communication thing,” she clarified, pointing between them, “I mean, I know you ‘covered’ it with whatever that was,” she sighed, “Just listen, okay?” she grinned again, as if nothing had transpired and they were just friends having tea and gossiping.

Minus the part where she’s apparently awesome at knot tying and managed to pick them clean of every possible hidden pick or knife they could have.

“Where was I?” she said, humming in thought with a finger on her chin, “Oh yes! Once upon a time, God was in the cosmos banging out souls at his workshop. As he made the many souls, he needed a place to store them until they could be born into being. So they were held in a sort of Soul Nursery until their time. It was my job to take care of the souls there.”

“The Caretaker,” Sam nodded, “Makes sense. What does this have to do with us?”

She sighed dreamily, “I saw every Sam and Dean he ever made come through there. I knew each and every one was important. To Him at least,” she said with a smile, “I talked to all the souls - nurturing, you know - and I had such high hopes for all the Sams and Deans,” she sighed once more, this time a little sad with a shake of her head.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Dean huffed a laugh.

“I got the broken souls too,” she continued, “If they broke while he made them he threw them out. I had to dispose of them. He didn’t like broken souls at all, you understand,” she pressed and the brothers nodded, “So, one time, I was checking on the souls as part of my duties,” she said, growing nervous and squirming as she started darting her eyes. Dean knew something bad was coming.

She let out a huff of breath, “So I came across you two and was just checking in, you know. And I’m not sure what happened, b-but both the souls fell,” she was lost in recalling it and the brothers started squirming at her tale too, “A chip broke off of each-”

“You broke our souls?” Sam gasped out, like suddenly everything made so much more sense, “Seriously?!” he growled, tugging at his restraints again.

“I tried to fix it!” she exclaimed, rising from her seat and shouting back, “But the pieces wouldn’t go back together. The souls were still viable and I didn’t want Him to throw them out. So I just put them back and I kept the pieces. I was hoping I could figure something out,” she defended desperately. Dean was pretty sure she’d had this argument before.

“Then what happened?” Dean asked, needing to know the rest of the story. Sam was huffing beside him, his anger getting the better of him.

“Then you were born,” she said to Dean, “Your soul took off like it’s meant to. But the shard, it was still with me but it was lit up,” she said with bright eyes and awe, “Then when Sam was born, his piece lit up,” she continued, “I was examining them when they suddenly shot together and fused and, a-and…it became a new soul,” she breathed out, reliving the moment, “So I ran, and I told Him.” she shook her head, slowly sitting back in her seat, right on the edge, “He wasn’t happy about it. He left your souls alone since you were born already. He was gonna destroy the new soul, but he decided it might be useful. So he tucked it away where no one would know where it is or what had happened. Then he cast me out.”

Dean was in shock, trying to take in what she’d said. Luckily, Sam’s anger seemed to keep him more on track.

“How does any of that have to do with what you’re doing here?” Sam growled at her accusingly.

“Because as The Caretaker, I was powered by the life force of the souls. Without their connection, I can’t feed off of life force directly. Sexual energy is the next best thing, and it produces enough to sustain me, usually,” she shook her head, “These last few didn’t have the energy or stamina to withstand my feeding and they died.”

“That’s why there was one survivor,” Sam mumbled to himself and she nodded.

“He was the only one who had the stamina to take it.”

Dean snorted, he couldn’t help himself.

“I’m glad you found her,” she said meekly and both brothers sobered at the comment, “What happened was an accident. And her existence was an accident. But it was the first case of soulmates,” she explained dreamily, “And I later learned that He started experimenting with breaking souls and creating soulmates after the accident. And then I guess he just decided sending angels to zap ‘em together was more efficient.”

“It really is a cosmic joke,” Dean mumbled to himself, but Sam heard clear enough. The defeat and sadness in his brother’s tone.

She let out a long sigh, “So I guess this is the part where you kill me, right?” she said, flicking her wrist and undoing their bindings, “I didn’t mean to kill them. But I understand what you do,” she relented with another sigh as the brothers stretched out their aching muscles and exchanged a long look.

Forevers:

@sis-tafics

@lyarr24

@calaofnoldor

@hobby27

@spnbaby-67

Dean Winchester:

@akshi8278

@jerkbitchidjitassbutt

Serendipitous Souls:

@brilovesdeanwinchester

@xhannahbananax03

@440mxs-wife

@crist1216

@deans-baby-momma

[spritewrites]

Breakfast Threats (Squealing Santa 2k20)

Fandom: Haikyuu

Characters: Kozume Kenma & Kuroo Tetsurou (Kuroken)

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: This is my submission for Squealing Santa 2020, organized by @ticklygiggles​!! My assignment was @secretleeblogging​, who requested lee!Kenma wake up tickles. I LOVED doing this assignment, Kenma’s my favorite character and especially soft sleepy Kenma is everything to me. Happy holidays, hope you enjoy!!

Kozume Kenma was absolutely, 100 percent certain that the sun was a malicious force of nature specifically designed to ruin his day. No benevolent fire orb could ever be so rude as to burn into his retinas with that much intensity. It had to be the work of some evil spirit; maybe a demon, maybe a homophobic ancestor, who could say? Definitely something out for vengeance, because whatever was coercing the cosmos to shine all their light directly through his window at all hours surely sought his demise.

He scrunched his nose, wincing, and tried to explain this phenomenon to the lanky lump of messy black hair and volleyball muscle beside him. Tetsurou would understand.

Unfortunately, between the sun and the pillow and the muscle, the best language he could manage was “Time s’it?”

Beside him, the lump moved. A long arm reached over Kenma, fumbled, and grabbed a phone. Kuroo Tetsurou, in all his bedhead glory, blinked blearily at the screen. “Eight.”

Kenma groaned, turning onto his stomach and burying his face in his pillow. “S’too bright.” He heard Tetsurou yawn, and selfishly peeked one eye open to catch a glimpse. His boyfriend was sitting up, shirtless and glowing in the early morning light, all tousled hair and red lips. Kenma hid his smile in the pillow.

“Need coffee,” Tetsurou grumbled. “Want any?”

Kenma shook his head, pulling the blankets further up around his shoulders. Artificial energy was the last thing he needed; what he really wanted was more sleep. He was dimly aware of the weight next to him on the bed disappearing and soft footsteps making their way out the bedroom door, accompanied by mumbled words that sounded suspiciously like “More for me.”

With a sigh, Kenma relaxed into the plush sheets. Mornings, especially mornings after he’d been up late playing games, were never his thing. Bright mornings like this one were extra trying on his vision, which was nearly nocturnal after years of gaming. Still, the prospect of being able to fall back asleep and wake up later to a hot breakfast from Tetsurou was too delicious to resist. Already he could feel himself drifting off, slipping back out of consciousness and into the soft embrace of sleep. 

It didn’t feel like a moment had passed when something was shaking his leg. Somebody was speaking, but it didn’t really matter who, not when his bed was as warm as it was. Just a few more minutes, he thought to himself.

“C’mon, kitten,” Tetsurou insisted, sounding equal parts annoyed and fond. “You got an extra two hours, it’s time to get up.”

“Mmf,” Kenma grunted eloquently, shoving his face deeper into the pillow. Another shake of his leg made him squirm, irritated. “Little longer.”

“You’ve had long enough; our breakfast is cold.”

There was a brief pause as Kenma formulated and internally executed an elaborate multi-pronged argument, which ended up finally exiting his mouth as “Microwave.”

“Okay, fair,” Tetsurou replied, and damn him, Kenma could hear his smile. How dare he tease when the stakes were this high? Extra sleep was pretty much a matter of life and death. “Guess I’ll have to make you.”

Kenma still wasn’t entirely conscious, but some tiny alarm went off in his sleep-addled brain. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make him furrow his brow and curl his toes beneath the sheets. “…Can’t make me.”

“Oh?” There was something in Tetsurou’s tone that Kenma couldn’t put his finger on. Amusement, maybe? Mischief?

Suddenly, he felt the warmth of the blankets tugged away, leaving only Kenma in his pajamas on the bare mattress. He curled in on himself, whining in protest. “Hey!”

“See?” Tetsurou teased, holding the bedding teasingly out of reach. “This is how your breakfast feels. Cold, sad…”

“Give em back,” Kenma groaned, aware of how petulant he sounded but too exhausted to care. “Lemme sleep!” 

“Sleep is for the weak.” The mattress creaked, and Kenma felt a soft weight settle on his legs. “And you’re strong, aren’t you, kitten?”

Before he could reply, Kenma felt Tetsu’s presence on his legs shift and move closer to the head of the bed. Cold fingers snuck under his hoodie and waltzed up his spine, sending goosebumps racing to follow. He tensed, clutching the pillow. Oh.

“Tetsu—”

“Mm?” Tetsurou replied, all innocence. His strong body slid up Kenma’s, easily slotting into place on top of him and letting the weight of his body drape over his boyfriend. Kenma twitched as Tetsurou’s strong legs straddled his hips – soothing as the feeling was, he was also hyper-aware that he couldn’t squirm away. The fingers on his back spidered back down, effortlessly light in their touch.

Kenma took a shaky breath. “W-what’re you—”

“Told you I’d make you.” Tetsurou’s smirk pressed up between his shoulder blades, and Kenma had to stifle a gasp. “You’re not ticklish, are you, sweetheart?”

“I—” The fingertips changed direction again, trailing back up his back, but skating dangerously close to his sides this time. Kenma gritted his teeth, fighting an inevitable smile. “You – you know the answer! Tetsu—”

This time, when the touch on his spine reached the nape of his neck, it stayed there, circling the soft part of his back where his neck met his shoulders. With a squeak, Kenma’s shoulders hitched up by his ears.

“Don’t you dare,” he hissed.

Tetsurou’s reply was so close to his ear that it was barely a whisper, ruffling his hair and making Kenma absolutely shiver. “You brought this on yourself, kitten.” 

With that, Tetsurou’s fingertips curled, prodding carefully into the sides of his ribcage, and he began to press smiling kisses all over the back of Kenma’s neck. Kenma, for his part, did not fall into laughter immediately; rather, he let out what could only be described as a squeal and began kicking wildly. Fortunately, his ribs weren’t so bad that he couldn’t hide the laughter building in his chest. Unfortunately, the sleepiness that still clouded his mind had left him weak, soft, and seemingly even more ticklish than usual. Still, it wasn’t until the kisses migrated north to his ears, nosing into the gaps in his hair, that his squeaks turned into real giggles, high-pitched and sweet and absolutely delightful to Tetsurou.

“You’re so cute when you laugh!”

“Please, please, I – enough with the ears!”

“You have the cutest ears; I can’t not kiss—”

“You—” Kenma snorted into the pillow— “you obsess over ears?”

“Hmmm…” The kiss that Tetsurou pressed into the nape of his neck was whisper-soft. “Only yours.” 

Kenma could feel his face burning, but didn’t dare lift his head lest Tetsurou see the redness on his cheeks and tease him about that, too. His concern didn’t last long, though, as the tickling in between his ribs moved to become squeezing at his sides, and he nearly gave then and there.

“Monster,” he gasped through his laughter, trying to kick. “Absolute menace, truly–” 

“Now, Kenma,” Tetsurou chided, giving Kenma’s hipbones a squeeze and relishing the cackles that the action produced. “I don’t think you’re really in a position to be throwing around insults, are you?”

While his point certainly held up, Kenma wasn’t exactly in a rational place mentally. He was lost in laughter, hardly able to think through a haze of ticklishness, and his usual line of defense against attacks such as these (wild thrashing) was being significantly hindered by Tetsurou’s presence on his back. He tried kicking once more, but it was more of a flailing than anything else, and his boyfriend’s strong legs easily countered the attack.

“Careful,” Tetsurou teased, reaching back to give one of his knees a quick squeeze (and producing a delicious howl).

“I cahahan’t,” Kenma wailed, burying his face once more in a pillow that was now wet with tears of laughter. “Please, Tetsu, please–”

“Are you going to get up?” asked Tetsurou, who had just found a wonderful spot on Kenma’s waist that made him hiccup.

“I—I—” Kenma giggled helplessly. He could feel his cheeks started to ache from smiling, but something in his pride kept him from giving in. “You’re teasing, I—Oh, not there, Tetsu, plehehease!”

“Please what?” came the reply, but Kenma was laughing too hard to answer. “Please tickle you more?” 

“Wahahait, I can’t—” 

“Can’t what?”

Kenma snorted, twitching under his boyfriend as a rogue fingernail found its way into his underarm. As merciless as the tickling was, the relentless teasing was almost infinitely worse.

“You’re—that tickles, Tetsu—”

“Does it?” asked Tetsurou, amused. “Almost enough to make you come have breakfast with me?” 

“I—ugh, fine, yes!” Kenma finally shouted between bouts of giggles.

Grinning triumphantly, Tetsurou pressed one last ticklish kiss to his boyfriend’s ear and rolled off him. Finally, Kenma turned over, blinking in the morning sun, face flushed and streaked with tears of laughter. His ribs heaved with the effort of replacing the lost oxygen, but he couldn’t seem to wipe the smile off his face. 

“That… that was rude.”

Tetsurou reached over to boop his nose, earning a swat and a weak chuckle. “Just be glad you surrendered when you did, kitten. Your toes were next.”

Kenma tried his best not to curl his toes at the thought, but Tetsurou’s knowing look told him that he’d failed. “You can’t—stop making fun of me, alright, I was asleep and you practically tortured me.”

Tetsurou hummed thoughtfully at that, brushing some of Kenma’s hair out of his face. “Never told me to stop, though, did you?”

Crap. Kenma froze, face burning. Tetsurou, on the other hand, burst into laughter.

“Aww, does my little kitten like being tickled?”

“Shut up,” Kenma hissed, but Tetsurou was practically rolling with giggles.

“That’s so adorable—”

“Enough teasing!”

“Oh, come on,” Tetsurou smiled, giving his boyfriend’s forehead a quick kiss. “You’re just bitter that I won.”

“M’gonna get you back, you know,” Kenma grumbled, rubbing the last of the sleep from his eyes and revealing a competitive shine. “Except a billion times worse.”

Tetsurou snorted derisively, but Kenma would have to be blind to miss the way his eyes widened. “I’d like to see you try – hey!”

The finger that had wedged itself just south of Tetsurou’s ribcage gave an experimental wiggle, and Kenma’s lips quirked at the sound his boyfriend made. Flushing, Tetsurou wrapped a hand around the intruding touch and pushed it away, playing up his puppy eyes to his full ability.

“Can it at least wait till after breakfast?” 

Kenma raised an eyebrow. “You have two minutes.”

“Two?!”

“Better be quick, sweetheart. One Mississippi… two Mississippi…”

Tetsurou was out of the room in a second, socks slipping on the hardwood and leaving Kenma snickering into his hoodie. After a moment, he plucked a blanket from where it had been discarded at the end of the bed and pulled it up over him, sighing and wiggling his toes in the warmth. Hmm.

Maybe three minutes.

[emilyoftheshadows]

Are we going to ignore the inhaling of narcotic drugs going on in the corner?

 Enjoy some more angsty rowaelon vibes! This drabble is more intense than my other two pieces and probably the most angst I have ever written.

TW: depression, drug/alcohol abuse, death, gun violence

~~~~~

Aelin looked good tonight. No, correction, she looked fucking hot. The dress hugged her thin figure, the hot pink color sure to make her stand out in any crowd. With her loosely curled hair running down her back and a disguise of makeup to cover the darkening circles under her eyes, Aelin was ready to face the crowds.

  The most rambunctious groups came out Friday night. The clubs become filled with young drinkers like Aelin, ready to let loose after a long week. Not that it mattered what day of the week it was anymore. Aelin could barely keep track as it was. Between last night's drunken adventures and the shroom endeavors the night before, time blurred together. 

 Her apathy for her life was at an all time high, and Aelin couldn't find it in herself to give two fucks about her safety. No, she was out for a good time, even if the cost was a high price. She wanted more good times, more distractions, more haziness, more everything. Want was too weak of a word...Aelin needed these distractions in her life. Because if she took the time to re-evaluate her life circumstances, she would crumble beyond repair. 

 So instead of feeling the emptiness of reality, Aelin decided to live in the fullness of fantasy. With her intentions in mind, she turned to Dorian with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. He smiled back with drunken enthusiasm, already 4 shots in due to his notorious pre-gaming. Yes, even events he attended involving the consumption of more alcohol still required this ritual. Ever since Aelin had dived into her partying streak, Dorian had been stuck to her side. While they were not dating by any means, he was a good fuck buddy and a great party companion. With the same wild side as herself, they had a partnership that benefited them both. 

 Tonight, they walked into The Vaults, instantly greeted by the smell of sweat and liquor. The club was grimy at best with an even grosser owner, but they sold pints by the dollar and had a tendency to skip id checks. For this exact reason, Vaults was filled to the brim with patrons creating a chaotic image. Arms pumped up in tandem with the bass, bodies bumped into one another as people found the rhythm of the music; partners danced on each other, lost to the world around them. Aelin saw it all and became fascinated by the scene in front of her. She craved the anonymity that came with jumping into a random crowd. Aelin reveled in the thought of losing herself tonight, just  like she had every night since he was ripped from her life.

 Dorian released Aelin of her trance, pulling her to the expansive bar on the side of the room. Waving down the attention of the bartender, Dorian yelled over the sounds of the club.

 "Ace, what are you feeling tonight? Shots, beer, cosmos, you fucking name it. Everything's on me tonight!" Oh yeah, it was an added benefit that Dorian had money to burn. His father did something or other, Aelin couldn't remember. It wasn't pertinent to her, therefore she couldn't care less. But because of his fathers funds, and Dorian’s unlimited access to said funds, Aelin didn't have to pay for a thing when they went out. 

 "Surprise me!" With that said, Dorian turned towards the bartender ordering god knows what. Aelin took this time to check her phone, noting the date. June 9 2021, 365 days after she had lost her greatest love. The reason she needed to drown her sorrows with booze and bodies. Because the day Sam had died had been the last time Aelin truly knew who she was anymore.

 With a margarita set in her hand, Aelin tucked her phone back into her pocket determined to take back control of her thoughts, and continued to lead Dorian into the depths of the club.  As much as she hated to admit it, Aelin frequented Vaults on a weekly basis. The club attracted a crowd she usually didn’t interact with in her day to day life, creating a safe space where Aelin could go as wild as she wanted. The seating area they now stood in contained multiple clusters of partygoers, some more distracted than others. It was then that Dorian took a certain interest in one group over the others. 

With a hefty laugh, Dorian commented, “Are we going to ignore the inhaling of narcotic drugs going on in the corner?” 

 Aelin couldn’t help but join in his laughter, because as she turned her head to the left, she saw a girl arranging lines of white powder on the table in the middle of a much larger group. 

 “You know what, you are absolutely right Dorian! How could we ever miss an opportunity for a nice high?” Aelin could barely hear her own words over the noise, but noticed the glimmer of mischief reflected in Dorian’s eyes as well. She took that as a sign, moving closer to the group until she was in the center of the cluster with Dorian stuck at her side. With a raised eyebrow, Aelin gestured with her eyes to the powder and back up to the girl organizing the substance. Her hair was white as snow, piercings dotted along her ears and face.  She glanced up at Aelin, the girl's pupils already blown out and bloodshot. With a lazy smile she handed Aelin a card to line up her own serving. 

 Three lines later, Aelin was feeling more awake than ever. Her heart felt like it was skipping a beat, her nerves were on edge and her emotions were heightened. She looked over, glad to see Dorian was enjoying his time with the white-haired girl. But Aelin was done lounging around. No, she needed to move with the crowd in the center of the club. With her eyes locked on the floor, Aelin stumbled her way into the group of dancers, easily moving to the beats of the music. As she spun in circles, whipping her head around,  a flash of silver hair caught her eye. Many eccentric characters liked clubbing at Vaults, so it wasn’t unusual to see colorful hair, odd piercings, or questionable life choices. But, Aelin had a feeling that this character would be worth the search once found.  She finished her rotation and gained her bearings. Her eyes focused after a few moments, immediately setting out to find the topple of silver hair she had only seen moments ago. With a cursory glance, Aelin couldn’t find her target and quickly resigned in her search. There were many more people and many more ways to distract herself tonight.

 Aelin started to move her hips to the lull of the music once more, raising her arms up, reaching for her lost lover in the sky. She felt the haziness of the drugs and alcohol overcome her senses, finally enjoying the night's events. Men and women surrounded her, Aelin’s own sweat mixing with others around. Arms became entangled, hips grinded against a partner, and lips kissed in sync with the swaying of movement. 

 As Aelin became a part of it all, she imagined Sam was dancing with her…... as a boyish face appeared right in front of her, his usual outfit sculpting his body just right : a button down shirt with rolled up sleeves and a pair of nice jeans matched with one of  his many shoe choices. His arms wrapped around her waist, Aelin’s right resting on his shoulder, her left hand entwined in his tousled brown. She looked into his beautiful eyes, finding the light she loved to see shining back at her. Aelin felt her mood lighten, finding comfort in the arms of her love that she had missed for such a long time. God, she had missed this feeling, this unexplainable comfort she felt in his presence. Sam twirled Aelin around herself, his arms coming to wrap around her middle, his hands- grabbed her hips from behind. 

 Aelin came to her senses, shoved back into reality. Rough hands pulled her back into a tall, muscular frame. The mysterious man behind her had a pungent odor, wafts of his smell acting like a tether to her more sober self. Aelin turned to catch a glimpse of the man, only to see Arobynn Hamel himself. The man was almost twice her age, not to mention the owner of The Vaults, and a notorious man whore with a keen liking for younger girls.

  Aelin immediately became uncomfortable. There was too much going on. Between the lights of the club, the music’s heavy bass, and the unwanted sensation of the man behind her, she was ready to get out. She maneuvered herself out of his grasp, turning around and making a drinking motion with her hand. Instead of accepting her departure, Arobynn grabbed her by the waist and crashed their bodies together. Now encircled in his arms, Aelin truly had no escape. Her mind was on overdrive, her body kicking into flight or fight mode. Arobynn’s hands wandered down to her ass and up the length of her body. 

 He continued to grope her assets with unnecessary fervor, never loosening his grip on her body. Aelin tried shoving the man away, only to be greeted by an ugly smile and a beady pair of grey eyes. Fear kept Aelin in her place, the man staring back at her only more encouraged by her lack of willingness. As they danced, Aelin frantically looked around for help. Anyone who could help her get out of this situation now. Her vision was blurred with tears, her eyes barely able to distinguish anything around her. Then, like magic, Dorian finally appeared and yanked  Aelin out of her partner's arms. 

 "You motherfucker what the hell are you doing??" Dorian was enraged at Arobynn's actions, his bloodshot eyes bulging out of his head as he yelled each word. 

 "Well, before you so rudely stole my partner, we were having a really good time dancing with one another." Arobynn's eyes wandered to her at that comment, his misguided intentions clear as day.

 "A good time?? Huh? A good time when the girl you're dancing with is crying because she can't stand your very existence? Yeah that sounds fucking wonderful to me!" Maybe it was the powder they had both inhaled earlier, but Dorian was more aggressive than usual. Without missing a beat, he swung at Arobynn and clocked him dead smack in the face. 

 Arobynn was caught by surprise, losing his balance as he teetered backwards from the hit. Blood dripped from his nose profusely, a bruise forming beneath his eye. Arobynn looked back at the man who had caused this pain, and snarled in anger. 

 As he ran to Dorian, tackling him to the ground, all Aelin could do was stand there frozen in time. She heard screaming, maybe her own, as the men fought on the floor. There was so much noise around her, the sound of fists connecting with bone, the music still blaring in her ears. There was so much blood --- so much blood around her, on her, on him. Aelin sat on the floor, her phone beside her as the paramedic updated her on the ambulances location. But she couldn't listen, no, she was too busy watching the man she loved disappear right before her eyes. Sam's body was pale, the gaping gunshot wound in his abdomen leaking too much blood too fast. Aelin cradled his head as he struggled to breath, soothing him with little sayings and comforting noises. Her tears fell on his face as she kissed him, not able to let him go. He needed to be okay, he needed to respond to her sayings, he needed to tell her he loved her, he needed to survive. But as Aelin looked into those brown eyes, there was no light left within them anymore. Aelin couldn't help the sobs that escaped her. Her body wracked violently as --- she was shoved by the fighting men. 

 Arobynn and Dorian were battered and bruised, the men equal in build and skill. They were breathing hard, looking at one another with hate etched in their features. Then all of a sudden, Arobynn lunged at Dorian unexpectedly, leading him to swerve right into Aelin as she --- fell to the floor. Her head hit the blue sofa they had bought only a week ago, their apartment a new venture they had bought together. They had spent hours setting up their new home, hours of that work now destroyed as their apartment was wrecked beyond repair. Sam was in front of her in an instant, his body taking the impact of the shot meant for her. Blood splattered on her body, and Sam's fell to the ground with a thud. Aelin looked up from her position in the ground to see a hooded figure dash out their front door, backpack open and filled with their precious items. Aelin didn't even care about her missing jewelry, only worried about her love splayed out on the floor , blood pooling around his frame. She heard screaming, screaming coming from --- a beautiful red haired woman approaching the duo. She pulled Arobynn's arm, dragging him away from the other bloodied man on the floor. 

 Dorian was in bad shape, his face swollen with cuts and scratches dotted all along his arms and legs. All Aelin wanted to do was go to Dorian's side and help him, but as she looked at his splayed body she lost all her intentions. All she could see was her love on that floor. All she could see was Sam's blood draining from his body.

 Aelin felt lightheaded, the events of the night, combined with the various substances in her body exhausting her beyond belief. She walked away from Dorian to go find a place to sit, slowly losing reality once again. As she fainted, Aelin saw a tall tanned man rushing towards her. His sharp features contrasted the soft concern on his face and in those emerald green eyes. Aelin hit the floor with a soft thud, watching the man attached to that luscious silver hair run to her rescue. 

[jae-writes-fanfiction]

Oooooo girl I love these prompts!!! For a wild one hows about Robb Stark with genre3 trope2 and locashion7????

A Promise to the Moon

Robb Stark x Reader - 3873 Words - More Freaky Fics

Notes: This is a a dark fic, a Gothic Romance!AU in the style of Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, it features references and occasional quotes from both. I also emulated the writing style (prose and exposition heavy).

The requested prompts were: haunted house/ghost story, memento mori, and a secluded castle/manor. The ghost elements got lost as I wrote it- sorry!

Warnings: a toxic/icky relationship with controlling/possessive behavior (just like the ones in the afformentipmed novels), the word “fuck” is used once, light smut, dated health methods like leeches and bloodletting, major character death. There is no happy ending, Enjoy Responsibly ❤️

- - -

“Let the wind come shake me down! /Deliver me closer to the ground/ I made a promise to the moon.” -Jason Webley

The newspaper advertisement had asked for educated persons of age to apply for the position in person. The grand Winterfell Estate sat desolate among the moors, fog-covered bogs and copses of sickly forests mottled the land and turned the beautiful countryside into a crypt.

The owner and solicitor, a Mister Stark, had requested a tutor for his troubled little sister the estate’s only current inhabitant.

The locket around your neck held your mother’s portrait and served as your only reminder of the life you once lived. Lost in a strange and new place you relied on its familiar weight for comfort.

As you approached the Estate you noticed their family name was carved into the arch above the wooden door. It announced you as an intruder, and your locket confirmed you as an outsider. It made you miss the place you once called home.

The Housekeeper was more than amiable and the child, Arya as you learned she was called, was a verifiable genius. You knew instantly she would benefit from one-on-one specialized instruction. As for Mister Stark, he had yet to appear around the estate- the Housekeeper herself interviewed and appointed you to the position.

The work itself was exhausting and after a week of it, you were desperate for a brief moment of solitude. Arya was never satiated, her thirst for life and adventure outpaced any sort of book work and left you aching from chasing her around.

It was past midnight, the moon already hidden in the vast inky sky when you slunk into the sitting room. You lit the lamps and settled in with one of the many tomes that adorned the room. The pages felt brittle under your fingertips and you turned them ceaselessly.

An accented voice pulled you from the book’s pages, the shock made you snap the book closed harder than you would’ve liked.

“Now what’s a decent sort like you doing out of bed at this hour?”

A man leaned against the entryway, a smile on his face that made you feel exposed and downright sinful. The dark brown of his eyes was mirrored in the curls of his hair which were highlighted with light licks of a scandalous silver that seemed to sparkle under the sparse candlelight.

He smirked and it felt like you were falling through the floor. You could see luggage behind him in the hallway and you wondered why the Housekeeper hadn’t been alerted- and why you hadn’t been warned of such a distinguished intrusion.

“Certainly Sir, you know I cannot answer that,” you said shortly.

You rose quickly, shelved the book, and turned to leave. It was late and the entire situation was highly improper- yet he blocked your path a cheeky grin on his face.

“Have I frightened you?” He taunted you with a wolfish grin, and you felt your face grow hot.

“I am not frightened,” you lied smoothly, “I just wish to retire for the evening.”

He laughed openly seeing right through you. He stepped aside anyway but caught your wrist as you passed. You froze instantly and trembled as he brought your knuckles to his lips. “Goodnight then,” he spoke with a smirk the strange concoction of trepidation and intrigue evident as you pulled away and ran from the room.

It wasn’t until you were secure in your room, your hands clasped over your thundering heart, that you realized he must’ve been your employer whose portrait hung in the very hallway you just ran through.

You struggled to fall asleep, staring up at the ceiling until you thought shapes were starting to appear in the darkness. Yet you must’ve as the next thing you remembered was a burst of light and a loud noise waking you up.

“Oh me!” The Housekeeper wailed, as she announced herself in your chambers the next morning. You winced as she threw open the damask drapes, the sunlight almost blinding.

“I need you to keep Arya on her best behavior today,” she started ranting pulling your clothes out for the day in a flurry, “Mister Stark has returned and the entire west wing must be prepared immediately so I cannot manage the little miss!”

Typically the staff was prepared to assemble his rooms at a moment's notice. The estate’s Master was known to appear and disappear for any length of time at will.

You let the Housekeeper prepare you, and lead you to the same sitting room for your formal introduction. As you entered the room Robb eyed you hungrily and you knew the setting was chosen intentionally.

Embarrassment washed over you as the previous night’s run-in resurfaced in your mind. The only thing you could do was make a heaven out of hell, so you bolstered what confidence you could. No matter how charming and handsome he might be, he wouldn’t win the satisfaction of seeing your unease.

The Housekeeper cleared her throat and shuffled forward, “may I introduce-“

“Mister Stark,” you said smartly cutting her off and gliding forward. You could feel her ire at your break in tradition but knew this was the best way to regain some control over the situation. You smiled coyly and shook his hand with as much indifference as you could muster despite the anticipatory anxiety building in your body.

“Robb, please,” he insisted lightly. He watched you like a cat might watch a mouse and you felt a shiver course through your body as he openly looked over it.

“Is this proper enough an introduction?” The sarcastic lilt to his voice matched his devilish smirk, and you had to admit it was a good look for him.

“You’ll have to forgive me I’m often wary of new faces,” you said sitting across from him, “especially those belonging to nefariously enigmatic gentlemen.”

Robb laughed openly, and in a manic burst of motion took your hand in his. Your heart raced at his slight touch and you tried your best to suppress the smile on your face.

“And how do you find Winterfell? Is she fitting for such a roguish bachelor?”

Your smile faltered briefly, “the estate is beyond magnificent but, I can’t help feeling as if her halls ought to have more life within them.”

Robb nodded to the Housekeeper who still lingered in the doorway, “I do believe that is the first honest answer I’ve ever been given on the subject.”

“It would seem so Sir,” she chirped dutifully.

“Well perhaps I shall extend my stay,” he said a wicked smile spreading across his face as he turned his gaze back to you, “and see what other truths you might impart upon me.”

The Housekeeper made a small disgruntled noise in protest before leaving to summon Arya into the sitting room to formally receive her brother. Apparently, you weren’t the only one to gain her disapproval.

Within the short moment, Robb stood and crossed to stand over you. You titled your face towards him unconsciously, his face close enough to feel his breath on yours as he spoke.

”You intrigue me, ” he said, desire palpable in his voice, ”I will not suffer to let you go again when I wish to become better acquainted.”

You could feel the underlying threat in his words but the temptation to close the space between you eclipsed whatever caution lived in your mind.

You couldn’t explain what drew you to him, despite your better judgment. The only comfort you had was knowing how similarly affected he was by you. Your breath hitched in your throat as he suddenly backed away.

Arya bounded into the room not a moment later, the now frazzled Housekeeper rushing behind her trying to contain the girl. You smiled as they appeared, thankful for the distraction.

The next week was filled with similar close calls filled with double entendres, lingering touches, and companionship like you had never known before. After a month had passed in such a manner it was clear why he was staying- and the house dared to dream that for once he might stay forever.

Like most dreams, it was better left ignored. On another night you strolled under the moonlight along the estate’s often forgotten terraces. Robb held you by the waist as you walked, his grip lower and harsher than would’ve been deemed appropriate. Occasionally, the moon peaked out to reveal a scandalous state of undress on your part, the casual clothes betraying the growing familiarity between you two.

“Winterfell is stunning under the stars, is it not?” Robb glanced at you while speaking and you thought he also looked magnificent highlighted by the cosmos.

You nodded in agreement looking out over the estate’s grounds and gardens.

"You must have become in some degree attached to the house?"

“To a degree,” you answered wryly.

"Arya seems to have become quite attached to you, and I’m willing to wager you to her as well,” Robb continued.

You hummed in agreement, “I believe there is a mutual attachment forming. She’s an extraordinary child."

Robb stopped walking suddenly and turned you harshly in his arms to face him. All traces of levity had melted from his face, replaced with a drastic seriousness you hadn’t expected. “And you would be sorry to part with them?”

You ran your hand over his reassuringly. “I think some part of me will be here always.”

Robb kept a level expression as he continued, waiting to gauge your reaction as he spoke. “Then it is indeed regrettable that Arya must attend a finishing school next year.”

You froze beside him, “next spring?”

Robb nodded solemnly, “I’ve talked it over with her nursemaid and the Housekeeper they both agree you’ve done wonders for her mind but- the decorum benefiting a lady of our station is not something a tutor can impart.”

He paused and spoke then as if he was reassuring himself of the decision, instead of revealing it to you. “So yes, it is imperative she attends a finishing school.”

“Then I must inquire toward other positions,” you mused suddenly afraid the ground under your feet might fall away beneath you.

“Would you be grieved to leave then? I know some schools might permit a lady’s maid to accompany her,” Robb shrugged, “it is the least I could do.”

You tensed and bit your lip, “for her sake I might be able but it is so far away...”

“From what?”

“From you!” You spoke headlessly, finally voicing the thoughts and desires that had grown within you.

“Then I must ask you,” he said hoarsely as if he was unsure for the first time, “forsake neither Arya nor the estate itself, pass through the rest of your life here.”

Your silence unnerved him and you wondered what joke he was playing at. He was by the designation of your employment your superior, he had occasionally offered you crumbs of affection and attention- yet you felt he must know your feelings towards him- and that this was some cruel joke on your behalf.

“Do you doubt me,” he asked when you didn’t answer.

"Entirely,” you said without hesitation. He was too unknown for certainty, too reckless and listless for dependence.

He scoffed openly at your response, "so you have no faith in me?"

"Not a whit."

“Then you shall be convinced,” he hissed gesturing wildly, “have I not treated you as my equal? Have I not entertained your thoughts and whims as I might a dearest friend? Have I not watched you like a man possessed? You strange, you almost unearthly thing,” he gripped your arm tracing the length of it with frenzied kisses, “you will be mine. I shall not suffer your absence in my life!”

You shuddered, a peculiar sob racking through your body as he entreated you.

“I- I cannot answer this,” you cried tearing yourself away, “I cannot choose between my heart and my mind. I cannot see how you love me but rather desire to possess me- and for what love I hold for you, I cannot yet resign my fate so quickly.”

He turned away from you harshly, familiar darkness returning to his eyes. “Then think on these things,” he demanded before stalking away, “I cannot remain here for you to torture me so!”

You could not retreat to your rooms and drop into the soothing arms of sleep, your mind was twisted and confused. What kind of a man manipulated your emotions as a declaration of love? Moreover, what kind of man could confuse love and possession so easily? Your thoughts remained dower as the sleepless night raced on.

As you joined Arya and the Housekeeper for breakfast the next morning you were disheartened to learn Robb had left again.

Two months passed without a word from Rob to you or any persons in his household. Although the grand estate was filled with other employees and your charge- his absence left you strangely cold. But perhaps that was the changing air drifting in from the study’s open window.

“Arya please,” you sighed, “finish the recitation and we can move on for the day.” You rubbed a hand over your temple, your patience growing thin with the young mistresses.

“I don’t want to keep reading boring old books! I want to go outside!” Arya whined as she dramatically closed and pushed the book away from her.

The poor thing had been acting out lately, and it was wearing you down. You sighed and tried to sound as encouraging as possible, “Arya as soon as we finish here I’ll have the Housekeeper scrounge up your play clothes.”

Arya huffed and pushed the stack of books off her desk and onto the floor before crossing her arms belligerently, “I won’t do it!”

“Is that any way to talk to your tutor?”

You looked over at the interruption, Robb leaned against the doorframe with a smile on his face that made you feel as if you were seeing the sun for the first time in days.

Arya shrieked excitedly at the sight of her brother and bolted from her chair to wrap her arms around him as much as she could. She babbled in great run-on-sentences trying to condense the last month without him into whatever fragment of time she currently had.

He listened politely, the entire time his eyes never left yours. “Arya, it is clear to me that you’ll have no capacity for more studies today,” he said, finally looking at his sister, “why don’t you take the dogs and see what you can discover outside?”

Arya howled and ran from the room, you could hear her rapid footfalls and exaggerated cries rousing the Housekeeper and kennel master to her aid.

Then it was just you and Robb. You stood rapidly and all but threw yourself into his arms. You moved without thinking, unsure if you could survive another second apart. He pulled you flush against him, his strong grip threatened to bruise your hips and you didn’t care. You rested your hands against his chest, unable to hide the smile on your face before you kissed him.

“I suppose this means you haven’t been preparing to completely divorce yourself from the estate,” Robb joked dryly.

“No,” you said a little dejectedly, “how could I, knowing you’re out in the world somewhere.”

You looked away from him suddenly overwhelmed, “It was like I couldn’t breathe like my life-my very soul was separated from me.”

You tried to step away but Robb didn’t relinquish his hold on your waist and moved a hand to keep yours on his chest.

“You’ve absolutely ruined me,” he hissed tightening the grip on your wrist, “do you think I wanted to come back? Do you think I want to be here right now?”

“Let go of me,” you gasped struggling against him your face heated with indignation.

For a second the confidence and malice in Robb’s voice faltered, “stay- do not leave me where I cannot find you!”

“But I didn’t go anywhere,” you insisted, “I’ve been right here doing what I was hired to do.” You were trembling, no longer trying to escape his embrace yet not entirely afraid.

Robb laughed darkly and kissed the top of your head, “you’ve bewitched me body and soul, like some heathen wretch. You pulled me back here. You command me when I have no desire to be commanded.”

He moved to grip your jaw and turn your face to look up into his, the image was striking. You looked spent, as if he’d taken you- your body warm and trembling against him, your breaths shallow and rushed.

“If you left this room I would find you,” he whispered his voice low and heady, sending a shiver down your spine. “If you tried to leave this house I’d track you down.”

“Sir, you forget yourself,” you said lowly. Your voice threatening to break as your body responded wantonly.

“Do I?” He laughed darkly and moved to kiss down the column of your neck pulling phantom moans from your lips. His breath fell warm on your neck and you shuddered as his hand released your jaw and traveled to rest at the base of your neck.

You heard him kick the door closed behind you and a new spark of excitement and fear spread through your body.

The slight pressure at the base of your neck made you ache deliciously. You didn’t stop the strangled moan that fell from your lips as his grip tightened and you chose to put whatever doubts you had away for the moment. You wanted it to be you and him without context or strings to complicate what you were about to do.

Robb released you only to tear at your clothes, his hands running harshly over each flash of newly exposed skin until the locket around your neck was the only thing you wore. You wantonly returned the favor scraping your nails across his broad shoulders, savoring each groan that slipped from his lips.

You pressed yourself against him, your bodies skin-to-skin as the tension grew. Each touch was dizzying as if your bodies had been molded to respond to each other. His mouth claimed yours again before biting his way down your neck and you moaned as they bloomed into warm bruises.

“Robb please,” you begged your body no longer content with lingering touches and harsh passes of lips and teeth. You said his name like it was the only prayer you ever learned- the only one that mattered.

Almost tenderly he laid you down across one of the study’s couches. His fingers softly traced the side of your body as if for that second he was truly in awe of your form. He ducked his head to kiss your chest, your locket falling back against your shoulder sending a flash of light across your body.

You impatiently reached and pulled him over you, weaving a hand through his hair as you moved him into a searing kiss. You felt him against you and you desperately hooked one of your legs around his hip urging him forward until nothing separated you.

You lay trembling under him, your grip on his shoulders the only real thing in the world until a ferocious rapping started at the closed door. You both froze hoping whoever it was would move on, instead, you could hear the Housekeeper muttering to herself as the knocking continued.

Finally, she called through the door, “Lady Arya has requested your presence for tea.”

Robb swore and pushed away from you hastily donning his clothes.

“Fuck,” you mumbled grasping wildly to cover yourself as Robb stormed from the room shouting at the Housekeeper the entire time.

Without looking at you she slid into the room, keeping herself turned away as you redressed.

“I do not apologize for the intrusion given the improper extenuating circumstances,” she said tersely, “but we will be taking tea alone as soon as you’re no longer... indisposed.”

“I see no reason why we should take tea alone,” you protested, “Arya would certainly fear something was amiss given our absence.”

She spun to face you her face still composed into a stern line, “it is precisely for Arya’s sake that I am concerned.” You had never heard her voice like that before and suddenly you felt like you were a child again being scolded at primary school without companions to defend you.

It was a trap; that was the only thing you were certain of as you sat across the wisened Housekeeper a pristine tea set between you.

“You are aware Mister Stark is our employer,” she said with a terse smile.

“Yes Ma’am I do.”

The older woman across from you pursed her lips and took a measured sip of her tea. “This has happened before,” she started quietly, “you don’t know what you’re getting into. He is too stern for grace, an unreclaimed creature.”

“He's more myself than I am,” you whispered harshly unable to meet the Housekeeper’s eyes.

“You will ruin this house if you stay,” she hissed reaching across the table to grip your arm. “There will be no going back if you give into him, think of Arya...”

You remembered the darkness behind his eyes, the harsh grip of his hands on your hips, and knew she was just as correct as you were- despite that you could feel the familiar tug in your heart that connected you and knew you couldn’t leave.

Of course, she had seen this passion play before. The ending was known to her, it was written on the estate’s walls plainly for everyone but you and your charge who hoped beyond measure for the happy ending that would not be coming.

Robb spent the next thirteen months within the claustrophobic walls of his grand estate, his venomous temper directed at everyone when they felt too restrictive. But he couldn’t fathom leaving with you there and unclaimed, unwatched, and unprotected.

Your frenzied romance and rushed engagement distracted you to no end. By the time you realized something was wrong your face refused to hold any color, and your entire body ached with pain and fever. The first time he left the estate grounds was to fetch your doctor. But, in essence, it was too late.

“Robb,” you called reaching for him. You struggled to breathe and the contented sigh on your lips disfigured itself into a ghastly groan that made your lover weep.

Your locket dangled from his hands like a rosary and you wondered if that strange blasphemous reverence played a part in this destruction.

Neither the leeches placed along the curve of your hip nor the soft drops of blood let from your arm could prevent the advancing cold that spread in your veins and eventually closed your eyes.

Your strangled coughs stopped, the air in your lungs ran cold and your blood stopped running altogether. The thin red lines flowing from your lips and skin dried and all at once, the bloody affair was over. There was no fanfare, the world didn’t end. Winterfell and her Master remained as they had for the last forty years and would for forty more without you. Nestled into the sparse and desolate countryside your ghost couldn’t even be tempted forth for comfort.

[elencelebrindal]

Honest Opinion - Scorpio Milo (Hades)

Buckle up, this is going to be a roller coaster of emotions.  Also yes, the Italian dub kept his Italian classic name, Scorpio, though his voice actor changed (his main and best one, Enrico Carabelli, unfortunately passed away).

Overall score (character, not looks): 20/10 Can you tell I love him? Good.

Hades Chapter: Sanctuary

Overall score: 20/10

If you’re thinking “hey, this is not a honest opinion if you play favorites like this”, think again. In this series Milo was one of the absolute best characters I’ve ever seen.  His personal growth and characterization since the classic series was absolutely spot on, and he never got involved into any shenanigans.  But let’s start from the beginning. 

Kanon’s redemption.  One of the best scenes I’ve ever seen in this entire franchise, especially regarding the behavior of its characters. The only thing I was pissed off at was the fact that people not familiar with the manga (I’m talking about Kanon saving Athena from Poseidon) might not get what the hell was really going on with Kanon being so ready to protect Athena.  And that’s it.  Milo was so good in this part. I loved how, instead of following Athena’s request from the get go, he wanted to make sure Kanon wasn’t dangerous. I loved how his personality showed through, as he attacked him to get him out of the Sanctuary dead or alive.  It’s not like he was disobeying Athena; he knew Kanon wanted to kill her and almost succeeded, so it makes sense he was angry as all hell at him. 

And all his dialogues... with the Italian dub making every line somewhat solemn, this scene was amazing. Milo’s internal monologue about Kanon not responding to his attacks was absolutely beautiful, and you could tell the exact moment he stopped seeing Kanon as an enemy and started testing his resolution.  I think the whole ordeal showed us how clever and smart Milo actually is, how faithful to his goddess he can be, and how high he holds the standards of a Gold Saint.  It got to the point I didn’t even know if Milo wanted to really kill him or if he was bluffing. I loved that. 

Him telling Kanon something along the lines of “I don’t see any traitors here, only a battle companion” was the last bit of dialogue I needed from him to decide he is the best of all the twelve Gold Saints objectively. This is the Italian quote:

Non vedo alcun traditore qui, ma solo un compagno di battaglia. Si chiama Kanon di Gemini, un coraggioso Cavaliere d'oro

He not only let Kanon live, but he forgave him and recognized him as one of his fellows. That is so genuinely kind and understanding, I can’t even comprehend this level of acceptance. He saw the good in Kanon’s heart, and decided “hey, maybe we could get along”. That might be the best thing I’ve ever witnessed a character on Saint Seiya do (aside from Shun). 

And now, onto the fight against the resurrected Saints.  Can I bring to your attention, right off the bat, how painful had to be for him? I didn’t bring this up with Mu and Aiolia because none of them had any particular ties with those three (if anything, Aiolia should have been deadly mad at Shura and Saga), but Milo? I’m not bringing any kind of shipping and/or fanon stuff into this, but Milo and Camus are canonically (thanks to the classic anime, so from then onward) very close friends.  Would you even dare telling me that Milo, upon seeing his friend (who was previously killed by Hyoga and by his own decision to let Hyoga go) sided with Hades, took it lightly and without a care in the world. I know that entire fight showed us a - mostly - indifferent and angry Milo, but seriously. If your best friend died, and you suddenly see him fighting against you, would you be that indifferent?

Yeah, I thought so.  But I loved that they showed Milo as angry. Even if there hasn’t been a care in the world for any kind of other realistic reactions, I thoroughly enjoyed (and by enjoyed I mean I was looking at the screen with the most heartbroken expression I could muster) it.  Also, let’s not forget he was mad about Shaka’s death as well.  And he was clever  - and a tad bit suicidal to be honest - enough to suggest using the Athena Exclamation to retaliate the resurrected Saints’ attempt at fighting back using it again.  Reasonable? Absolutely not (which is kind of a good thing, because have you ever been reasonable while hurt?). Effective? Hell yeah. 

And this brings us to the very next scene, when Athena gave up her life. I’m not going to lie, I was a little upset at Milo here.  And at the other Gold Saints. I think I forgot to talk about this in their entries... They literally saw Athena willingly hand the gold dagger to Saga and willingly accept her death, but still wanted to kill their “enemies”.  But as much as I’m upset, I’m also understanding of that reaction; they were so hurt, Milo maybe even more than them, that I get why their reaction was to obliterate who led to Athena’s death.  God, that scene of Milo crying while strangling Camus destroyed me. More so because I kept thinking “is he crying just because Athena died or is he crying also because he had to kill Camus?”.  I don’t think my over-emotional stressed-over-exams brain took it well. 

Damn, i just loved how Milo’s personality played a huge role in this thing. 

But are we done? Nope. There’s still the fight against Rhadamanthys. There’s still the amount of determination he put into that futile attempt at defeating him.  Milo put his life on the line to protect the Bronze Saints and give them enough time to reach the Underworld, knowing he wasn’t going to survive with his cosmo completely drained.  It’s the same thing I said for Mu and Aiolia, but with him... I don’t know, with the amount of emotional pain he has to have gone through, that seemingly selfless decision didn’t look like that selfless. My mind took the darkest turn it could have ever taken and told me “what if he doesn’t care if he dies, at this point, since he has really nothing to lose anymore?” and I just... you know the windows xp error sound? That’s the sound my brain made. 

Anyways, he went straight to Hell, so everything’s just an assumption.

Hades Chapter: Inferno

Overall score: 20/10

Same thing for him: he gave up his life in order to save Athena and the world, so that full score is fully deserved. It’s a 20 because my opinion is honest but also biased by my love for him. I gave everyone else full points, leave me alone if I want to cheat my own system every once in a while. 

Also, can we appreciate how happy he looked? How proud he was of what he accomplished as a Saint? This man was about to sacrifice his life, yet he still smiled. This can also be said of the other Gold Saints, it’s an incredible detail.  Milo already had a special place in my heart, but this series made me love him even more.