#don't burn widows alive

[ssj2hindudude]

Story of Sati be like:

Story

[wastemanjohn]

i'm not at all bothered about people disliking john because entirely valid tbh and someone else's opinion changes nothing for me. i just think the militant anti john brigade - that is, those that make up textually unsupported and entirely leftfield reasons to dislike him - are really missing out.

the thing is, we've got an absolute buffet of an interesting and irreparably fucked up character here. we could debate the absolute Horrors of john winchester and his a+ parenting for days on end literally from the two seconds of screentime he had. because he does suck! it's totally fair to say that canon john is selfish, neglectful and at best emotionally abusive. now i'm defo no apologist (see username) - but he's also the furthest thing from a cardboard shitty abusive dad. there is serious context for the things he does and the way he thinks.

john's life was hell man. his own dad, for all he knew, abandoned him. he went to war young and almost certainly came back with ptsd. these things alone don't exactly make life easy but then your wife burns to death on a ceiling and you're left a widower and a single dad to a baby and a pre schooler before you're even thirty? then discover that it couldn't even be a plain old housefire but no - there is actual Evil out there and you and your children are not safe and never will be?

the desire for revenge is understandable. the desire to do stupid and paradoxically dangerous things to protect your children are understandable. right, good or healthy? no. but understandable. and that's what makes a good sympathetic character.

basically i think a lot of negative readings of john exaggerate the badness of his intentions and ignore his humanity. it's also understandable that john is not a beacon of emotional regulation. it's also understandable that he cant always balance being emotionally and physically there for his kids with Fighting The Horrors. pour alcohol misuse onto this dumpster fire and you're not getting a perfect person, or a perfect parent. you're getting a broken human who was focused only on keeping his kids safe, alive, protected, and able to protect themselves. sure, he had tunnel vision about it. he did it very badly. he controlled sam as the youngest and parentified dean as the oldest. he made sam feel misunderstood and smothered. he made dean feel completely responsible for the welfare of his brother and dependent on john's praise and approval as his second in command.

john fucked his kids up IMMEASURABLY. he thought he was doing the right thing.

also - remember young john? remember how he's softly spoken and loves his cars and adores his girlfriend and respects his fucking elders and, to quote mary, "believes in happy endings"? remember the doting dad we see for like a minute in the pilot? is that not meant to show us that, had his life not taken the turn it did - he would likely have been an entirely different person? how is the tragedy of that not also completely DELICIOUS??

so why homophobic john? why john who beat dean senseless regularly? why john who gave no shits and wanted his boys to be miserable? why these embellishments that make him someone else, someone with nothing good inside of him, when what canon gives us is so much better?

come on guys. the tragic messy sad angry selfish HUMAN john we got in the show is an absolute treat. why are we making him an irredeemable, unfeeling and uncomplicated asshole who doesn't give a shit about his boys. ya'll saw him spending a good 50% of his screen time crying about how much he loved them right? and sam and dean KNEW he loved them. they also knew, or in dean's case came to realise, that he was a terrible father in many ways. real life is messy and nuanced. families are messy and nuanced. and imo spn got this so right.

[mysicklove-main]

“i like you.”

you pause, smiling to yourself. “I know, love, we are dating.”

“but i've never liked anyone this much," Rengoku says, pressing his lips onto the back of your hand. a kiss for each knuckle. he says that every inch of you deserves love, so often times you find him kissing your hands, your temples, your wrists.

it wasn’t like the two of you were doing something big to deserve this declaration of "love". you both were sitting crossed-kneed across each other and drinking warm tea. well, you were— he was staring at you, seeming to hang off every word you said.

but of course, he just got back from his week-long mission, he was always so doting the day after. it was cute seeing how affectionate he can be. he wanted to know exactly what you did the days he was away. he didn't want to miss anything important involving you.

when you set the tea down, he gently pulls you over to him, wrapping his body around yours and presses light kisses along your neck. “we should be wed.”

you softly smile as you always do. he has said this so many times, so you don’t even falter at it. “you know I would love to kyo.”

he sighs and presses his forehead to your shoulders. you can feel his body droop, the disappointed unhidden. “but I won’t risk you being a widow. it’s harder for a widow to find a husband”

his arms tighten around you, as if the mere idea makes him uncomfortable. he has come to terms to the fact that he could die any mission, but with you around everything feels so different. the thought of you being left alone haunts him.

“if something did happen to you, I wouldn’t take another,” you mumble leaning into his chest. it was true, you don't think you would recover if he ever did pass.

“i would want you to!”

you turn toward him with a raised eyebrow, before dragging your finger up his arm. "yeah? want me to lay in another mans arms?" you murmur, and press a kiss to his jaw, causing him to shiver. "kiss another man like this?", and begin to run your fingers down his body, "touch another man so sensually?"

he grips onto your hand before they reach their destination. his eyes peer into yours, and he has a soft pinkness to his cheeks. "marry me."

you slightly tilt your head to the side, a lazy smirk on your face. "and if i become a widow?"

he uses one hand to rub the back of your hand, and the other to lightly hold onto your neck. "nothing sounds worst than the thought of you with another. that alone will drive me to stay alive."

you grin at him. "mhmm, I do like the idea."

he brings his face closer toward yours, his forehead almost touching yours. "marry me."

"i am forever yours, Kyojuro."

he presses his lips to yours for a moment, and pulls away, the tips of his ears now burning. "I really like you."

"yeah? funny, because I really like you too."

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I Never Missed You 3/3 (Bodyguard!Ghost x F!Reader)

Word count: 6.4 k

Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Romance, eventual smut, fluff, light angst, banter, pining, flirting, minor injuries, major character death, HFN ending. Lady/Knight dynamic. Unequal pairing trope. Bodyguard AU. Reader is a rich bitch (how else could she afford a PPO?)

Summary: You hire a bodyguard to protect you and hunt down the one who's been sent to take your life. This man was your lawyer's first recommendation, and you never even looked through his file because you had better things to do. But it soon turns out that this man – this Simon Riley – is very talented... Talented in driving you crazy.

A/N: A three part fic based on this request. Angst and smut and fluff (the holy trinity!) in this last part.

Part 1 Part 2

Juice spills all over the table from the oranges you press, but you don't mind. There has been a soft smile on your face all morning.

Simon's still sleeping, and you want to surprise him with a special breakfast today: scrambled eggs, freshly pressed orange juice, berries, and��

"You took my shirt."

You flinch when you hear his familiar rumble not a few feet away. The staircase wailed like a widow last night, but obviously, this man has learned to avoid the creaky spots when he wants. A goddamn heavyweight ninja...

"I'm sorry." You lick your fingers from the juice and try to feign innocence. The sleeves of his black tee reach your elbows, but you're not sorry. Nor do you feel bad about seeing him in your kitchen without a shirt.

"It was not an accusation," he says, the corner of his mouth curving a little, the dark eyes that made love to you last night giving you an approving once-over.

You approach him with a glass full of sun, but it's you he grabs in his hold. Your fingers find the scars on his back as you two embrace, and you feel an odd churn in your stomach.

"What's this…?"

Your hand floats across the embossed, white ridges that crisscross his back. The collection forms an entire mountain range, and it's chilling because you've only brushed the space between his shoulder blades.

"A reminder. To trust no one."

"No one…?"

"No one."

You remain a coward and refrain from asking for more details. You doubt he would even share them.

"I made you breakfast," you lower your gaze to the colorful palette you've gathered on the plates. Is it some sort of an instinct to want to feed a man after they've fucked you so good?

"So I see," he says, ever more approvingly. Then you're lifted on the table, next to the plates, like you're the breakfast.

Soon you're only wearing his shirt and your tiny socks, which Simon decides to leave on, too busy with getting his face between your legs. 

No one has done anything like that before… No one has chosen you over breakfast; an entire abundance of delicacies laid out. 

He licks you until your legs are trembling on that tortured back. You're pure, you're untouched by evil, and he carries your naivety on his shoulders like it weighs nothing. He flattens his tongue on you, sucks your flesh, tortures you on that table and doesn't even mind his teeth all too much. The peak stubble he hasn't yet shaved stings and burns as he moves across your folds. 

Saying that the coarse chin on your silk feels good would be an understatement. You come undone next to the breakfast, clad in golden light shining through the small window left uncovered.

You feel alive, and raw, and stellar. A shooting star, a comet high above the sky, although the space through which you ignite consists of golden rays of sunlight and the scent of orange juice. 

He takes the shirt back after he's done. After you're done and try your best to return back to earth with shaking legs. The only thing you're wearing is your socks, but you feel completely naked before him, dopey and dumb before the day has even started. Simon only licks his lips, throws that shirt on, and grabs his plate.

He dares to comment that there's no hot water. You put the kettle on with a wobble, feeling hotness on your cheeks while he sits down to eat his second breakfast like it's the most natural thing in the world: to wreck you first thing in the morning.

…............................

Simon.

He fixes the door on your fridge. He helps you clean your garage and fucks you on the table. Oily, dusty, filthy table. You go to shower after, together. You're giggling; he's smiling. Fully, now.

You want to ask him, Is this free of charge too…? Not just his cock... But his smiles. His assistance and support. The looks he grants you when you come out of the shower, ready to be licked to ruin.

He calls you his Princess to tease you just right. To get you in a state where your eyes flash with half-rage, half-lust, just before he slips inside you. He knows exactly which strings to pull – and then calls you love just when you're about to give him a piece of your mind.

You end up on the table, on the counter, on the floor. He takes you while your jaw slowly falls open from his audacity and his cock, splitting you apart with slow love. The first time he takes you in a missionary, you squirt. It's like his cock was made for you. And he dares to tease you about that, too.

"Did ya just squirt all over my cock?"

You have tears in your eyes, shame on your cheeks, and he's wetter than a wet dog down there… then he makes you squirt again, high on the lewd, obscene praise you just gave him with your pussy. 

Your cunt can't lie; he knows it by now. So it's futile to keep your lips sealed either.

Kiss me. 

That's what you would've usually ordered. But after an exceptionally quiet and passionate and desperate fuck that leaves you both catching your breath, leaves him hovering only inches from your sweaty upper lip, you whisper…

"I want to kiss you."

You expect him to laugh or mock you, at least crack a stupid joke or two. But he doesn't. Instead, his eyes drop to your lips, and he swallows with a heavy roll, then closes the gap between you two. Covers your mouth with his, uses that strong jaw to open you for devouring.

The kiss lasts long enough for you to begin breathing through your nose. Your inner walls grip him, still buried deep inside, and the gusts of exhales passing through his nostrils hit your face with pure bliss. He’s a little breathless when he parts – withdraws just enough to look into your eyes.

“Will that do...?”

There is a drunken vigor in his eyes of crushed amber, but to your shock, you hear your own question laid out before you. The one you asked when you were going to that party.

Will I do…?

Your hands find his jaw and cup his face from both sides, drawing him back to your lips.

“Yes." 

You will more than just do. 

And then you say… 

"I want more.”

He chuckles a soft scoff on your face. 

"Greedy little thing." 

Then he swallows you again. You kiss for a good few minutes while he grows half-hard inside you. It's the most romantic kiss you have shared with anyone, ever. He tells you how spoiled you are between the breaths you both catch, then spoils you some more with his mouth and tongue and cock. 

You start to curl together in the evening. Just to watch a comedy. He massages your feet and smiles more every day. It's kind of domestic, how he wrinkles his nose at your fine white wine and asks what it is in that decanter you have in your study. When you say it's just some old bourbon, he goes and gets himself a glass like he's finally made himself at home. 

It makes your heart grow thick from love. You almost forget why he's here in the first place.

When you ask him about the plan, he explains it to you in detail while kissing his way down your ribs and navel. He takes his sweet time while doing it, kissing the inside of your thigh, the hollow place below the knee, the tender skin under the knee. He kisses your calf and the ankle bone while holding your leg up for his lips with just one hand. Then he does the same to your other leg, but this time, kisses his way from ankle to thigh until he reaches…

You.

You've forgotten half the plan by then because you realize Simon hasn't looked at you like you're a steak or garbage in a long, long time. 

He looks at you like you're a queen. You could say he worships you, but the thought alone makes your heart flutter with the anxiety of a fragile hummingbird. 

Simon gets you your groceries and gets himself only a beer as a reward. You would happily offer him a case if you knew it would make him happy.

But you don't really know what would make him happy. You don't know anything about this man. You know he likes it when you're dolled up and angry. He likes you when you're sleepy, without makeup, wearing only his shirt. He likes to fuck you from behind and hold you close after. He likes to give you a wash, likes it when you wash him. He likes to watch the two tall trees outside the window sway when there's a strong wind. 

"What makes you happy?" You ask one night after you've had him in your mouth.

"Blowjobs," he answers with a straight face, and you shove him in the shoulder. Nicely. Softly.

"No, for real."

"I dunno." He sighs and turns to stare at your ceiling with a bothered look. It's a tricky question, perhaps. Or weapons, not willingly gifted. 

"Dogs," he shrugs after a while. "A day of silence. Good whiskey."

He doesn't grant you weapons. You get some rope, but not enough to choke him with it. He trusts no one.

"Why don't you like missionary…?" You continue roasting him while curling your fingers around the pale hair on his chest.

"I never said I didn't like it."

"Don't avoid the question, Mr. Doggystyle."

You prop yourself up on your elbow and place your palm flat over his heart. His stare slowly drifts from the ceiling back to you.

"Simon. Why do you always fuck me from behind?" 

He raises his eyebrows like he's innocent of the crime he's being accused of. "Not always."

"Seriously, Simon."

The smug look returns; it gives his eyes a delightful little spark and tugs at the corner of that kissable mouth.

"I like your ass."

"But not my eyes?"

The smile dies, and he gulps down a short surprise, caught between truth and dare. But then his eyes settle like the calming sea under a full moon. Stern, but not remorseless. Bold, but not heartless. If anything, he's naked and bare.

"Darlin'. Love your eyes the most."

Your heart does a backflip. You've been a fool because what else has he done but search for your eyes first thing in the morning? Given you flashes of mischief over breakfast, made love to you with those eyes as you cum around his cock? That liquid fire and smoke hasn't left you since he stepped inside this house.

You breathe together; you can feel the slow rise and fall of his chest. There was a time when you thought this man was incapable of love, but now you fear he has never been allowed to love enough.

"We never talked, you know," you whisper. His heart swells underneath your palm like a sail.

"What'ya wanna talk about?"

"Us."

"So talk."

Walls are raised so quickly you feel them knocking the warmth out of your body. It's cold, it's Antarctic, the technique he uses to withdraw. Your room turns into a kingdom of ice from the cruel, emotionless indifference he emits. 

You've been a fool, yes... And a child.

"You're making it hard," you say, noticing how the man starts to tense up under your fingertips. This is not the way, but you're not smart enough to stop your rampage.

"What happens when you've done your job?"

He doesn't sigh. He doesn't even think twice before giving his answer.

"I go back to the base."

You know now why he's called a ghost. You wonder if he was ever even here. Simon becomes a reminder for you, a reminder to trust no one.

"...Right." You pull your hand away slowly. As if it somehow helps with the pain to pretend you haven't just touched a hot stove and ended up getting your fingers burned.

He notices how you tense up far more than he. The arm around your waist goes tight, and you wonder if you've always been a bloodied steak to this brute, a stupid little princess with your wines, sighs, and wet eyes. He just doesn't want to let go of the last bites of his fine, delicious meat.

"I never thought you wanted a relationship," he says with a hollow voice, and the red rage nearly blinds your sight. You're too riled up to even yell at him.

"Love…" he tries for the last time.

"Get out of my bed."

…............................

His musk still clings to you as you descend the stairs the next morning.

He's sitting at the end of the steps with hunched shoulders and a tense back, exiled into the man he was the first day you met him. Your heart bleeds from the sight, wondering whether Simon has waited there the whole night after you kicked him out of your bedroom. But the boiling bile in your stomach forces you to lift your chin and draw your shoulders back as you walk down those steps with an audible clatter as your heels clack across the parquet.

He must've heard you before you make a racket fitting for an angered queen, but rises only after you've made it halfway through the staircase. You won't allow yourself to even look his way as he draws a deep breath.

"Love. Sweetheart."

But with that, you flash the man a stare full of despise as you walk past him.

"Don't."

"Let me–"

"Don't say a word," you take a sharp turn and raise a hand to shield you from whatever brutality he would like to stain you with. "You don't talk to me. You just do your job. Ok?"

His chest swells with another deep breath, but otherwise, this man is still as a statue again.

"Ma'am."

It takes you a while to notice he has regressed back to that term again, and you tilt your head. The movement is that of a warrior who swings her sword to a guard before a fight. He crosses his hands over his crotch as if to shield the most vulnerable parts from a low blow, but his eyes are full of hateful hurt as he gives you his most pretentious, mocking tone.

"Miss."

Your heart skips a beat – Simon becomes the thing you miss. 

A hit and run.

You have to resist the urge to grimace at the pure venom in his voice - it doesn't matter what he calls you because that tone seeps straight through your skin like lye. It hurts; it burns to see him even more withdrawn to his shell than when you first met. He retreats far beyond the front line, he goes further than the rear, and it's a bitter defeat for both of you. 

This man has rubbed your feet while you've laughed at a stupid joke in a sitcom. The same man has been inside you – night after night after night. It rips your heart to see a distant, perfectly blank expression on his face after you've seen him give you a plentitude of relaxed and wicked little smiles. 

You share the breakfast in funeral-like silence. You wish you could pay him to stay home so that you can go through your day filled with terror and longing without Simon Riley following you around.

"I've been meaning to update you on new intel about the target," he breaks the silence, and your heart feels like it's being put through a wringer. Simon hasn't even touched his breakfast. "Turns out he received training in a sniper unit."

"So?"

"There's a high chance he might prefer to use long-range weapons."

He's professional, curt, clinical. Even more so than when you first shook hands with him. And all the while, those eyes burn you; they examine you like you're the most challenging puzzle he's ever tried to solve. He's cold as ice with his words and hot as hell with that stare. Those eyes seem to pierce your clothes, they even reach under your skin.

"Right," you say without giving him a single look back.

"We have to update our protocol asap."

Our…

We.

"The protocol…" you whisper and finally look up at him. His lips draw into a thin line as he sees how your walls crumble; they didn't last even half a day.

"Simon, I can't do this," you say, your voice breaking. The tears are only seconds away. They blur your sight, but as he rises from the table slowly and takes a hesitant step towards you, you turn your head back to your toast with a snap.

"I want to change bodyguards."

From the corner of your blurred vision, you see how he raises a hand. If you didn't know any better, you could say that he's at his weakest. But the hand falls straight back and gives a twitch by his side. You wonder why he even bothers to disguise the spasm so lousily as a stretch. It's as if he wants you to see that he's in tumult too.

"I'll stay until–"

"No. Get out."

"Miss. I'll just get my things," he says, and you nod briefly. No exchange of gazes is probably the best policy after informing him you no longer need his services. It's better to rip the band-aid off with one yank than try to pretend that this relationship was something more than sexual. 

You know he came to your house with minimal belongings, a duffel bag full of spare clothes and a large case which you supposed was a container for different weapons. That is why you notice he takes a surprisingly long time to get those things and leave your house.

When he finally emerges from his room – no, not his room, but the guest room, you remind yourself – he places the luggage in the hallway and comes back to you, probably to say his polite farewells.

"You won't let me speak to you, so I wrote you a fuckin' letter."

You turn to solid stone as he places an envelope between your water glass and cup of coffee. You sit with your heart thumping in your chest as he picks up his things, walks to the door, walks out of it and out of your life.

It's one of those moments you wish you could freeze and rewind. Do everything differently so that it wouldn't have to come to this. Instead, you listen how the front door clunks shut.

Then you send your trembling fingers up from your lap and onto the pure white thing that holds his secrets. You pry it open and find yourself reading the lines, scribbled with surprisingly sophisticated handwriting, through a round of hot tears.

They cloud your vision, but they don't cloud his words.

You skim through the letter in a frenzied hurry once, then again with more control, and try to remember how to breathe.

He shares shrivels from his past, ugly, horrid things which make your breakfast nearly push up your throat. He tells you he stopped dating eleven years ago for a reason. He writes that he would rather be tortured again than make you suffer from his past and incapacities.

There are certain lines that enter your heart like a thief with the most delicate crowbar. Lines like I'm not good with words and You must know by now that I'm a broken man.

Lines like I'm not a fucking poet but I'll miss your warmth even under the desert sun.

Some lines make you want to tear the letter to pieces. Lines such as Don't throw your diamonds in the dust and I can't give you what you deserve.

He thinks you can't take his darkness, so he shelters you from it. He says he would come back to you if he could. You don't know what the hell he means by that. 

If he could? 

What the fuck prevents him?

You sit inside your empty, lonely house, confident of the fact that it is not you who prevents it. It was not you who just sent him out that door. Who commanded him to leave because you didn't need his services anymore.

The letter makes you cry, and then it makes you boil.

Such sweet words, and so many empty sentences. If only, if I wasn't, if I could.

You get the feeling that he's mocking you again. If only you weren't a princess and a spoiled brat, then perhaps he could reconsider this relationship.

You leave the letter there; you leave your coffee and your breakfast. You almost wish someone would shoot you and put you out of your misery as you call a taxi and go to the heart of the city.

You're completely numb as your fingertips brush silk and linen and all the newest designs. They curl around tiny bottles of bright nail polish and touch the perfumes made from the last free wildflowers of a burning world, but you feel nothing stir inside.

You're emptier than the echo that rings through the malls and corridors of stone; you feel poorer than all the beggars on the street. Shopping always makes you feel better. But now you want to burn all your money, throw your jewels out the window, torch all the fucking stores like some bloody anarchist. You leave every store without buying a thing and try to remember what it was to have lunch without drowning in tears that can't be cried in public.

"I can't give you what you deserve."

That's the line that scalds you most. You know what he meant when he wrote those words, seemingly humble. But your bleeding heart twists that sentence until his words are a testimony of pure rejection.

You have money, so you don't deserve love, is that it?

You want to find him and shake him. It's not about what you deserve or what he deserves. It's not about what anyone deserves. And if the bloody man thinks he doesn't deserve love only because he's made his home in suffering, then he's the last person who should be allowed to decide who deserves what.

You walk through the crowds and streets like a small whirlwind, on the verge of yelling your heart and loneliness out in the air until your vocal cords are raw. You're so riled your mind doesn't even register the gunshot.

The only thing you hear is a glass shattering next to you just before an entire boulder hits you.

His scent envelops you like a safe, warm blanket, even if that blanket weighs a ton and causes your jeans to grate and tear as you two hit the asphalt. Simon gives you bruises, scrapes and burns all across your left side as your body grinds through the dirt. 

Another shot is fired; this time, a car's glass is shattered above you, and the body surrounding you tenses until you worry your bodyguard has been hit. The bodyguard you fired this morning, who's still doing his job, who never even left you…

People are screaming and running in different directions all around and above you, but time comes to a halt as Simon rises only an inch or two.

"Stay down," he gruffs in your ear. "Don't move. Don't you fucking move, ok?"

The whole world could've gone silent from the way you only hear his voice. His words. His distress. You remain still as a stone and look up at him – your lips part because he's looking at you with impatience that's not just pressing; it's demanding.

"Yes," you stutter, "yes, of course."

Someone's pissed because a third shot sends him right back over you, and only then do you notice you're clinging to him, to his jacket and his shirt, like he's a human shield. Then the human shield speaks again, and the words that come out only make you grip him tighter.

"He has to change the magazine soon. You stay right here, ok? I'm going in."

"No, don't," your fingers curl around his clothes and try to keep him on top of you. "Don't go. I'm afraid."

I'll get you a dog. 

A day of silence. 

I'll buy you some good whiskey. I promise…

"I'll be right back," he murmurs, more softly now. "I promise." 

Then he rips himself off you. Your body misses his heat like the desert sand must miss the sun, and you realize you've ruined everything as you finally get to watch him in his element. He's agile and beautiful as he reaches for his gun, takes it out, and prepares it in a few seconds to fire death upon your faceless enemy. You've ruined everything because if Simon goes in, he might get killed – he's a human, not a shield, he's not even a weapon – and all the things you never said will haunt you for the rest of your life.

"Don't leave me," you want to reach for him, but don't dare disobey his orders. It should send you laughing: that you're finally doing precisely as he says. You finally trust your life with him, just before he leaves you, leaves you, leaves you. 

"Simon–"

"Sweetheart. I never left you."

He looks straight into your eyes. You gulp the tears now.

"I'm so sorry," you whisper, and someone is screaming; everythings a buzz, cars whir by as you tell him all the things you meant to say weeks ago. "I never wanted you to go. I always liked you. I– I think I love–"

"Shh. Don't you do this to me now."

The words are so soft you have to struggle to hear what he's saying under his breath. It's like he's talking to himself, and you realize you're an asshole, saying things like that to him when he's trying to concentrate on his mission and his job. But you just can't help yourself sometimes. No one in your life compares to him. No one has caused such a ruckus, such turmoil, such devastation and such love.

"Do what?" you whimper there, motionless on the ground as he gives you a last, painful look before his stare fixes on the piece of glass still unshattered, the dim, transient mirror of a store window he uses to locate movement in one of the buildings. 

Then he takes a peek over the car, and you hold your breath – he's the bait now, and ducks his head immediately as two more shots are fired. You don't even have the strength to scream; your whole body simply shudders from the echoing sound of pure fear – how can he play tag with death like that? 

And then he leaves. 

He rounds the car and darts for the building and the sniper; he disappears from your vision so quickly you wonder if these past weeks have been but a dream.

A hit and run.

"Do what…" you repeat on the ground and curl into yourself even though he said you shouldn't move. You figure it's not that big of a crime to go into a fetal position when you don't know if he's ever coming back to scold you for breaking the rules.

You want to close your ears from the sounds that follow – you fear you'll jinx something if you listen too closely to what happens in that building. You try to concentrate on your breaths, slowly bringing you back to your body. You haven't even noticed that there's blood running down your arm.

It's funny how you only notice the pain after seeing the flowing crimson that makes small rivers around your fingers. You don't want to look at your burning shoulder because the shock is already here. 

The searing pulse gets worse as you hear another shot, then another shot. Those sounds pound inside your shoulder and send more fire down your arm. Minutes or hours pass and you think how strange it is that everything's completely still, how bizarre it is that there are no sirens, no cars, no screaming. They've finally closed off the roads.

You only start to cry when you see that he's alive.

You try to rise from the ground to meet him – a bleeding princess, waking from her beauty sleep and realizing everything's just been a bad dream, greeting her knight in a black pair of fitted tactical pants and a pistol on his waist. Diamonds and darkness…

He rushes to you in what seems like desperation. You find it oddly beautiful that he's not only relieved to see his client is still alive and well, he's also relieved to know you're still there. That his princess has waited for him.

He falls on his knees and prevents you from rising. You're quickly wrapped in his arms, feeling so happy and safe that you don't even bother to tell him you're injured. It's just a scratch anyway. Even if your leg was blown off, you wouldn't complain about being picked up in his lap like this. 

"Shh. I got you. I got you."

He's cradling you like a child while tears stream down your face, but there's no audible sounds of crying. You weep a whole river of tears and your nose is clogged, forcing you to breathe through your mouth, but there's no wailing, no screaming, no bawling. The first words that roll off your tongue are a child's moody complaint.

"You left me," you mope as he caresses your head.

"Only for a little while."

"You came back."

"I said I would."

More tears flow, and this time you sniffle and sob. He rocks you gently back and forth as you cry in his embrace. Simon would make a good father.

"Is he…?" You whisper, then look up at him. He just nods and gives you a quick scan, drawing a sharp breath when he notices the wound on your arm. 

You're placed back on the ground as he inspects your shoulder and tells you the bullet managed to scrape some skin but has mostly just ruined your jacket. You're almost sorry that the wound is not as severe as it feels. You thought the burning sensation meant shattered bones and scarred flesh, but the scratch is no deeper than if you had accidentally cut yourself with a kitchen knife.

"No, I don't want… No hospital," you beg as he offers to take you to ER. You're not spending the rest of the day in a frigid treatment room where tired medical personnel only clean the wound and put a big plaster on it. 

"Just take me home," you plead like you're his daughter who doesn't want to go to school today. "Please?"

"Sure. Whatever ya want."

He makes a few phone calls, arranges things with the local police or something. You don't want to know anything about it. You don't want to know who got shot in that building and how.

It's not a taxi that drives you back this time. You don't know where he got a car and a driver, but the vehicle is big and black, and your head is in Simon's lap when you lie in the backseat. There's a panel between the driver's seat and the rear, so you don't even know who's driving, but you're only grateful for the privacy after the crazy morning followed by a murder attempt. You look up at Simon, who looks back at you for the first time while you're in a car together.

"Why did you become a soldier?" You ask, not knowing why you're whispering. He's holding your hand – a simple, wholesome thing to do, but his grip on you is solid and warm and feels equally as intimate as the times this man has been inside you. 

"I wanted to help people." 

"By killing them?"

"By saving those I can."

He keeps a hand on your cheek too. Simon has spoken softly ever since you were fired at, has been humane and caring and tender, and you realize… This man is naked before you; he's stripped bare from all pretenses. 

And he's not darkness. He's not a skeleton or a dead man or even a soldier.

He's a beacon in the night.

"You did a good job," you squeeze his hand softly.

The last glass-like veil in his eyes shatters, but far more softly than those windows shot at with a rifle.

"I live to serve, Ma'am...–Miss."

"Don’t… Simon, please don’t call me a–"

He descends. He doesn't need that hand to lift your chin up to meet him in a kiss. It's not a hungry devouring this time, but a soft promise, a lover's seal. You feel the rest of the shock leave your body in his embrace. There's no more coldness, only a fragile burning.

"You never look me in the eyes," you whisper as a tear escapes from the corner of your eye. It's a silly thing to say when he looks at you with all the love in the world.

"Yes I do," he gives you a soft brush of a thumb across your cheek. His lips are right there, an inch away from yours. "How could you have missed that?"

He's right, as always. The dark love almost swallows the brown of his eyes as he looks at you, shining light on you as he has shined for days, for weeks now. How could you have missed that, indeed? You raise a hand to cup his cheek, not caring about the pain, not even mourning that your blood stains his chin. He doesn't seem to mind at all, so why would you?

When you arrive at your house, he drives away the loneliness, sorrow, everything a rich girl can fear by carrying you in his arms, stepping over the threshold with you like you two are married now.

He peels your jacket off with affection and tenderness, tends to your wound and wipes away the blood that has caked dry all over your arm. The gash has bled a lot for such a small wound, and you purse your lips from how accurately it reflects your feelings for him.

He ties the wound, checks at least two times he's not tying it too tight. His care breaks your heart, because you don't know whether he will leave you after this. There's nothing that keeps him here anymore – there's no way you can keep Simon Riley to yourself. So you abandon him first for the second time, ascend the stairs to your lonely domain while he cleans up the small mess in the bathroom.

It's a small miracle that he follows you. He opens the door to your room without knocking – not because he's entitled to your privacy, but because there are no more barriers between you two. You're gathered in a stout embrace for the second time this afternoon, and you wrap your arms around him to hold him closer.

"You'll leave me soon," you speak to the wall before you, to the man behind you, holding you so gently against his chest. "I'll miss you."

"Love," he murmurs behind you, you feel the words against your back as a warm rumble. "I'll come back. If you want me, I'll come back to you."

"You will…?"

"I promise."

You have no more tears to cry, so you settle for examining the stab inside your heart, the wound that will bleed you dry if no one ties it tightly enough. 

"I don't believe you."

"It's not a matter of whether you believe me."

He turns you around and lets you bathe in his warmth again, the same golden light that came through the window when he placed his mouth on you in the kitchen. It's almost frightening to know that there's nothing that can keep him from you. Nothing, except you. The only thing that has stood between you was only and ever pride.

"Simon," you breathe, a soft attempt to introduce him to mercy. "It's not a matter of what we deserve."

He blinks a few times, the chest against your side collapses a little. It's a hard reset. The corner of his mouth tugs, a beautiful betrayal of his surrender, a sign of being hit by a boulder – your boulder, finally bringing the rest of those walls down.

"You think so...?"

"Yes. I think so."

He brushes his knuckles across your sternum – a familiar motion that always manages to lift your heart. You used to think it was foreplay when it was in truth, an attempt to touch the organ said to be the house of love.

You think about the times his harsh breaths have hit you just before he cums, the urgent praise he's peppered you with merely seconds before you've cried from pleasure. Can't get enough of you pet, you’re fucking perfect, 'm gonna make you cum, sing for me, just like that... 

You always thought it was a catalogue of shallow lust when it was an offering of naked devotion. 

He was as vulnerable as you when you drifted through space together, when you drowned in his stunning midnight sea. He was catching fire and burning too, again and again until you were both satisfied and sweaty. He always held you close after, panted desperate love on your skin, planted kisses on your collarbones and neck before resting his head on your heart. Settling there, over your pulse, like he had finally found his way home…

The hand glides between your breasts and molds itself over your waist. It fits there like a second skin. You're relatively sure his hands were made for holding you. 

"You asked what makes me happy," he says, completely naked and bare. The heavy love surrounds you with warm safety; your breath flows freely as you await his confession, the last secret revealed. "I think you know, love."

You know. It has finally dawned on you. What you didn't know was that tears of hope could feel like fire too. You've never been more eager to burn.

"Now keep those pretty eyes on me."

[werecreature-addicted]

Would the sparkling vampires have been reacted to differently if written by a better author? Possibly

I feel like the main reason (imo) for why the sparkling is hated on so much though is that the reveal of it just feels so ridiculous. Like edward claiming he’s a monster or whatever and then proceeds to reveal his shimmery 6 pack is….unconvincing at best

og tags on this post for anyone who hasn't seen it

Excellent question anon. If you think about it there are a lot of silly things we associate with vampires.

Exhibit A: the classic widow's peak black hair and dramatic cape

look at it with fresh eyes and imagine seeing this for the first time, goofy. silly even. but this style of vampire was iconized by Bella Ligosi's performance as Dracula in Dracula 1931 which is of course very good and a staple in vampire cannon as well as just culture in general. It's good and it's old which lends it an air of authority. whereas Twilight is new(ish) and bad so it's artistic changes and creative choices are fighting an uphill battle already, add in the fact that Vampires Sparkling is a little ridiculous and you can see why so many people dismiss Twilight's vampires outright.

This post is so long continued under the cut

Now I am a Twilight fan and I think Twilight is very bad in a lot of ways, the two ideas are not mutually exclusive. Twilight however is a fascinating case study in cultural knowledge and mythos. Stephanie Meyer informally did very little research about Vampire Cannon, if you can call it that, before writing Twilight (link to an interview where she mentions it) so instead of being carefully constructed world-building based on hard rules and strict internal logic, the vampires are kind of loosely defined shadows based on the broadest understanding of what a vampire is. They're dead, they drink blood, they don't go out in sunlight. Some other popular vampire staples go addressed but dismissed as myth (garlic and having no reflection) but then things like The vampires in Twilight don't have fangs and have weird additional supper powers sometimes go just completely taken for granted and not really expanded upon in a satisfying way.

This style of world-building and magic system has a tendency to chafe against readers who have a more in-depth context for vampires and Meyre's more simplistic writing style makes the text come off as juvenile and perhaps a little dumb.

All this to say the sparkling vampires are not handled super well. It is a very large jump from what most readers would expect to see from a vampire story and it is handled inconsistently at best in the text itself. Meyer describes the vampires in the sun both as A beautiful glittering like that of a diamond, and a reflection of light so intense that it looks like the vampire is being burned alive in the sun.

these two conflicting descriptions coupled with the again simplistic and juvenile writing style makes it seem more like a mistake you should roll your eyes at rather than an intentional complexity to read into. I'd argue that Bella sees this inhumanity as beautiful and alluring while Edward sees it as a curse and a reminder of his monstrous nature and therefore disgusting. That being said I don't fault anyone for not wanting to read that deeply into the vampire glittering and instead see it as the author trying to have her cake and eat it too, something Meyers does frequently throughout even just the first Twilight novel.

Not even to mention the movies.

Exhibit B: this is the skin of a killer Bella.

This is prima facie hilarious and stupid. the juxtaposition of the soft glittering effect and the chiming sound in this scene coupled with the seemingly unwarranted disgust is so fucking funny. which is not the tone this scene is going for. it's supposed to be tense, it comes off as corny instead.

Then there is the hate mob that dominated Twilight discourse when it first came out. I will not get into how much of that hate was warranted, what I'm interested in is how much of a cultural impact it had. There was, at least in the beginning, a large group of people who hated Twilight and would hate anything that came from it simply because it came from Twilight. These people grabbed onto the sparkly vampire thing and made it what it is today, these people were never going to be won over by any artistic liberty no matter what.

So to answer your question, I think that if a writer with a more in-depth understanding of vampires and a clearer vision of the magic system wrote Twilight with a more mature tone and more time given to expanding on just the vampire's powers and limitations, and the movies followed these hypothetical books more closely AND if there was never an anti-Twilight coultral movement. then yeah maybe Vampires sparkling wouldn't be seen as the dumbest shit ever.

thank you for coming to my Twilight Ted talk.

[mimisempai]

The end of loneliness 1/7

Summary

Aziraphale, a new academic who has just arrived in town, decides to have a one-night stand to start his new life and leave his lonely religious upbringing behind. 

Anthony, a university professor and heartbroken widower, decides to have a one-night stand to finally feel alive after years of being haunted by the death of his wife.

Both fall harder and faster than they ever thought possible.

Notes

Inspired by prompt and art of the talented @gleafer

On Ao3

Rating G - 2346 words Masterpost here

As the haze of sleep began to fade, the first thing Aziraphale was aware of was a slight headache, then that he wasn't in his bed, that he wasn't in his room, and, as a pair of arms tightened around his waist, that he wasn't alone.

His heart beating a little faster, he slowly turned to look at his companion. The first thing he saw was red hair, and as the arms tightened around him a little more, he remembered the pair of golden eyes that went with it.

The eyes that had captivated him the moment Aziraphale had met them.

The inviting eyes when he'd offered Aziraphale his first drink.

He remembered snippets of conversation, the free way they had shared parts of their lives, the sense of freedom that anonymity gave them.

Then, cheeks burning, Aziraphale remembered walking into the room, the kisses both sweet and fiery, the discarded clothes, and most of all, a sense of comfort.

A far cry from the discomfort he'd felt when he'd entered the bar earlier in the evening. 

He had almost turned on his heels several times before entering.

Everything was so new.

The city.

The university classes.

Him.

But that was why he was here. That's why he'd left behind thirty years of confined life, thirty years of being locked inside himself. 

To be who he really was.

So, after a deep breath, he had entered.

"You will see Aziraphale, Serinity is the best place for you. It's safe and the staff is nice. I'd love to come with you, but I have a date tonight myself."

Muriel, the first friend he'd made when he arrived in the city, had given him the name of this bar right after he'd confided in her about his desire to change, to meet new people. It wasn't too far from his apartment, so he decided to give it a try today.

He walked over to the bar and sat down on one of the empty stools when a bartender approached him with an engaging smile.

"What can I get you?"

Aziraphale stammered slightly, "Uh... I... don't know. Something sweet and not too strong?"

"Pour him a glass of Moscato."

Aziraphale turned his head to the man who had just spoken to him, not sure what captivated him more, the gorgeous red hair or the beautiful golden eyes.

The stranger continued, "It's a sweet dessert wine."

"Oh, uh... thank you." 

Aziraphale turned to the bartender and said with a small smile, "A glass of Moscato then."

"I take it you're not a regular."

Aziraphale shook his head and replied self-deprecatingly, "That's the understatement of the century, and you?"

He saw the other man take a sip from his own glass before he replied, "Let's just say the bartender doesn't have to ask me what I want."

Aziraphale chuckled quietly, "I see."

The bartender returned with Aziraphale's glass of wine, which he placed in front of him.

Aziraphale lifted the glass and took a sip. He couldn't hold back a small moan of appreciation.

"It really is excellent."

"See?"

The stranger raised his glass and clinked it against Aziraphale's, "To a first!"

He had no idea.

"So... what brought you here?"

Aziraphale didn't remember all the details of the conversation, but he did remember opening up to the stranger in a way he'd never opened up to anyone before. Anonymity and alcohol had made the discussion easy.

Aziraphale had talked about the strict, solitary religious upbringing he'd left behind to finally live free. Probably prompted by Aziraphale's sincerity, the stranger had also opened up about his marriage, which had ended tragically a few years before, and his desire to break out of his loneliness. The confidences and the quiet atmosphere of the bar had helped to create a certain sense of intimacy, so when the other man put his hand on Aziraphale's and asked if he'd like to finish the evening with him in a more intimate setting, Aziraphale gave in without hesitation.

If the course of the evening was rather hazy in Aziraphale's memory, the details of the rest of the night were absolutely clear in his mind, and he felt himself blushing as he thought about it.

The other man had dragged him out of the bar and they had gone to a nearby hotel where he had taken care of everything. And so, a few moments later, they found themselves in an elevator leading to their room. 

Aziraphale felt his nerves rise again.

Was he really going to do this?

With a stranger?

Well, not so much a stranger after all they'd shared about their lives.

Besides, he couldn't deny that he felt an attraction to the other man.

Suddenly, the other man's hand cupped his chin and, lifting his face toward him, said softly, "Hey, you know you can always say no."

There, with his eyes lost in the other man's, Aziraphale was sure he didn't want to say no and, shaking his head, murmured, "No, I really want to."

Without releasing his chin, the other man leaned in a little more and asked softly, "May I kiss you?" 

Aziraphale nodded, and the other man closed the distance, pressing his lips against Aziraphale's.

It was just a brush to test the waters, but when he tried to pull away, Aziraphale groaned and wrapped his arm around his one-night lover's neck.

The kiss deepened and lingered until the elevator doors opened and they almost ran hand in hand toward their bedroom door.

As soon as the door closed on them, Aziraphale found himself pressed against it as the other man captured his lips to resume the interrupted kiss. They continued to kiss almost desperately, as if they were drowning and the other was their source of oxygen. 

Aziraphale felt the other man's hands on his hips before they began gently tugging at his shirt. Then the hands slipped under the shirt to caress his skin, and, at the sensation,  Aziraphale couldn't hold back a gasp.

The other man stopped immediately and asked, stepping back, "Is everything all right?" 

Aziraphale nodded, then bit his lip before answering.

"It's just that it's..."

He swallowed before adding with a breath, "...my first time."

Aziraphale saw surprise, then understanding, and the other man backed away a little. 

Not wanting to see the rejection on the other man's face, he lowered his eyes and swallowed again, waiting for the other man's answer like a condemned man waiting for his sentence. After all, a man like him probably didn't want someone like Aziraphale with no experience to "break" his solitude.

A hand clasping his own snapped him out of his thoughts and he looked up at the other man, who was staring at him with an indefinable gleam in his eyes.

He said softly, "Hey, that's okay, I have absolutely no problem with that. But I should ask, are you sure you want your first time to be like this?"

Aziraphale sighed.

"I... um... I haven't thought that far ahead. What if... What if I don't know exactly where I want things to go... I want to try more, but I don't know what more. I mean... even kissing was a first." 

The other man hummed, "Okay. So everything is new. Then my first question: do you want to keep kissing?"

Aziraphale nodded eagerly, and the other man chuckled softly before continuing, "I need you to tell me the words. Let's call that the golden rule. Yes. No. I need you to tell me. Do you want to keep kissing?"

Aziraphale cleared his throat.

"Yes."

"But you think you'd like to try more than that?"

Aziraphale nodded again, but corrected himself when he saw the other man's furrowed brow.  

"Yes."

"Good. Then let's start there and work our way forward. This isn't a race, there's no trophy at the end. I don't care what we do, as long as we both enjoy it. If you feel you want to try something, you do it, same for me, and if you don't like it, you say so, we stop and move on. Okay?"

Aziraphale smiled gently and answered in a clear voice, "Yes."

The other man then stood, put his hands on Aziraphale's shoulders, and laid him down on the bed until he was lying with the red head above him, his hands framing his head.

Then the other man brought his face close to Aziraphale's and whispered against his lips, "So where were we?"

Aziraphale chuckled softly, and soon the chuckle faded under the soft pressure of his one-night lover's lips.

After that, everything had been perfect, and even if they hadn't gone all the way, Aziraphale couldn't have asked for a better first experience.

Aziraphale was jolted from these memories by the sound of his phone vibrating in his pants, which were laying a little further on the floor. He looked down at his one-night lover and saw that he hadn't even reacted to the sound. As the vibrations continued, Aziraphale suspected that it was Muriel who wanted to hear from him, so he began to gently extricate himself from the arms wrapped around him. 

Once he was sitting on the edge of the bed, he watched the other man move in his sleep and retrieve the pillow which he hugged as he had hugged Aziraphale just before. 

Aziraphale couldn't hold back a small laugh, quickly followed by a pang of regret as he already missed the feeling of the warm embrace.

A new vibration snapped him out of his reverie and he hurried to his pants to grab his phone. Then he slipped silently into the bathroom before answering.

"Hi, Muriel."

"Hey, how are you? How was your night? Were you at Serinity?"

Aziraphale whispered, "Yes."

"Why are you whispering?"

"I'm not alone."

"WHAT?!"

"Speak louder, I don't think the whole city has heard you yet."

"Aziraphale, you must tell me everything!"

He looked through the door at the sleeping man.

"Not here."

He looked at his watch and continued, "In an hour at the university cafe, breakfast? We'll have just enough time before classes start."

After Muriel agreed, Aziraphale hung up the phone. He used the hotel's amenities to freshen up, then stepped out of the bathroom and began walking slowly around the room, gathering up his scattered clothes. He was looking for his boxers when a ringing phone startled him. 

His one-night lover straightened abruptly and fumbled his hand to the nightstand, where he grabbed the phone.

"Morning... yes, the schedule is ready. Yes, with the list.... Yes, it is. See you later."

He put his phone back on the nightstand and, sitting up in bed, turned to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale tried to look everywhere but at the sheet slipping from the other man's waist and said in a slightly hesitant voice, "Ahem.... uh... Good morning... uh."

He realized he still didn't know his one-night lover's name and stopped.

The other man chuckled and said, "Anthony."

"Well, uh... Good morning, Anthony."

"Good morning...? I don't think you told me your name either."

"It's... Aziraphale."

"I've never heard of that name, but it's really pretty. It suits you anyway. So, Aziraphale, did you sleep well?"

Aziraphale blushed at the compliment and nodded before going back to looking for his underwear under Anthony's amused gaze.

"Aziraphale?"

"Yes?"

"I think I found what you're looking for."

Aziraphale turned and saw Anthony leaning over the left side of the bed, reaching for something. Then he turned to him and handed him his boxers. Aziraphale grabbed them, blushing, but Anthony held back and said, "I didn't see them last night in the dim light, but... really? Tartan?"

Aziraphale snatched the underwear out of the other man's hands and replied, "Tartan is stylish," before slipping it on, trying to maintain his dignity.

He sat down on the edge of the bed to pull on his socks and felt the bed move behind him. A hand came to rest on his shoulder and Anthony said gently, "Hey, I wasn't mocking you. In fact, I think it's kind of sweet."

Then he stood and continued, "I'm going to go freshen up in the bathroom." 

Aziraphale followed him with his eyes; after all, he'd probably never see Anthony again, so he might as well enjoy the view all the way. And the view was indeed pleasant.

When Anthony reappeared a few moments later, Aziraphale had finished buttoning his shirt. He gathered his things while the other man dressed, and when he was done, Anthony asked, "Would you like some breakfast?"

Aziraphale regretted giving Muriel an appointment for a moment, but also told himself that it would only postpone the inevitable, so he shook his head.

Anthony replied, "Maybe it was a strange thing to ask. I... one-night stands aren't my habit, so I don't really know the rules. Sorry."

Aziraphale didn't know what to make of the idea that this was somehow a first for the man as well, and then, with a small self-deprecating smile on his lips, he replied, "Well, as you know, it's not my habit either. So I don't know any more than you do, and I don't know if it's strange to ask. But if I say no, it's because I promised a friend that I would meet them for breakfast.

He didn't know where this urge to justify himself came from, but he needed the man to know it wasn't because he didn't want to.

Anthony nodded, then stepped up to Aziraphale and said, "Well... uh, Aziraphale, that was... that was nice."

Aziraphale also stepped forward and said, "Yes, it, uh, it was. Thank you."

Anthony shook his head. 

"I'm the one thanking you."

They both smiled at their respective awkwardness and then laughed out loud.

Aziraphale held out his hand and said softly, "Goodbye, Anthony."

Anthony took the outstretched hand and squeezed it tightly before replying, "Goodbye, Aziraphale. Take care."

Aziraphale nodded, his throat tightening slightly, before heading for the door, which he closed behind him a few moments later without looking back.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable fan fictions Masterpost : here

[badass-queer-couples-battle]

Round 3, poll 3, bracket A

Propaganda for the Leverage trio: "Parker/Hardison is canon since S4/5, Elliot fell for them later. OT3 confirmed via word of God. Eliot is the one most suited for literal battle but the other two can kick ass when required and the three of them battle capitalism via crime 24/7."

"the time Parker asked Eliot what the worst thing he ever did was and he said "Don't ask me that Parker. Because if you ask me… I'll tell you. so please don't ask me"

the time Parker begged Eliot to help her return a body to a widow because she desperately needed to be a good person and he talked her down because he knows she's good in her own way

The desperation Eliot and Parker felt when Hardison was buried alive

Hardison buying a brew pub for Eliot

Hardison waiting patiently for Parker to be ready for a relationship because she has issues with people and feelings so he let it be a slow burn

Parker taking a bomb away from Hardison so he wouldn't get hit if she couldn't neutralize it

finale spoilers: the time they all died holding hands (they're fine now)"

Propaganda for Shadowgast: "again, what's sexier than wizards NOTHING! they're wizards! they're war criminals! Essek shows affection by crushing assassin's that try to kill Caleb into tiny balls with magic and Caleb shows affection by throw Essek at the healers when he's polymorphed as a giant ape! forehead kisses! you were not born with venom in your veins! young man! there's SO MUCH"

[wangxianficfinder]

Fic Finder

Jan 25th

~*~

1. I'm begging to know if you have this fic. Years back, I read a fic where Wei Ying is exiled from the Lan clan and in the process becomes mute kind of (?) by choice. Years-ish later the Lan clan would beg him back to teach the juniors dark arts, and after something he would comply. It's a lot of Lan Zhan trying to apologize and Wei Ying not taking it afterwards, but I do believe it has a good ending. Do you perhaps know what this fic is? I've been trying to dig out the name for a month or so now. @sunshines-child

FOUND? Wei Ying's Destroyed Heart by Belladonna01234 (Wattpad)

~*~

2. hi!!! im looking for a genderbend fic( i think ?) where wwx is set to marry jin guangyao (theyre each others beards) and lwj is the florist, or maybe the other way around. i didnt read it, i only remember those specific things bc of the tags and the summary, but most definitely one of them is the florist at the other's wedding, and they meet and such is life. thank you so much!!!

FOUND! Widow's Weeds by travelingneuritis (E, 18k, wangxian, Modern Cultivation, Gardens & Gardening, Wedding Planning, wedding thwartin, grich people are terrible, Light-Hearted, Smut, Gender Changes, Getting Together, offscreen deaths played for laughs, this is meant to be silly don't worry about it, Scheming, Plotting, wwx and jgy are accidentally-on-purpose bearding each other but i keep it PG, wwx running laps around the entire jin sect)

~*~

3. Hello! I am looking for a fic which I am 90% sure is a WWX/LWJ fic, but there is a 10% chance it might be Keith/Shiro from Voltron (oops, ehe, if so please disregard this ask!). It is a modern au where WWX looks like a rough guy, maybe from a motorcycle gang, and LWJ is a lovely put together businessman. The office where LWJ works begins to notice their boss (LWJ) meeting with tattooed WWX and they think WWX might be up to no good! But WWX is actually a cop or fireman, and he just looks a bit like a road rat. They eat pastries together on their lunch break. Does this ring a bell? I have been looking for ages! Thank you!!!

3 is definitely a Voltron fic if the other blades of Marmora are Keith's fellow cops.

~*~

4. Hi! For fic finder, there is a fic that i only read the summary and a snippet of the story. I didnt read that fic at first because it is not something i usually read, but now its haunting me. Its ice skating au. I think there are "madam yu bashing" In the tag (im not sure). And the snippet i read is NHS beat up WC in secluded place in revenge for WWX. There are no CCTV and NHS said to WC that no one will believe him that NHS beat him up. I know its short, but i really dont know the story. Thank you!

FOUND! enough, for me by doodlebutt (T, 1k, Modern AU) which takes place during chapter 7 of All the shine of a thousand spotlights (M, 60k, WangXian, Modern AU, figure skating, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Major Character Injury, Recovery, Getting Together, background relationships - chengqing; xuanli; xiyao, Background Pregnancy, the mortifying ordeal of Talking About Your Feelings, sexually tense pair skating, There Was Only One Bed)

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5. WWX and LZ are flabbergasted to see the other alive: WWX was burning paper money at LZ’s funeral as LZ died protecting him and LZ was attending WWX’s funeral as LZ failed to protect WWX during a nighthunt. The universe did some weird shit that merged the two timelines so now they’re both alive and with each other. I can’t find it anywhere @selena10180

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6. There was this fic, i don't remember, wwx was single and pregnant and his family (i think jiangs or wen? ) was with him? If u could find this fic and more like it?

FOUND? All I Want by Selenay (E, 47k, WangXian, Modern AU, No Powers, Mpreg, Post Holiday Romance, Consequences, Reunions, Idiots in Love, Teacher WWX, Rating earned in later chapters, Handwavey Biology)

FOUND? Nothing but your heart by airinshaw (E, 21k, WangXian, Modern AU, A/B/O Dynamics, Implied Mpreg, First Time, Getting Together, Angst and Drama, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anal Sex, Whump, Breeding Kink) could also be this

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7. hi!! im looking for an unfinished (as of when i read it at least!!) accidental baby acquisition fic where wwx drops a baby (lsz i believe!) off at lwjs door in the middle of the night and disappears — i know thats vague but i dont remember a lot of details? it was a lot of introspection and confusion on lwjs part, kind of OH SHIT i have to look after this baby now n wwx is vanished n idk whats going on. n to my memory in the next chapter or so wwx comes back and is still rlly weird n mysterious n frustrating abt the babys origins n theres wx vibes but lwj is real confused. sorry i dont have more detail but i really hope i can find it!!!

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8. Hi! :D I really hope you can help me find this fic! I have been looking for weeks! it's driving me nuts!

I remember that WWX doesn't die and LXC help him live hidden in CR using the identity of a Lan that has died, WWX is taking care of LWJ/is LWJ's servant, there is a scene where they are in Lanling (I think) and WWX has befriended some of the servants there, him and one? of them are talking about WWX's feelings for LWJ/if LWJ love WWX/or something like that, and then LWJ is there, I'm pretty sure they go somewhere else and confess to e/o

FOUND! Unbreakable Heaven, Luminous Earth by carolyncaves (M, 96k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Secret Identity, almost to the point of uncomfortable identity theft, Sharing a Bed, Literal Sleeping Together, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, Suicidal Thoughts, that's for WWX after Nightless City and is not pervasive throughout the fic, Blood and Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Caretaking, Sexual Content, Domestic Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending, Power Imbalance, mainly between WWX and JGY in an entirely nonsexual manner, this isn't really a kid fic but the kids are there, as are some yunmeng sibling feelings, JYL lives, Not Everyone Dies AU, some COVID parallels, this is not a quarantine fic, but thematically WWX deals w things like face-covering for safety and loss of control, also assume all canon warnings, this AU is gentler than canon but isn't a complete fix-it)

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9. Hi hi! Thanks for your wonderful recommendations always! I’m looking for a wangxian fic where WWX has a breakdown in the lotus pier courtyard and the vibes are like “I’ve tried so hard for so long and for what; I can’t anymore; I’m so alone” and the Jiangs are like “… oh shit” and then treat him better after that and help him bear the burdens. (I can’t remember if WWX is a dragon also?) @vi-sky

#9 while the suggestion is great I don’t think this is the fix I was looking for. I don’t think the Jiangs find out about anything until WWX has the breakdown in the courtyard, and I think he kept it to himself for awhile as opposed to his breakdown being chapter 1 in the recommended.

NOT FOUND! 🧡 (Un)Hidden truth by Sarah_R (M, 198k, WIP, WangXian, Suicide attempt, Time Travel, Hurt/comfort, Angst, Self-Harm)

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10. Hello! I can't remember much details but I think lan zhan lands on an unfamiliar planet, there he meet wei ying. Wei ying appearance is different, his body i think is color pink? or blue or like galaxy (눈▽눈) I 'm not really sure but he is not human , also wei ying is shy at first and then warm up eventually. Wahh thank you in advance!

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11. Hello! For fic finder: I am trying to find a fic I read recently (within the last 6 months or so) where Wei Wuxian cultivates a resentful energy core but it was held outside his body in the Yin Tiger Tally. Lan Wangji doesn’t know that, so he convinces Wei Wuxian to give up the Tiger Tally as a gesture of peace. Everyone gathers around to watch and are horrified when as Wei Wuxian crushes the Tiger Tally in his hand and the Tally crumbles to dust, Wei Wuxian keels over in terrible agony at losing his core a second time. I think Wangji rushes over to help but Wen Qing pushes him away. It wasn't Decay by antebunny (although that is a good fic!!). Any thoughts? Thank you!

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12. hi I just remembered a fic in modern verse where Wei Ying boarded a flight that disappeared mid air and landed after 10+ yrs and Lan Zhan comes to pick up from the airport once he gets the news. I can't seem to find it can you please help and thanks for your efforts its bought me across many amazing fanfics

FOUND! 看客散去唯你我不忘 | the world forgets but i still remember you by prettyxianxian (T, 11k, wangxian, Modern, Flashbacks, POV Multiple, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Lives AU, Insecurities à la WWX, manifest au, JC & WWX Reconciliation, Good Parent YZY, Good Parent JFM)

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13. Hello!! I'm looking for a fic that I was sure i had reblogged but now I can't find it anywhere 😔 It was on tumblr not ao3. LWJ is sex-cursed and he has to be touched by the person he loves. It was during the burial mound days and WWX is isolated from the cultivation world, and also LWJ refuses to ask him for help for that, he'drather die. LXC finds out and takes an unconscious LWJ to the burial mounds and gives him a day to tell WWX on his own or LXC will do it, and LWJ only agrees because he intends to run away before WWX finds out why he's there @kokobabee

FOUND! Tumblr Fic by @jingyismom

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14. Hello! I badly need help. I've been looking for this fic. I think it was like 5+1 or something where other people learn that Sizhui is Hanguangjun's son and that one time that Wei Wuxian did. I remember some of the 5+1 was a scene with a vendor, another scene with Ouyang-zongzhu in a nighthunt and I'm not sure if Jiang Wanyin was also one of them. But yeah, I've tried all keywords I could think of but I just can't find it. I hope you can help me. Thank you so much for all your efforts.

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15. Hello I am looking for a fic where the world agrees to not kill Wei Ying if he marries and dual cultivates with someone and it's LWJ @calamityisalve

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16. I am looking for a fic where wangxian invite the cultivation world to their wedding but wei wuxian and Lan shizui get badly hurt during the hunt before the wedding. The wedding is postponed and I think it had a scene where they fell down a waterfall? Please find it for me🙏

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17. Hiiii!!!! I’m looking for a Twitter thread fic about a Warprize Lwj ABO Au where he became a consort to wen zhuliu? I think it was him, anyway, he gave birth a-yuan but a-yuan was actually Wwx son. I remember there was quote retweeted art of the thread fic where Wwx was standing over a-yuan’s cradle.

If you actually manage to find it a million thanks!!! @silent-taco

FOUND? Twitter thread by @cerbykerby, art by @hellinglaozu

FOUND? 🔒 Poison series by Cy_an_Blue, NiceElsa (E, 30k, wangxian, Gods & Goddesses, God WWX, God LY, A/B/O, Alpha WWX, Omega LY, Pre-Relationship wangxian, Implied/Referenced Forced Marriage, Implied/Referenced Bottom LWJ, Omega LWJ, Alpha LXC, Married WangXian with kids, Dark, War Prize LWJ, Forced Pregnancy, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Not by WangXian, Adultery, Cheating, Threats of Violence, Threats of Child Abuse/Murder, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Gore, Smut, Mpreg, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Endgame Wangxian, Post Mpreg, post pregnancy, Protective LQR, Gūsū Lán Elders Bashing)

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18. Hello! I hope you can help me find this one, because I’m not having much luck; Wei Ying agrees to do what the sects want in exchange for the Lan sect taking in the Wen. He is basically imprisoned in the Unclean Realm and can’t practice demonic cultivation, and over time Nie Huaisand and Nie Mingjue start to warm up to him.

I think the one scene I remember most is a scene where Lan Huan asks Wei Ying if he can play for Nie Mingjue but Wei Ying says he can’t and admits that he has no golden core after making Lan Huan promise to keep it a secret. Hope this helps?

FOUND? Always walked a very thin line by tucuxi (T, 22k, WangXian, NHS & WWX, JYL & WWX, Depression, Anxiety Attacks, Canon Divergence, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Self-Worth Issues, Slow Burn, Oblivious WWX, Golden Core Reveal, WWX Has No Golden Core, Chronic Pain, Chronic Illness)

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19. 你好! I've been looking for a fic with mute wei ying? (mute by choice, I believe). I cannot remember much, but I do remember that Wei Ying is exiled by the Gusu Lan clan, led by Lan Zhan himself. He's later called back to teach the juniors lessons on Demonic cultivation, where they found out after many years of choosing not to talk, he's kind of lost his voice. I don't know if you could find this fic, but it's been plaguing my brain for awhile now.

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20. Hi! Searching for a fic where omegaxian is the assistant physician of Wen Qing and then Emperor (not sure if emperor or just a prince) Alphaji want him immediately as his consort. Wen qing and other people protested and told alphaji that omegaxian is not available because he is only a physician.

I remember it being a threadfic in X (twitter)

Thank you so much

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[mistydeyes]

Oh god- so yk graves is alive and well they announced it 

Could you write a fic where like his partner gets the news that he dead and she can’t believe it yk so she’s grieving and trying to move on till months like (cause he had to stay low) he knocks on the door how would you picture that :)?

Ikkk it’s a bit cliche but come on.. everyone hates graves I love him

a/n BRO I LITERALLY SCREAMED WHEN I SAW THEYRE BRINGING HIM BACK like yess my problematic southern love is back baby ;)

back from the grave

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

summary: It's been 1 year since you lost everything: your friends, family, your beautiful house, your signature hair color, and most devastatingly, the love of your life. However, as you're drinking yet another bottle of cheap wine, there's a knock at the door and someone who you didn't expect.

pairing: graves x fem!Reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of violence/death, GRAVES haha

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

The last good thing General Shepherd did for you was to make you disappear. You became an immediate enemy due to your husband and the Shadow Company and Shepherd presented you with a way out. One dye job and plane ticket later, you were living out your widowed life on the busy streets of Manhattan. Your meals consisted of pre-prepared dishes from Trader Joe's and you accompanied that with many bottles of cheap wine. You sadly swallowed your food as you mourned your husband and your new lonely life. There was no funeral and no closure for you and you were forced to act as if you didn't lose the love of your life.

It was about a year after his passing when you got off the subway and entered your apartment. You put the groceries away and poured yourself another bottle of Barefoot before sinking onto the couch in despair. The sweet Moscato mixed with your salty tears as they fell from your face. Your melancholy moment was disrupted by a sharp knock at your door. You dropped your glass on the table and approached it cautiously. No one knew you lived here and you cut ties with all of your friends. You armed yourself with pepper spray as you slowly opened the door.

"Hi sweetheart," a voice called on the other side of the door, and you almost discharged your weapon in a mix of emotions. "Phillip," you whispered as tears flowed from your glossy eyes. You cautiously opened the door fully, still in disbelief at the man who stood in front of you. When you saw him, he was how you remembered when you saw him before the fateful mission to Las Almas. He looked more tired, with a few more scars and burns to his appearance, but nonetheless, he was still yours. Your Philip was here in front of you.

After the initial shock had taken its course, you approached him slowly as he stood in front of the closed doorway. "Is it really you?" you hesitated as you grabbed and held his face in your hands. You dragged your fingers along his jaw, remembering every curve, wrinkle, and crease on his face. "A little older and more rugged than before, but I'm still the same good ol' Southern boy," he smiled with that award-winning smile. You fell in love with how his eyes crinkled when he smiled and his Southern charismatic drawl. As you finished your observation, you gently lay your head on his chest. There was a slight surprise in his breath but he readily wrapped his arms around you. You fully allowed yourself to crumple as you were back in his arms and the tears flowed like a flash flood. "Shhh, don't cry darlin'" he reassured as he gently rubbed comforting circles into your back. You looked up slowly in your blur of tears. "What are you doing here?" you sniffled out and he led you to the couch.

"It's been a hell of a year, doll," he chuckled as he helped to brush the tears from your face, "do you want to hear the long or the short?" "Either one," you stated as you placed your head on his lap. "Well, if we put aside all the people trying to track and kill me," you grimaced at the thought, "then I've just been hiding out wherever possible and trying to find you." "I think I'll need a better explanation," you began to say, getting up, but he gently laid you back down. "Can we save that for tomorrow?" he asked kindly, "I just want one night knowing you're safe." You gently shook your head in agreement and resigned to put aside your myriad of thoughts. As you laid your head into his lap and looked up, you wondered if this was some cruel dream that you would soon awake from. But for now, it was reality and he truly had returned back to you.

[yetanothergreyjedi]

Left and Returned: Definitely Nothing Wrong

Danny Phantom x Supernatural Crossover

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Ao3 (includes additional notes)

Chapter 6:

"Did the police find any razors in the rest of the candy, Mrs. Wallace?" Dean listens to his brother interview the victim's wife as he searches for anything ‘weird.’ 

"No, I mean, I don’t think so… I just – I can’t believe it. You hear urban legends about this stuff, but it actually happens?"

"More than you might imagine."

Dean finds it, the hex bag stuffed between the fridge and the counter. He holds it up behind the widow's back so Sam can see. 

Sam sighs, "Mrs. Wallace, did Luke have any enemies? Anyone who might have held a grudge against him?"

"No, and if someone wanted to kill my husband, don’t you think they’d find a better way than  razors in a single piece of candy when there's an entire bag?"

And the lady would have a point, if they weren't dealing with a witch.

---

Dean bit into the chocolate, it was the cheap stuff that people didn't mind giving out for free, even when it he was and adult man two days before the holiday. It was too sweet and had a weird after taste. Not great but worth it when Sam made a face.

"Really?"

"It's Halloween, man."

There's a rustling sound, Danny pulls another candy from its wrapper. He pops it into his mouth.

"You too? After the the razor blades?"

"I don't mind a few metal bits, adds crunch."

"Seriously?" Dean turns to the kid, who's watching them innocently, "You chowing down on sheet metal when we're not looking?"

"I might be, you'll neeever know."

"Uh-huh." Dean was pretty sure he was messing with them. Pretty sure. "Find anything interesting Sammy?"

"Hexbag has some serious stuff. This plant has been extinct for 200 years, this coin looks real, 600 years old real... and this," Sam lifts the little burned thing. "Is the charred metacarpal bone of a newborn baby."

"Gross. Witches man, I hate'm."

"Well, we're dealing with a powerful one. Getting stuff like this, wouldn't be easy."

"That or they're super rich." Danny offers. 

"What would a super rich guy get out killing a soccer dad?"

"Wants revenge on the guy who married his college sweetheart who got away?"

"Uh... sure? Do you have a name?" Sam asks.

"No, I was just throwing out possibilities."

"So we have nothing."

---

Then there was the second hex bag in a random high-schooler's party, a girl boiled alive in room temperature water. 

"Maybe this witch isn’t working the grudge, maybe they’re working a spell..." Sam skims over an old creepy book. "Three blood sacrifices over three days, the last before midnight on the final day of the final harvest. Celtic Calendar, the final day of the final harvest is October 31st."

"That's an incredibly inefficient way to summon Frighty." Danny mumbles. 

"Frighty?"

"Fright Knight, Spirit of Halloween."

"The demon the witch is trying to summon, Samhain? You know him." Sam clarified, Dean watched the kid carefully.

"Not by that name.” He flopped back on the unclaimed bed that would probably Dean's but was currently serving as a couch. “Names are important. And he's not a Demon he's a spirit."

"Samhain, the origin of Halloween, the Samhain the Celts believed in.  October 31st was the night of the year when the veil was the thinnest between the living and the dead, Samhain’s night. I mean, masks were put on to hide from him, sweets left on doorsteps to appease him, faces carved into pumpkins to worship him. He was exorcised centuries ago."

"And in those centuries Halloween changed, became trick-or-treating, pranks, parties, candy and horror movies. The idea of Halloween itself, the spirit of Halloween. Fright Knight shed his old name and became something to reflect that. He won't like you dredging up past identity."

"You're sure you don't just know a different guy?" Dean asked. He wouldn't believe this if he hadn't still had the Autumn Dance's song echoing in his dreams.

"Yeah, Frighty's sensitive about it."

"So this witch is summoning what? More Halloween fun?"

"No, he'll be mad. Probably send her to a nightmare realm, but it won't go past that."

"Well... good."

"And you're sure?" Sam asks, "According to this once he's raised he can do raising of his own."

"Frighty wouldn't."

"Alright... still we should find this witch before she kills anyone else."

"Of course."

---

A whole day of stakeout to find out that the cheerleader had lied to their faces, she'd had access to both houses, claiming to never have heard of the Wallace's. Then they find her history of violence, the fact that she's emancipated and very well could be living fake ID to fake ID.

Finding her on the other hand... was proving more difficult. 

Danny had even walked them through a couple of front doors, like straight through the front door, like they were the ghosts. It was weird, and cold, and super useful even though it didn't amount to much. 

They needed a gameplan. And a gameplan seemed much more likely to drop into their lap when Danny opens the motel door and says, "Oh, hi Castiel! 

"Danny," Castiel greets, "Dean. Sam."

"Oh my God!– er– uh– I didn’t mean to– sorry. It’s an honor, really, I– I’ve heard a lot about you." Sam expertly fumbles as he moves out of the entryway. 

"And I, you. Sam Winchester... The boy with the demon blood... Glad to see you’ve ceased your extracurricular activities." Wow... awkward. 

"Let’s keep it that way." Adds a guy staring ominously out the window.

"Yeah, okay, chuckles." Dean turns to Castiel. "Who’s your friend?"

"The raising of Samhain, have you stopped it?"

"Not yet, what's it to you?"

"Have you found the witch?"

"We know who she is."

"Is she dead?"

"Why do you care so much?"

"The raising of Samhain is one of the 66 seals."

"So this is about your buddy Lucifer."

"Lucifer is no friend of ours." Says nameless angel #2.

"It’s just an expression."

"Lucifer cannot rise. The breaking of the seal must be prevented at all costs. And the witch knows who you are." Castiel lifts a Hexbag.

"This was inside the wall of your room. If we hadn’t found it, surely one or both of you would be dead. Do you know where the witch is now?"

"I would've found it. I only just got back." Danny defends and both angels' attention snap to him. 

Danny has offended #2 "You cannot be certain of—" 

"It's a pretty strong energy, I doubt some drywall would stifle it much." 

"Regardless. You need to leave this town immediately." 

"Why?"

"Because we’re about to destroy it." Castiel informs them. And Dean expects it when the air goes cold. The angel's shift uneasily, but they don't pin Danny as the source.

"Your plan is to smite the whole friggin’ town?"

"We’re out of time. This witch has to die, the seal must be saved."

"There are a thousand people here." Sam argues

"One thousand two hundred fourteen." #2 corrects.

"And you’re willing to kill them all?" Dean can hear Sam's faith shattering, and he hates these guys even more.

"This isn’t the first time I’ve… purified a city." #2 tells them

"It is regrettable." Castiel sympathizes.

"Regrettable?"

"We have to hold the line. Too many seals have broken already."

"And we're just supposed to let you?" Danny asks. "Because of your apocalypse's prophesied precursors?"

"It’s the lives of one thousand against the lives of six billion. There’s a bigger picture here."

"And ten years ago they said Phantom was inevitable. They said only one half'a life, against six billion. But guess what? We're all still here."

"The abomination." #2 recognizes, from whatever this story Danny is telling is. Frost snakes up the windows. Their breaths fog in the air, but #2 is undeterred. "This is not the same."

And the Angel's do notice the change, but instead of Danny, they turn to glare at Sam .

"No," Dean lies, because he doesn't want to know if Danny is being stupidly arrogant or if he actually can take these guys. Part of him knows the collateral of either outcome... he doesn't want to know. And he's ticked off, and the angels are looking at Sam like they're going to smite him for something he's not even doing. So, he bluffs, if it backfires then Danny can do whatever he planned to do. "if you’re gonna smite this whole town, then you’re gonna have to smite us with it, because we are not leaving. See, you went to the trouble of busting me out of hell. I figure I’m worth something to the man upstairs. So you wanna waste me, go ahead, see how he digs that."

"I will drag you out of here myself." #2 tells him, and just him, Dean realizes. They aren't offering to save anyone else. He's even more sure this is the right thing.

"Yeah, but you’ll have to kill me, then we’re back to the same problem. I mean, come on, you're gonna wipe out a whole town for one little witch. Sounds to me like you're compensating for something." He turns to Castiel who, oddly, is more sympathetic than his friend. "We can do this. We will find that witch and we will stop the summoning."

"Castiel! I will not let these peop–"

"Uriel, that's enough." Castiel holds up his hand, silencing #2 whose name is Uriel, apparently. Castiel watches Dean for a long moment. "I suggest you move quickly."

---

"Do you guys have this? I think I should spy on them." Danny says when, presumably, they're out of the angel's earshot.

"You trust this Halloween guy?"

"With the jewels behind the throne." At some point Dean will stop being thrown by the things the kid says. At some point.

"Right... Then they're the bigger threat. We'll figure it out, call us if they're planning a double cross."

Danny vanishes from the back seat. 

"You okay?" He asks Sam, who still looks miserable. They do say to never meet your heroes.

---

"The decision's been made." Castiel tells Uriel. Unfortunately, he does not elaborate on what decision, or what outcome has been decided on.

"By a mud monkey." Uriel laughs bitterly.

"You shouldn’t call them that."

"Ah, it’s what they are, savages, just plumbing on two legs."

Danny flips himself over the bench the angel's share, so he sits between them, upside-down so his feet hang over the backrest and his head dangles off the edge of the seat. It's not a defensible position... for someone worried about silly things like corporeal objects. "That's mean for a guy who's currently wearing a human person. At least show some respect for him."

The angels don't jump, and he didn’t really expect them too, but it's always fun when they do.

"And it's close to blasphemy." Castiel warns Uriel, but Danny heeds the warning as well. Castiel seems to be on team let-the-town-live instead of team nuclear bomb, and Danny would like it to stay that way, so he's not going to try to narrow down where in the realms these guys are from. (At least today.)

Uriel sighs, "Very well. But I do not take orders from this one, regardless of his involvement in the Abomination's unmaking."

Huh? 

"Of course not. Why are you here, Danny."

Huh? Okay normally when beings like this start throwing around words like abomination, they're talking about him.

"I'm keeping an eye on you guys. Obviously."

"We are not planning to break the seal. Your priority should be the witch."

"Yeah well, Frighty hasn't expressed desire to end an entire town."

"We are trying to prevent the end of your world." 

Danny doesn't say 'I am the end of this world.' Because he's not, because he refuses to be and they probably won’t get that he's joking. He doesn't say 'I could've been the end of this world' because... they don't seem to know that?

"Like the Observants failed to do?" He says instead and he wish- no he was disappointed he hadn't sat so he could see the angel's faces. He wonders if they have members in that group.

"The Observants succeeded." Uriel corrects. And isn't that interesting. Did the Eyeballs lie to angels? Danny wouldn't put it past them.

"No, no they didn't. They handed it off to the Timekeeper, who disobeyed. The "Abomination" just didn't feel like much destruction."

"It lives?" Uriel demanded. 

"Nothing dead lives." Danny lied. 

"It still exists, and you know where it is." Castiel guesses.

Danny stands, like a normal person would stand because apparently angels can't tell what they're talking too. Maybe it's the anti-Vladco-tracking-device device in his shoe? But yeah, standing like that means he has to awkwardly unhook his legs and climb off the bench. "Obviously."

"Where?"

"Ah, no. I thought we established that I don't trust you."

Uriel stands, fast, so fast a human might not track it. "You will tell us."

"Will you try to make me if I'm under his protection?"

Uriel stops, doesn't quite get in his face.

"The world isn't going to end." Danny tells them, it's almost a promise.

Castiel stands. "So you'll ignore what Samhain will do? Because you don't believe the seals hold power?" 

Danny sighs, “ Fright Knight , his name is Fright Knight.”

“Does his summoner know that?” Uriel asks, with the smugness of someone who knows old magic. 

“What do you know?”

---

Dean feels a little uneasy when Fright Knight rises in the dying man's body. He feels doubt when he calls the witch beautiful, hopeful, when he kills the witch, and doubt again when he calls her a whore. Like sure, but it doesn't feel like something Danny's friends would say, you know? Then again, he's Danny’s friend and he's not really above it? Maybe he's just reading into it because of Ruby, and Lilith, and every other demon who's shown utter disdain for their followers. Still, he thinks the kid would at least give the guy a disappointed look.

But Fright Knight didn't seem bothered by them playing dead on the ground, faces covered in blood because of Sam's quick thinking.

He didn't seem delighted by the trick-or-treating or the decorations like Danny said he would be. They follow him to the cemetery and arrive just in time to hear the screaming start.

They split up, Dean frees the kids and starts in on the zombies. It's easier to let the rage flow as he hacks at the hungry undead. It's easier than confronting the thought circling the back of his mind.

Danny lied. Danny lied. Danny lied.

The kid shows up around the time things start to get tight. He drives someone into one zombie's eye socket and blasts another away with some kind of green fire. It gives Dean the moment he needs to lock the rest inside their vault. 

Then Dean punches him in the face. His fist connects. Danny staggers back, clutching at his nose, but then his eyes go wide.

"The witch didn't summon those, did she?"

"Ya think?!" Dean swings with the weapon. This time the kid dodges cleanly and is running. Dean gives chase.

"Where's Sam?! If I was wrong about this, then—" he cuts himself off, deciding which path to take as it forks. Dean swings again, this time Danny blocks and disarms. Intangibility, Dean realizes, Danny simply just pulled the weapon from his hands. Then he tosses it away. "Dean, where's Sam!?"

The panic looks real. Feels real, Dean can taste it on the air. Can Danny fake that? What would be the point of pretending after he's won?

Dean shakes himself, and points in the direction Sam went. They both run in that direction.

They arrive to see Samhain throw Sam across the room.

"Fright!? What are you doing?" 

Samhain sees them, and Dean is flying backwards. He hits the wall hard.

"Fright! It's me!" Dean blinks and Danny is floating off the ground.

"You should know better," Samhain tells him, "than to use a name unclaimed by one such as me, Phantom."

"That is the name you gave to use!" Danny flies back, joining Dean in a hard impact against the wall.

"No longer!" Samhain shouts.

"No!"

"I am far more than you can ever—" Samhain chokes. Sam stands on the other end of the room, his arm outstretched. His face twisted in struggle. 

Then demonic smoke pours from the man's mouth. It crackles on the ground, Dean sees a glimpse of hellfire before it vanishes. The body Samhain inhabited, crumples to the ground.

---

"Where do you think you're going?" Dean demanded. Danny stands with the motel door half open. 

"There's something I need to do."

"After that? You think you're just walking away?!"

Danny holds the door open for him. Dean looks to Sammy.

"Want me to come too?"

"We'll talk later." Dean decides, because he doesn't want to be sidetracked by a fight with his brother. (And it will probably be a fight.) He walks out, and follows the kid down the street.

Danny pays a trick-or-treater twenty dollars for a plastic costume sword. He steals a jack-o-lantern off someone's porch, and finds a place where they're not likely to be distributed for a while.

"Are you helping, or just waiting to see if you need to shoot me?" Danny asks, there's no threat or demand in it, just weariness.

"What would I do if I was helping?" Dean asked. Danny turned the plastic blade in his hands and started carving into it with his knife. 

"I need a devil's trap." 

"You're summoning a demon?!"

"...Not if this works..."

"Explain."

"They're the same person, Fright Knight and Samhain. But the witch summoned Samhain, pulled his past self to the forefront, and Samhain rejected the new name... maybe, if I summon Fright Knight by his way... maybe it will bring him back?"

"And if you're wrong?"

"Then even if I'm making the trap, you're checking it beforehand."

Dean sighed. If the kid had been his usual joking self, he'd tell him off. But he was solemn, sad, and was etching symbols into cheap plastic like it was a gravestone.  "Can I stop you?"

"No." 

Dean sighed and started drawing. He was always careful with devil's traps. But he paid extra attention to this, he made it as detailed as he was certain of without going back to consult Bobby's books. He checked and rechecked. As Danny made his own circle in mystery sigils around the pentagram. 

"It's ready." He told the kid, who checked his own work. Then he plunged the plastic blade into the pumpkin. He said some words in a language that wasn't Latin, and slowly pulled the blade free.

The blade that emerged was not made of plastic. Dean didn't know what it was made of, but the embedded sigils matched the ones Danny had carved, and its blade looked deadly sharp. Once the entirety of the sword was pulled free, a storm began inside the pentagram.

Samhain had been exorcised from the body he'd possessed earlier. Now trapped without a vessel, he amassed into a roiling black cloud that thrashed against the invisible walls of its binding.

The storm spoke with thunder and static. Danny replied with the cracking of lake ice and the silence of an infinite nothing. 

And Dean understood. 

Rage. 

Betrayal.

Mocking. 

Demand: Return. Return. Return.

Mocking. Destruction's intent. 

Dean sees it. In a year's time, what was Fright Knight's will, will no longer be in transition. People will do as they always do, preparing in joyful tradition for a night celebrating youth and horrors that they do not have to fear. Factories will churn, parents will spend precious dollars or days crafting or both, people will carve into pumpkins and hang cobwebs and plastic imitation corpses— and they will all do so, not with the intent of warding away Halloween's Patron, but with the intent to welcome him. Such power will be Samhain's. There will be ruin unlike any humanity has seen before.

 Fury. Betrayal. 

Plea: Return.

Mocking. 

Acceptance.

"Dean, can I borrow your knife?"

The English words pull him back from... whatever that was, but not quite pulling him free. If he gives him the knife, Danny will have both it, and the sword of unknown power.

He responds with a ground scuff of readying feet,  the fabric rustle of a repositioned gun.

Danny nods, replies with a turn of the sword. He holds it by its blade, holding it out to Dean handle first.

Dean takes it. 

Danny doesn't let go for a moment. "Careful," he warns, "Soulshreader is bound. She will try to return to her master."

Dean tightens his grip on the handle and Danny releases her. Dean pulls the demon killing blade from his belt and hands it over in the same manner.

Danny steps into the circle with Samhain and Dean watches a demon die. 

Danny steps back out of the circle and chokes on his sobs.

[chertila3000]

Well, let's continue to add characters to the new universe, and Oswald is next in line. Oswald is one of the few spirits who has such a mask, capable of opening and showing his true face; this is not some special sign or privilege, but simply an unusual appearance.

It all started with the same damned village in which Oswald, his wife Ortensia and their many children were its ordinary residents. While all the other residents were wary and afraid of the forest, the rabbit and his wife thought differently. They believed that you simply shouldn’t cross its borders, and if you still had to do it, then you just need to follow the rules of this forest and then it won’t touch you, which was a very true statement, because the rabbit and his wife visited the “Witch Valley” more than once. in order to collect all kinds of herbs and berries for the children, and they always returned safe and sound, which could not help but strain the rest of the villagers.

But then an epidemic of witch hunts began, when any girl could be executed without trial or evidence. Ortensia also came under similar accusations, who was accused of returning from the “Witch Forest” again and again alive and unharmed, which means she is definitely a witch. They tied up the girl and decided to burn her alive at the stake. Oswald defended his wife as best he could, but the frightened and driven residents did not even want to listen to him and had already decided everything for themselves.

They were unstoppable, they grabbed Oswald along with his children and forced them to watch this terrible procession, during which the rabbit still tried to stop them, even lost his voice while screaming and begging them for mercy, but everything was in vain, and he , together with his children, I had to watch his beloved dear wife writhe and suffer from pain, burning in the flames. But then things got worse. Oswald and all his children were recognized as the witch’s henchmen and decided to be executed after Ortensia. The poor current widower, along with all his rabbits, was taken to the bridge, where he was again forced to watch how his children were simply drowned in batches in the river, like kittens that no one wanted. And only when his very last child choked and did not float up, he was sent to the bottom next.

The rabbit woke up in a forest familiar to him, where the witch was already waiting for him along with all his children. The guardian of the thicket explained to the rabbit what happened to them all, he just didn’t understand one thing: Why his wife wasn’t among the ghosts. Then the woman explained that Ortensia was burned at the stake in the square, and he and the children died in the river, which is the border between the village and the “Witch Forest” and nevertheless still belongs to him, and thus while the soul of his wife passed on to the next world, he and his children became the new inhabitants of the forest.

This information saddened the rabbit to the depths of his soul, he was ready to go crazy, the Witch already wanted to seal him in a tree as a violent and restless ghost, the situation was also aggravated by the children, who endlessly plaintively exclaimed “Where is mom?” don't drive yourself crazy. But time passed, and Oswald accepted his fate thanks to the support of the keeper and other caring ghosts. Now all he can do is wait for the moment when his children will be allowed to be reborn and maybe someday he will meet his wife again in a new guise.

His flower is the gladiolus, which represents the father. By the way, Oswald became the last ghost of the forest because very soon after his execution the village became alarmed and decided to burn down the Witch Forest, killing its keeper and incurring Bendy's curse.

[stellari-s]

heyoooo!, I don't know how to ask for a one shot so as not to seem rude... if you want, could you make an ithaqua x reader(survivor)?.

Survivor, she met Ithaqua when they were younger, because she almost froze to death in the storm in the snow and Ithaqua as a teenager helped her and took her to her mother to help her, after helping her for a few months the tragedy passed, Ithaqua sent the survivor away but she didn't Ithaqua knew that he was in love with him and Ithaqua never knew until,He arrives at the mansion with a letter saying at the end that he will find a person he left a long time ago, and at this point the survivor was still in love with him although a few years had passed, since Ithaqua sent her away to protect her from her deceased twin brother. Maybe Ithaqua will stop seeing her as a younger sister now as something different... I don't know how this is fluff or anguish...If you want you can do it? I'm sorry if I use the feminine a lot, I'm used to it but if you want to make it gender fluid, have a good day!

💌

hey, anon! no worries, it's not rude to request for a one-shot at all (｡･ω･｡) i tried to incorporate the things you mentioned to some extent but i hope i didn't misunderstand anything,, hope you enjoy nonetheless though!

request; yes, by anon! requests are open (with a bit of a queue), so feel free to send in your ideas 💕

wc; 1 113.

tags; gn! survivor! reader, pre-manor flashbacks, canon-typical vibes, ithaqua & reader sibling relationship, a bit of violence, some angst.

summary; the past is much like a dream in this cold and lonely place. by the time you can finally meet him again, it is under the circumstances you wanted the least.

everything feels like a dream.

yet, even now you can recall with striking vividness the feeling of the cold snow against your skin along with warmth from the company of others close to your heart.

nothing from that time was a dream.

yet, in this point in time when the coldness is a hodgepodge of pain and loneliness, everything feels like one.

the only proof you have despite your blurry memory is an amulet, left behind by your foster mother, who had raised you with a certain boy whose name you have forgotten.

gripping the amulet, you think back to the moment when your life was engulfed in a sea of orange flames.

screams made the flames waver back and forth, and seeing the woman who was allegedly deemed a “witch” by a cult led by someone whose face was identical to his, your breathing grew more uneven by the minute.

“this woman, a widow, is hereby a witch as declared by our god who bestows us with his wisdom,” he declared, a sick expression plastered on his face, “and thus here she shall now atone for her sins - may they burn to ashes.”

his words were like an order; with a flick of his wrist, a large group came in with torches and threw them inside. your foster mother was chained with nowhere to run.

meanwhile, your brother ran toward you. he stumbled a few steps, but then he crouched down before you, his hands lightly gripping your shoulders, perhaps in an attempt to comfort you amid the chaos.

“listen to me,” he said with a hushed voice, his wide blue eyes tinted with a slightly orange hue, “you have to get out of here, alright?”

“but what about you?”

“i’ll stay behind and save mother and get her out of this. but for now, you have to get out.” he almost sounded desperate at this point. “please, i can’t afford to lose you too.”

something tugged on your heart when you saw his expression and heard his voice, almost begging you to run away so he could at least be comforted by the idea that you were alive, somewhere he didn’t know.

but alive nonetheless.

tears started to stain your eyes and cheeks from the smoke and a mountain of emotions, but you found the strength, albeit barely, to stand up and run out of the house.

you took your amulet and ran, only daring to look back when the sea of fire looked like a faint warm glow.

the fire threatening to burn you is almost apparent, even now, sitting within this cold manor.

you look down at the amulet in your hands, gripping it tightly before loosening your hold, and then enveloping it in the warmth of your hands once again, desperate to keep the memories close to your heart.

right now, it’s your only way to cope.

you always dread that knock on your door with an invitation to another “game”. you know whoever is chasing you will don a distorted appearance meant to scare you. and the manor owner wants that. you have seen it all: a girl forcibly bound to a wheelchair carrying a chisel, a man with long sharp claws, spirits who reside within a cursed umbrella…

just who is going to be next?

that is the only thought running through your mind as you run through the dark woods. trees and bushes obstruct your vision, and eventually, you slip into a small body of water that looks unnaturally green, like some man-made light is illuminating from below.

you try getting out, but the water slows you down, enough that the hunter could find and catch you.

the encounter is brief - you can make out a mask, an axe, a lantern, but he is nimble and swings without hesitation. when your mind is yelling at you to dodge but your legs don’t move, you have to hit them before they finally fight against the water.

the axe lands beside you with a splash, and panting, you look up at that white mask.

for a moment, time seems to slow down.

everything in your surroundings seem to slow to a stop and lose its color as you look at the hunter before you.

your chest tightens; it’s as if someone had reached into your heart and slowly started stretching it from both sides. you are wide-eyed, unable to blink at this boy, who looked like a stranger out for blood yet so, so familiar.

that’s right… his name is-

the blade stops just short of your face. seeing it so close to you makes your heart hammer out of your chest - the hunter looking so tall with the stilts don’t help your nerves either.

“(y/n)?”

hearing your name once again coming from the person you miss the most, tears are beyond your control, your chest laden with pain.

yet, you didn’t want to meet him again here, not under these circumstances.

you wanted to meet him while viewing the first snow, or fall asleep together while mother sang a lullaby.

why did it have to be now, after mother was long gone? after happiness has long been broken?

you can’t bring yourself to stun him the entire match. you can only run away, avoiding that lantern’s flicker, until you find yourself back in your cold room.

lying on the bed, you look over with heavy eyes. to the side on a plain mahogany desk is the amulet.

next to that is a single vase, filled with pink carnations.

ithaqua, now alone in the room with no prying eyes, slowly takes off his mask.

beneath the mask is a perplexed expression, light blue eyes seeming to waver slightly.

he walks to the desk where a letter lays, the red flower-shaped seal ripped but the letter still folded neatly within. with nimble motions, he takes out the folded piece of paper and unfolds it, reading the invitation.

dear ithaqua,

i hope this letter finds you well. i’m writing on behalf of the owner of oletus manor to ask for your help with a rather large-scale experiment.

after some consideration, we have determined you to be a perfect fit for what we are looking for, so we would like to formally invite you to participate in a series of games for us.

of course, we will not ask you to do this for free. we will compensate you handsomely with any reward you wish for should you adequately complete what is asked of you.

if this offer strikes your fancy, we hope to see you at oletus manor, where a certain reunion may await you.

sincerely,

miss nightingale.

[thevampirediariesdiary]

DAMON/ELENA BRACKET ROUND 1.1C

1.22 Damon has just been pestering his brother (“It’s Founders Day! I’m here to eat cotton candy and steal your girl”) and Stefan is insisting that Damon needs to abide by his dictate that history not repeat itself. Damon says, “I get it, I’m the better, hotter, superior choice, and you’re scared now that Katherine’s out of the picture I’m gonna turn all my attention to Elena, but don’t worry!  Elena is not Katherine.” “You’re right,” says Stefan, “she’s not.” but Damon is already staring over his shoulder, at Elena in 1860s garb with her hair in perfect Katherine curls. she sees the brothers, and with a mischievous smile that could be for either or both of them, curtsies.

1.11 Elena prevents Lexi’s vampire widower from burning Damon alive by repeating what Lexi told her: “when it’s real you can’t walk away.” "well, that's a choice you're not gonna have to make," he answers. "Don't. Please, don't hurt him! Lexi loved you, and she was good, and that means you're good too. Be better than him, don't do this. I'm begging you, please." the attacker flings Damon aside and leaves. Elena rushes to Damon's side. unlike when she stopped Stefan from killing Damon (1.08), she’s truly saving Damon, this time. she doesn’t correct the misapprehension that she’s in love with him, she just begs for his life.

please reblog! for sample size and because it’s just more fun that way :)

[madwomansapologist]

Can I request about Agatha Harkness and how she fall in love the first time she saw R?

another magical girl in town | agatha harkness

Masterlist | Rules | Taglist | Library | More Agatha Harkness | AO3

synopsis: Agatha Harkness has arrived in a new village, looking for a new quiet and peaceful life. Or at least that's what she tells the neighbors. Agatha didn't expect that the perfect boring place she found would decide to burn a witch. Or that the witch wouldn't be her. [1K]

warnings: burning people alive. gn!reader.

ps: it took me some time, but I did it! hope you like it! i'm think I'm on my witchy fase because all I wanna do is write for those kind of characters. she's just a great villain. like she's bad, but she's also a bitch about it and thats perfect of her.

Agatha Harkness is a widow. A gentle, warm woman who almost lost everything when her husband suddenly died. No children, no husband, no family. It was only a question of time until such a young woman decided to move into another village and search for a light in her life.

At least that's what Agatha told them.

"Oh my," Agatha followed the woman's group with big smiles and kind gestures. "I don't think a widow should appear alone on important meetings for our village. I will stay at my house, please go without me. I don't wanna be a burden."

When they weren't looking, Agatha rolled her eyes up.

Her new house is settled way further away from the village's core, Agatha has privacy to study and to practice. That's why she's there. Stronger than ever, Agatha need space and time to evolve. Before running away, Agatha stoled everything from her deceased coven's library.

"We won't be interfering with anything," the leader of the group told her. Agatha can't seem to remember her name. Elizabeth? Sophie? Whatever. "We'll just watch the judgment."

That wasn't new. "Who robbed milk this time?" Agatha won't learn if everyone keeps trying to make her interact with the village's stupid matters.

"Oh, you don't know?" A blonde lady smiled. That's how she think about them: the blonde, the tall brunette, the short brunette, and the leader. "They gonna judge a witch."

But that was new. "A witch?" It took a lot of strength for Agatha not to laugh.

"Exactly," the short brunette said. "That lying maggot. I know honored women shouldn't be talking like that about someone..."

"But you're right. A lying maggot." The leader guided them towards the village's path. Agatha decided to follow them, curious enough to forget about her studies. "I saw the collection of books. The herbs. I've been inside the hut. And their husband died with poison marks."

That's why Agatha haven't even tried to like anyone there. They are so stupid. So blind. Just another person that would be judge without even knowing what a coven is. No one ever suspect that she might be a witch, and Agatha travelled around a lot of villages. They are sightless.

Walking around the village, a lot of groups move towards the trial. Even kids where running towards the streets. Fools. If only they knew about all the times Agatha used them as a guinea pig. Despite knowing there where no other witches there, Agatha didn't stop the women from leading her into the main square.

But hher blase attitude faded away as soon as she saw a stake mounted. Hay and wood adorned it. It scared Agatha. Two weeks ago there was a trial, but they declared the woman not guilty. There wasn't even a stake. They wouldn't burn her anyway, but now...

That made Agatha remember. And she hates when people try to mess with her mind.

They wouldn't burn someone, would they? Are they that blind because of their faith? The witch hunt has little to do with witchcraft itself, it's just a delusion of faith. They believe that people have lain with Satan. Or so they say. As far as she knows, the person who burns is usually someone who bothers others. Someone they would like to disappear. Witch? No, this is about feuds.

The square was crowded, but she could see the figure tied to the stake. Agatha could see the person writhing, could almost feel the rope burning against her skin. She didn't need to imagine it, she just remembered. Trapped in ancient memories, memories that seem like from another life, Agatha didn't even heard what the priests said.

She is not a person. Agatha has no problem admitting this. Agatha is not a good person and doesn't want to be one. Agatha longs for eternal life, full knowledge, comfort and security. Kindness is not needed for this. But this does not mean that Agatha is a cruel beast.

Going against everything she'd done for the last few weeks, Agatha decided to intervene. People of faith? She will let the stake be set on fire, and then will put out the fire. They will think it is an act of their god. A deity showing that there is innocence to be protected.

Heedless of the women, Agatha walked into the crowd. She squeezed, pushed, and with effort managed to move forward. And when she was close enough, she saw you. And suddenly she couldn't do anything.

Agatha is not a good person. She already understood that. She wasn't born to be good and settle for little. Agatha wasn't born to be a person who pleases, who cares, who tries. Agatha is not a good person but you made her wish she was.

No. It's not that. Agatha would like you to think highly of her. That maybe in another situation, another time, you would look at her and think that Agatha is someone you want in your life. Agatha may not be a good person, but she would be good to you.

Then they set fire to the stake. It burned slowly, but the fire spread. Your startled cry shook her to the bone. With the slightest movement of her hand, Agatha doused the fire. The priests would decide that God had forgiven their sin and it would all be over.

But it started burning again.

Agatha did the same incantation, but this time the fire didn't dim. It just swelled and swelled, getting closer to your startled figure. She whispered a spell, but nothing happened. Agatha closed her eyes and tried to look for which rune could stop that, but your scream made her turn her head.

You were burning.

Desperate, Agatha whispered every possible incantation. Nothing happens. You burned. You suffered. Fire covered your body. You were dying and she couldn't do anything.

How could she be so powerful, have stolen power from so many witches, broken all the rules of her coven, and be unable to put out a prdinary fire? Was this divine punishment? Was it some deity punishing?

Someone started to laugh. Agatha's blood boiled. Who dared laugh at such a moment? Who enjoyed the suffering and scourge of an innocent person? She turned around, searching for the fool soul. Who dares to do something like that when someone is dying?

Then the heat subsides. Agatha looked up and saw that the fire had been extinguished. The fire is out. And you where there, no longer tied to the stake, laughing. Alive. Not even soiled by the embers. You looked like nothing happened.

People started screaming. Some runaway, but most couldn't do anything but watch. The priest said something. He fall to his knees. Was he begging you for forgviness? Was he praying to his god? You stopped laughing. You silence lead the crowd.

"It's too late to fix anything", you smiled. And it was so beautiful. Mesmerizing. "Farewell."

A blue cloud spread from you. Slowly, perhaps just to scare even more whoever was there. Those who hadn't run finally began to move. Except Agatha. She recognized the spell. Agatha just watched it spread.

And as the cloud reached the people, they stopped moving. No screams, no pain, no torture besides the fear. The skin hardened, twisted, until it turned to marble.

Agatha could have stopped you. She could have canceled her spell. She could have done so many things. But she didn't want to.

While everyone else was suffering, you took flight. And of course Agatha went right after you.

GENERAL TAGLIST: @suakemi @notanalienindisguiseblink

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[fnaftalexreader]

lucifer relationship headcanons. gimme. rn. give. (please i beg)

Relationship headcanons for the boi himself! Lucifer x an unspecified reader!

All will be platonic, as Lucifer is canonically acearo in fnaftale.

Before the Fall

You are most likely a mortal of some kind he ran across, after running away from heaven

He thinks you're SOOOOOOO cool! (He also is very interested in every individual blade of grass, as he's never seen such things before-)

Bless his heart, he's stupid. Your friendship with him is a bunch of heart attacks-

"Hey, what's this thing?" *holds a knife DANGEROUSLY close to his face*

He is extremely oblivious, and innocent. The only thing that will keep him from hurting himself out of his stupidity or for his own amusement, will be your distraught face of horror or genuine sorrow.

He's only seen fear or sadness a few times, and it was mild. He's only felt fear and sorrow a few times in his very short life, and it was usually because of his father. He felt sad when his father burned his "imperfect" paintings, and he only felt fear when he angered him with his desire to play all the time.

At first, he'd be fascinated, and a little concerned over your care. Wondering why you're being really sad or really scared, when you haven't done anything wrong, or bad. You'll have to explain to him that you actually care about his well being, and you don't want him to be hurt.

Unfortunately, at this point of his life, pain is SO COOL! He doesn't feel much in general, as heaven isn't really stimulating. (Seriously, the inside of Caelum's palace makes white torture seem like decent interior design.) He was already fascinated by pain before he ran away. Flying into walls just to feel something other than constant mellow bliss. It was maddening for his creative mind.

He was a prototype angel, and that much is obvious when he's compared to his other siblings. While he shines brightly, he shines too bright. Literally, his name of Morningstar comes from the fact he becomes a purple, glittery flashbang when he's happy! He's also more childish, emotional, and intentionally ignorant. His father thought that would make for a more moldable tool, but it only proved to be a liability the longer lucifer was alive.

He'll try not to hurt himself around you, but he will pick fights with others to get that sensation. Hell, he might even fight you if you're willing to throw hands with him! He'd LOVE to fight you, but he'd let you win. He loves seeing people celebrate their victories.

He loves any sense of sensory, however. Hug him, snuggle him, cook food, play music, etc. He will ADORE you. You have pets? He LOVES animals, especially petting them. He's 15 feet tall, and his hands are almost bigger than you, but he has the precision of an artist. He's extremely gentle but very excitable with any new experience.

If you're ever cold, don't worry. He loves being cold, and his wings are warm. He'll gladly enjoy the cold air, while wrapping his wings around you like a fluffy blanket. Angel feathers are as soft as clouds, feeling like a mixture of silk and Maine Coon fur. They're really sensitive too, so if you pet them, he'll glow and giggle.

If you're friends with him for long enough for him to discover new forms of art, he'll most likely write a poem for you. Though it would be messy, and imperfect, with contradicting themes, but it would be about beauty in his mind. As everything he comes across is a wonderful thing.

"You are the ever changing breeze, the warmth of summer in your laughter, the cold of blizzards in your tears. You are the struggling fly in a web, and the widow that thrives by devouring it. You are the smell of fresh books, and the dust destined to cover them as you dance in my father's light. You are my blood, shining as you pour from my veins and the pain that comes with it, along with the knife responsible for the spill. An all consuming black hole, and a struggling star in its grasp. You are every wrinkle I have very counted, and every tiny hand that can't even grip my own. You are the parasites tearing at flesh, and the hero that slays it. You are everything I have met, and experienced, yet not the same at all. The beauty of the universe does not do you justice. You don't do it justice either. The beauty is undeniable though, like your soul."

If you cry over his way of saying he appreciates your existence, he'll try to burn the papers, to start from scratch, thinking that his work is imperfect. Stop him before he destroys more of his art-

You might be one of the first people that teach him about pride and self worth. Compliment the baby, he eats that shit UP-

He quite literally is a baby too. He may look like a muscular, large man. But he has pretty much zero experience in life. Baby stuff works on him. He will worship your key chain, jingle it. JINGLE IT DAMN YOU, LET THE BOI EXPERIENCE WONDER!

Personifying random objects will also work on him at this age, and it's a great way of keeping him in one spot. Tell him a rock looks sad and lonely, and he will sit with it for literal hours.

As the worst case of Sad Beige Mom, or in case: Dad. He needs colors. Paint with him. Paint his wings. He will love being as colorful as possible, and will become a literal beacon of purple light the more colorful you both are.

11/10, he'd be an amazing friend, just PLEASE stimulate him.

Time in Hell

Oh dear lord...

He's not the sweet baby boy he once was, and pain is no longer entertaining... his father, like with everything, ruined it.

If you're a sinner or a hellborn, he'll be much more openly kind. If you're a summoner, it would take a lot for him to show his true colors, as he acts "villainous" when summoned by mortals, in order to get food. Not for himself, but for his people.

Going with the sinner route, he'd most likely trick you out of the flames, if you're not a sinner for something stupid, like being of a different religion, or being a genuinely kind person that has no place in heaven.

If you're an actual sinner, the other demons will lie to you, saying that lucifer is foolish. While that is true to an extent, he isn't THAT stupid. They'll trick you into thinking that all demons are kind (they are), and that lucifer will think you're a demon that fell in the fires of hell and got all burned up if you ask nicely enough (he won't, but he'll play along. As he's done for centuries). Keep acting kind, and he'll continue thinking you're a demon and- Oh shit, you're redeemed as the kindness is a way for survival here! You need to care for others, so they care for you, and that's how you stay fed and sheltered here! Lucifer will eventually tell you the truth, that he was tricking you into becoming a kinder person, but he will give you a recent sacrifice or some fruit he managed to snag. As a peace offering, in case you get mad.

If you're a hellborn, you would call him Big Brother, as that is what demons call fallen angels. But he is THE Big Brother. The one who stood up to The Father. The whole reason why hell/Gehenna exists. And he'd adore you! No matter how tired, or how much pain he's in, or how worthless he feels, he'd make sure that your pain is always less than his. He'll make toys from animal skins and bones for you, make up stories to tell you, and will even sing you songs. His voice still as heavenly as an angel, his demonic voice always giving him a new and haunting way of making glorious melodies.

If you're a normal human that summoned him, it's going to take finding out about his kind nature, and coaxing him to show it to you. Think about httyd, and that's basically it. You are taming a large, scared person, that uses villainy to get what he wants (theatrical villainy, at least.) He is an antihero at the end of the day. Killing the deserving, threatening people to become better people, and refuses to harm children if he can help it.

But... what if you're a human child?

Then he is Luci, the Goat-Cat! He'll pretend to be your imaginary friend, to get close to you. To the youth that was beaten out of him... the innocence. He'll read you bedtime stories, play any game you desire, and even steal you away for the night to steal candy and ice cream from corporations. If your home is less than ideal, he will gladly eat your parents and take you to an orphanage. We won't leave your side, till you're either adopted, or too old to have an imaginary friend.

For more general headcanons/canons, here are some more things about him.

Cuddles do help with his episodes, grounding him into reality. After all, no one hugged him while all his friends were slaughtered in mass... it would break him out of it, albeit slowly.

He suffers from sever hallucinations, that would effect your friendship with him. Voices of people calling for help, flaming children, gusts of cold wind that aren't actually blowing... they only get worse and worse the more stressed and scared he gets, sometimes getting to the point where he is reliving his fall from grace, and the genocides that followed... over and over again.

He has the personality of a half drowned cat found in a wet bag of rocks beside a river, that somehow still has love and faith in humanity. He's a very tortured soul, in desperate need for love. He will not refuse cuddles, even if you're human. Just ask him first, and instantly you will have a giant, sad snoot in your arms.

He has a very brotherly way of treating those he cares about, ranging from gentle advice, to annoying the hell out of you with physical affection that denies you freedom.

"Oh no! It appears I have been cursed! Gravity weighs so heavy on me! Has Gaia returned, and angered with me?! She is pulling me. Down, heavily! I can't get up, what do you mean, I'm heavy?"

He also has extremely poor coping skills. He is cursed with worthlessness. He is the demon of pride, but he also has severe imposter's syndrome. Making him put other's above himself to an unhealthy degree

You hungry? Oh, then he will never eat and make sure you always have a meal! He doesn't deserve food, he's immortal anyways, not like starvation will kill him.

You tired? Oh, then he will refuse to sleep. Singing you lullabies that last hours, maybe even days to make sure your well rested. He doesn't deserve sleep, and again, he's immortal! It will only weaken and confuse him at worse. Not like not sleeping for your sake will kill him.

You in danger? He will attempt to sacrifice his life for you. Being immortal, he's a meat shield that will almost never falter. He's also very used to being a punching bag... so he can take several hits, a few.... billion arrows to the back (<- why I draw his back with so many scars. He canonically uses his back as a shield), swords through the heart... all he needs is his inspiration from the unyielding mortal spirit to keep you safe. His life doesn't matter, until he can be used as a tool, and he will use himself well.

This cripples him, however. The idea that he is undeserving of basic needs, makes him weaker in multiple ways, especially in the dark arts. He has the potential of being a powerful deity, one equal or even rivaling his father (to refinance Diablo, think Anu before tathamet was created. He and his siblings are capable of being on that level if they ACTUALLY FUCKING EAT-), but since he doesn't take care of himself, he can't even make a simple fireBall, let alone stand properly. Everything he does is out of force of will. His physical strength is nothing in comparison to his mental will. He's able to mask his pain almost perfectly, but will slip up with his words when he gets too comfortable.

Getting him to take care of himself will take WRESTLING and lots of guilt tripping. Cancel his guilt from over literal centuries, with more guilt over how awful he makes you feel over him not taking care of himself. Make him feel bad enough, he'll take a nap, and maybe eat a good meal. Do it enough, he might even get strong enough to do more for you! Which he will definitely do out of appreciation. He will use his reclaimed powers to give you feasts, riches, luxuries. Be careful to make sure he doesn't over exhaust his powers, and end up at square one again. He WILL spoil you, as no simple thank you will ever be enough for helping him regain some of his powers.

3/10 on the friend scale (what he would give himself at least- he is a 10/10, he lost one point because of how he hates himself, and uses his love for others as a backwards way to self harm)

After Ascension

This is the lucifer after his father's death, when he actually gets- *le gasp* medication and therapy!

He is much bigger, but is still able to become his 15 foot size. His new "normal" size however is a similar stature to his father: 165 feet. Though his true form is much, much bigger, able to cover entire planets. But he doesn't need to be that big to cover you in platonic kisses!

Very cuddly, very kissy, and very tired-

He has to deal with his 7,560,000 angelic siblings that have mentally regressed to that of really fucked up toddlers with homicidal tendencies, due to how many years they've been braindead, and forced to slaughter billions upon billions of demons.

But lucifer always finds time to listen to prayers and woes, and treats every word seriously... at times, too seriously. He literally has prayers and requests written down, filed, and he painstakingly goes through every file to make sure each prayer is answered.

If you are a mortal that worships, or is friends with lucifer you are welcomed to watch him work, which will just be him getting stopped from doing his paperwork every five seconds to pry tidepods and/or rats from his siblings mouths.

He gets super fat from finally eating consistent meals, and he grows thick fur and wool that is super soft. He also makes sure he's constantly cleaned, so he almost always smells like fresh lavender and figs.

Still won't complain about cuddles, but this time you don't need to ask! Go ahead and hug him, he'd always be there for you, unlike his useless father...

He'll cook you meals, and give you fresh clothes made from his own wool. It's strong too, so a sweater from lucifer can work as armor! It's also fireproof, many wins! Once you have a full belly and warm clothes, he'd also make sure you're comfy and that you have a soft bed to sleep in.

This is the most fatherly lucifer will ever get, and you WILL feel like his child. You might even accidentally call him dad a few times before you both make it a bit.

He will start telling dad jokes, as he babies and dots on you. He is a very hands on type of God, treating every creation like family.

No matter the age you are friends with him, he will see you as beautiful, as every life in his eyes: great, small, "pretty", "ugly" is beautiful to him. From the most terrible looking of bugs, to the most graceful of birds. From the grandest things in creation, to the most devastating of destruction, it is beautiful to him. You a ripple in the grand design, older than you both, and he will adore every second of your life that he shares with his own. After all, your kind was the only reason why he continued to live, when his life had no worth. Every mortal being is his will to live, his hope personified. The older he gets, the more loving he is.

∞/10 best friend. Your eternal soul is safe in his gentle claws, for the rest of eternity. No matter the hardships you face in life, the pain and suffering you endure, lucifer cheers you on. He will welcome you lovingly, when your time inevitably comes, but he will watch your every step before the great beyond as he does every other mortal: with pride. He is proud of you, and all you achieve. Even if your grandest achievements are just getting up, or managing to shower, he knows how hard that is sometimes.

"...child. you are the grandest art in the universe. Every little detail in the cosmos, is part of a grander tapestry. You are one of the many details I favor. No detail is my true "favorite" mind you. That would be cruel of me, to deam something lesser for whatever reason. But... what I mean to say is, everything about you, I have loved. Your first cry, as you announced your presence to the world... every tooth lost, with quarters in their places... I enjoyed watching each freckle on your skin form, as you played in the sun... I enjoyed watching you scuff your knees when you played, and how brave you were when you got back up... your every shower performance, I listened to with pride and closed eyes, as you have the voice of an angel much like my kin. I have not watched every second of your existence, or heard every word. This universe is vast, and there are so many that need me to love them... but every second I've had the pleasure to know you, before you knew me, has been a blessing someone of my rank in the heavens could never give. Thank you, for bringing so much beauty to the universe. I cannot wait until you are gently welcomed home, with your hair has grayed and fallen, when you reach the mortal's autumn. Years of warm smiles, leaving generous wrinkles... you are so beautiful now, and you will be beautiful then. Keep living, my child. Not a single second is wasted. Not to me... at least."

Edit: forgot something important!

Bonus stuff!

Angel/baby lucifer fluffy up his wings when he gets comfortable, so he would ge extra fluffy when cuddling you.

Demon and God lucifer purr, and they love belly rubs and chin scritches. His ears are sensitive, and only get more so after he gets furr. He also would purr to calm you down or make you feel better.

Lucifer at all ages kneads and chews on things, for different reasons. Baby Lucifer does it because of his lack of stimulation growing up, hell/teenish Lucifer does it to soothe stress, and god/adult Lucifer does it when he's content. He will make biscuits on your back, as he knows it will scratch and massage you at the same time. His love language is very touchy feely.

If you give demon lucifer pain meds, he will do zoomies. And he is VERY fast on all fours.

His tail is prehensile, and he WILL Carry you if you're really close to him. Wrapping his tail around you and his chest, like rope tying you to his underbelly. You will know what it's like to be a baby gorilla, without all the work of holding on for dear life.