#here they are. for better or worse. the creatures that live in my mind.
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your ask made me realize......i don't know any of your ocs (outside of RPG protags). tell me about them please? đ
ok i'm putting this under a read more because it's slightly embarrassing but not enough for me to not post it. i am also insecure about my drawerings. i'm working on it.
Ok so the only actual original ocs i have are revamped versions of ocs i had based off of toys when i was like 11. yeah... i'm owning it.... quarantine was a time for all of us. i used to have dnd ocs as i wrote my own campaign but they've been abandoned as a result of a messy falling out.
anyway these were like a branch off of a game my sister and our friends used to play when i was like 6 like a 2nd generation type of deal though that's only relevant for one oc. the premise is basically i had toy dragons when i was a kid and i was like "yeah they can shapeshift into humans" because that's the coolest shit when your 12. And when you're in your twenties and mentally ill you make it Serious.
so now it's like a humans hunted dragons so they didn't really come out of hiding but society is a'changing... there aren't a lot of not-shapeshifting dragons left.
it's not very thought out but dragon hybrids as i call them until i think of a better name (i won't) are split into 3 groups of views -
1) coexistence (main guys are here) 2) resent humans, either cannot shift or are ashamed of their human form. They either hide from humans or, if they have the means to, attack humans. They value pureblood dragons and strength. Because of this, they abandon runts and outcast shifters with a human parent.
3) believe in coexisting with humans, but believe their ability to command two forms puts them above non-shifters, so they should be ruling over them. Some humans agree and have devoted themselves to serving these shifters.
Also these guys go by 2nd names because humans can't pronounce the guttural dragon language sounds (this is my explanation for my less than creative naming system at 12). I also made like physical logistics for their human appearance but we don't need to get into that rn
this is Dramill [dray-mill] (he/him) which child Carly made up as a combination of Draco + Windmill (the toy had a tail that has a webbed bit, looks like a windmill thing, whatever). He is a water dragon (fresh water variant). His bio-family hates humans, he ran away as a teenager and accidentally became a leadership figure for coexistence after finding his found family during his run-away-teen-travels.
He discovered healing powers for water-elemental dragons, he is basically green Katara, except Dramill sacrifices his energy to heal the person. Minor injuries donât take much out of him. The worse the injury, the harder it is on him. If rushed, it is harder on him.
The first two members of Dramill's found family are Flame (left, she/her) and Smokey (right, he/him). They are twins and both raging homosexuals. If you couldn't guess, they are fire elemental dragons. Dramill found them after their mother was killed by humans and they were attacked a few weeks later.
Flame: Cold exterior, aloof, nonchalant nature, but has a good heart underneath. Too cool for you. Has tattoo sleeves on both arms, nose stud on the right nostril to match her twin's, undercut on the right side.
Smokey: Sarcastic, covers feelings with humor. Has several piercings: multiple ear piercings, double eyebrow piercing on the right side, nose stud on left nostril, nipple piercings, and a stud tongue piercing. All gold colored.
Last two members of Dramill's found family are Frost (left, he/him) and Iceberg (right, any pronouns). Biological siblings and, you guessed it, ice dragons. Iceberg was abandoned by their parents for being a runt; Frost followed his father on a hunch and refused to abandon Iceberg, so he was also disowned. Frost took care of Iceberg on his own until Dramill, Flame, and Smokey found them.
Frost: somewhat introverted and slow to trust others. Fiercely loyal and protective.
Iceberg: Not very good at fighting, doesn't particularly enjoy doing it. Has a lot of confidence interacting with humans.
Okay our first human this is the one i was talking about who is the daughter of Baby's First OC and her preexisting character husband. If you can figure out who the preexisting character is I might have to delete my blog. This is Mary (she/her) she is the daughter of a big name CEO and is set to inherit the company. Mary is confident and smart, which she has to be as she's somewhat famous. She stumbled across Dramill squatting in the forest that technically belongs to her father and eventually befriends the whole squad. She uses her influence to promote coexistence between dragons and humans.
And yeah, Frost is her love interest, this ship has been canon for like 15 years and now it's actually thought out dynamic wise
Next is Chadsworth (right, he/him) who was made as a joke character for 12 year old me but now actually has character traits. Early on his whole deal was he had a massive one-sided crush on Mary and was like obsessed with her. That still kind of happened but he was like 13 and is ashamed about it.
He grew up very poor and later entered the foster program. It was Not Great and he ran away, briefly living on the streets until he befriended a girl who was taking culinary lessons from a woman with fairly-successful catering company. The woman let him stay and he was very helpful with cleaning and chores; when he got a little older she paid him so now he cleans for a living. Chadsworth met Mary when she and her mom were picking up and order. They became friends, but Chadsworth soon developed an unhealthy crush on her-- that was less a crush and more idolization and envy of her life, but he wouldn't unpack this for several years. Frost fuckin' hates him because of this. Chadsworth later apologized to her and Frost but it doesn't matter Frost despises him.
As the picture gives away his love interest is Smokey which is a more recent development (thanks, the sims)
Last one this is JunTae (they/them) who was not in the childhood toys and made semi-recently. I was messing around in the sims... They weren't made to be Dramill's love interest but stumbled into that role. They are a shadow dragon from the forests around Korea (hence the name) who was born into a clan that hates humans. They didn't know any other way until their clan was fighting Dramill and them and Frost beat them up almost real bad until Dramill stopped him; Dramill healed them and they saw their found family dynamic and was like ??? They're like you know if you want to leave like look us up we'll help you, think about it, and eventually they did. Iceberg picked out the name JunTae
JunTae used to be scared of humans and is now curious to learn but still cautious. Good friends with Dramill and Iceberg. Self-conscious and anxious but wants to help. Calls Dramill "Millie" and is the only one allowed to (because Dramill's got a big fat crush on them)
#i had to take. screenshots. of the pictures to put in there because tumblr kept separating them to be stacked on top of each other#here they are. for better or worse. the creatures that live in my mind.#ask#miss-shydeer#oc: dramill#oc: flame#oc: smokey#oc: frost#oc: iceberg#oc: mary#oc: chadsworth livingston#oc: juntae
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You are amazing â¨â¨â¨
Do you have any feral Derek fic recs?? Especially if heâs stuck as a wolf?? Bonus points if Stiles thinks heâs just a big friendly dog đĽš
Hi, love! Thank uuu! I absolutely love feral wolf Derek, it always delivers. Here's a very long rec list, enjoy!
Waiting by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)
Not wanting to think on it too much, Stiles took a step forward and passed his hand between the bars, moving the bleeding side closer to Derekâs mouth. âNot too close, he bites.â Stiles snatched his hand away just as Derek had been about to lick at it. The snarl he got in response was not comforting. âHe what?â Stiles asked nervously, turning to Deaton. The man looked a little amused. âDonât worry, only if he doesnât like you.â âWell, he probably hates me, now!â Stiles insisted, turning back to Derek. He looked extremely displeased.
You're My Sanctuary by lilmissdaydreamer
The Argent Wolf Sanctuary. Itâs been Stilesâ dream since he was five years old to work with the wolves, ever since his mother took him up there to see the magnificent creatures on one of their âfull moon runsâ that the Sanctuary does once a month. The wolves are beautiful and much larger than Stiles wouldâve thought, or at least, the newest wolf is. The owner had said heâs a special breed. Stiles just didnât realize quite how special he is.
Stuck in This in Between by calrissian18
âYouâre not getting better, Derek.â And it was the first time heâd called him that since heâd realized he wasnât really.
The Feral Alpha by halcyon1993
Derek has lived in a half-feral state in the wilderness ever since hunters killed his family. When the hunters return years later, he gets his revenge and finds his true mate in one of the boys they were holding captive. He claims him immediately.
Safe Mind by LadyDrace
Derek goes missing for a while and comes back full wolf. Only problem is that his mind has gone wolf too, and for some reason the only one he'll allow near him⌠is Stiles.
Of Blood and Feral Wolves by Flicker_Ash
After Stiles is hurt in a surprise attack, Derek's wolf takes over and won't let anyone near him. Doesn't matter if it's Scott or a paramedic, when there's blood and no sarcasm, no-one's touching Stiles.
Light at the end of the tunnel by Lesatha
âCareful, Stilinski. Donât think you can go around telling me what to do, or coddling the werewolf.â âWhat does it matter to you?â âIf the feral alpha kills you, it will be my fault, as your supervisor.â Stilesâ head whipped towards the werewolf. He couldnât see much of him apart from his red eyes, always following Stiles. Crazy as it might sound, it comforted him. The werewolf wasnât the rabid animal Elis seemed to picture. He was just⌠hurt.
Feral by melofttroll
Scottâs yelling now as the Jeep comes to a halt, and Stiles ignores him as he clambers from the seat. The skid turned the Jeep completely around, and his headlights are pointed at something that is decidedly not dog-ish, or bear-ish, but very, very human. And by the shuddering breaths coming from the manâs chest, very much alive. Feral!Derek, Sterek AU
Lessons in Humanity by exclamation
Fleeing from werewolves, Stiles comes face to face with Derek, a werewolf human in shape but animal in his mind. Stiles is terrified of being killed, but it seems Derek has decided Stiles would make a suitable mate. Unfortunately, his idea of a romantic gift is a dead animal on the doorstep. Stiles must help Derek remember what it is to be human⌠and figure out how to explain his new werewolf stalker to his dad.
Throw Away the Key by mommymuffin
Stiles knew it was stupid to go to the huntersâ headquarters all by himself, so when he finds himself caught, he can really only blame himself. It shouldn't surprise Stiles when the situation quickly goes from bad to worse as the hunters throw him to a feral werewolf waiting to tear him apart. Sucks that it's Derek, though.
Thanks for Thumper, But I Prefer Cheeseburgers by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)
The wolfâs head whipped around so fast, Stiles felt like he was watching The Exorcist. Stiles wondered if he could just stand still enough to make the wolf think he was a tree. A very bright red and jean-clad tree. He doubted it, but one could hope. He knew it was a lost cause when the wolf turned fully, lips pulled back from its sharp teethâso very sharp, good fucking Lord!âand began walking towards Stiles. âI didnât see anything!â Stiles shouted, both hands out in front of himself and sweat instantly breaking out across his skin. âI swear to you! I didnât see anything! I didnât see anything! I wonât tell anyone! I wonât! Iâll keep this to myself, until the day I die! I promise! I promise!â
What I Did On My Summer Vacation by grimm
There's something weird about Beacon Hills that Stiles can't quite put his finger on. The way everyone in town knows his name the day he arrives. The way they insist the melancholic howling that echoes through the forest every night is just a dog. The way his dad denies getting a dog, even though Stiles comes home to find one sprawled across his bed, some big black thing whose eyes gleam red in the right light. The way that massive oak tree out in the woods vibrates under his touch, pulsing with sickly life. There's something weird going on in this town, and Stiles is determined to get to the bottom of it.
Hallowed Grounds by damnfancyscotch
Everything in Beacon Hills is the same when Stiles comes home from college. Well, except for the fact that he's a published author now, Scott is halfway across the world with a travelling circus, Erica's epilepsy has been cured, her boss offers him a job too, and there's this weird black dog that seems to be following him around just to judge him. Oh, and the murders, of course. But other than that stuff⌠totally the same old BH.
There Are No Wolves in California (Werewolves on the Other HandâŚ) by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella), KioFox
âIâm not calming down until you call animal control! I fucking saw it! There were fucking wolves!â âThere are no wolves in California, Mr. Daehler,â the principal said, sounding exasperated, like this was the third time sheâd said it to him. âWell clearly there are!â he shouted back, showing such a lack of respect for the woman, Stiles had to applaud her for her fortitude not to smack him in the face. âPerhaps you were mistaken,â she said calmly. âNo I wasnât fucking mistaken,â Matt insisted, sounding incensed. âNo way these were dogs, they were massive!â For a second, Stiles felt like the world had slowed considerably as those words wormed their way into his brain. Becauseâhe knew a dog that was massive. Honestly, heâd also brushed away the idea of the dog being a wolf because there were no wolves in California. But⌠what if there were? Holy shit, had Stiles literally spent his lunch break with a fucking wolf cuddled into his side while he pet it?! Good God, he was lucky to still have all his limbs!
Where the Real Beasts Are by kaistrex (weishen)
Crown Prince Stiles is gifted a direwolf on his eighteenth birthday by King Gerard I of Venatia. The only instruction? Never remove the collar. Stiles never has been one to do as heâs told.
The Soul Knows What the Heart Wants by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)
âHolyâshit,â Stiles breathed, Bacon stopping in what he was doing, still staring at him intently, as if begging him to understand, for someone to finally understand. Stiles felt like heâd been electrocuted and he leapt out of his chair, kneeling in front of Bacon and grabbing at his furry face. âHoly shit! Oh my God, are youâwait, holyâyouâre not fucking with me, right?!â Bacon let out two quick barks, which Stiles chose to interpret as âno.â "Oh my God, are you a real person in there?!â Stiles shouted in the wolfâs face, staring him right in the eye. He was still holding the wolfâs head with both hands, but Bacon dipped his muzzle in confirmation and Stiles officially lost his mind. âOh my God!â he shouted again, releasing Bacon to clutch at his own hair. âOh my God! Dude, for real?! Youâreâholy shit! Holy shit!â He didnât know how to react to this news. He had no fucking idea how to react. This was a person?! But how?! How was this a person?! People didnât just turn into wolves!
Rabbit Hearted by secondstar, Tsuminoaru
Storytellers were known for their talented tongues, their ability to weave tales and enthrall the listener. Their stories held weight, taken as truth as they were passed down from generation to generation. A tale of a cursed pack of wolves was one such story that Stiles had known since he was a child. Never did he think that he would become part of that tale, or that its weight would be up upon his shoulders. A tale of curses, sacrifices, and acceptance of one's inner self.
Being Close to You by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)
Realization dawned and Derek cursed himself viciously. How could he be stupid enough to forget Scott was a Werewolf? He could fucking smell him! Scott knew it was him! âStiles?â Scott asked uncertainly while Stiles started opening and closing various cabinets, looking for who knew what. âThatâs not a dââ Derek snarled and let out a loud bark, eyes glowing blue in Scottâs direction since Stiles couldnât see him from where he was standing. Scott scowled at him, moving closer to him and inhaling pointedly. âWhat are you doing here, Derek?â Scott asked, voice low enough that Stiles wouldnât hear. He wasnât listening anyway, still panicking and randomly opening things.
(You) Bring Out the Beast (In Me) by Ember
âShould I make out the wedding invitations?â Stiles swallowed his mouthful of soda.âWhat?â Lydia smirked. âWell, you and Derek have seemed awfully cozy lately. Just wanted to be supportive.â âOh, yeah, because thatâs exactly why I went into wildlife preservation.â He rolled his eyes. âBeastiality jokes.â +++ Aka the one where Derek is a wolf and Stiles is his trainer, and then magic and transformations and feelings happen.
A Boyâs Best Friend by KnottheWolf
Stiles was just having some âme timeâ when things escalated with his dog, Wolf. Or at least, he thinks itâs a dog.
"good boy" by quackquackcey
Stiles doesnât think his senior year can get any worse with his best friend turning rabid every full moon, until he finds himself stuck with a massive black wolf overnight that doesnât even like jerky. But on the bright side, the hot guy with the half-dying sister he met at the gas station seems to be in town for a bit, so thereâs still a chance that his senior year, his supposed best year of high school, isnât a complete lost causeâŚright? That is, if he can manage to juggle the sassy wolf that he takes care of at night and the hot guy that asked him out on a date for some reason.~ đşđ
Other fic recs: angsty fics | possessive Derek | historical AU | baby/mpreg | outsider POV | smut | mafia | hurt/comfort | magical!Stiles | Stiles gets kicked out of the pack | BAMF!Stiles + pt2 | alive Hales | omegaverse | witch!Stiles | creature!Stiles + pt2 | bad friend Scott | pack mom!Stiles | unrequited love | werewolf!Stiles | dark sterek | single parent!Stiles | arranged marriage | Stiles is underestimated | mpreg w/o abo | accidental knotting | jock!Derek | jock!Stiles
#sterek#sterek fic#stiles x derek#derek hale#stiles stilinski#eternal sterek#sterek fanfic#sterek fanfiction#sterek ao3#sterek fic rec#teen wolf fic#teen wolf fanfic#teen wolf fanfiction#teen wolf sterek#teen wolf fic rec#derek x stiles#hedwig221b replies
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Come running back to me
Request by @esposadejoyhuerta - babe, I tried, but angst evades me.
Summary: Wanda cheats on you and Natasha is there to help you heal.
Wanda Maximoff x F!R, Natasha Romanoff x F!R
A/N: Reader has Magneto like powers.
Thereâs something in the air that makes you restless as you walk down the streets. Itâs too calm for an autumn afternoon in London.
âBlonde suits youâ you say as you stop at a corner. Thereâs a chuckle behind you.
âThough Iâd fool youâ Natasha says, coming out of the shadows and standing next to you.
âIâm not easily fooled. Itâs nice to see youâ
âLikewiseâ the woman nods.
Itâs been almost two years since part of the Avengers have been on the run. Your abilities have made you an especially important target, so you spend most of the time hiding on your own. Divide and conquer.
âAnd how are things?â you say. Itâs been a month since you spoke with Wanda, and you donât know if Natasha knows.
âGreat. Theyâre about to get even betterâ she sighs. âIf you donât mind, we need to borrow Wanda. Could use your help as wellâ
âWait, what? Wanda is not with meâ you look at Natasha, alarmed.
âShe left two days ago⌠the same she always does when she meets youâ
âDid she say whereâŚ?â Natasha shakes her head no and you feel like throwing up. You canât lose her, not now.
âSteveâ the woman calls through her burner, but is interrupted. âUnderstood, weâre on our wayâ Natasha turns to you. âCome on, we have a leadâ
â
The joy of reuniting with Steve is short lived, because your mind is reeling with the possibilities of what could have happened to Wanda.
Was she captured by the US? Did HYDRA find her? Youâre not sure which one of those is worse.
You also think back to your last conversation. How you offered her to stay together, have your own place away from everything⌠a future in the middle of uncertainty.
Guilt invaded your mind. What if she was overwhelmed by your proposal and left to think things through?
âWe have an alien aircraft and four subjectsâ Sam informs. The four of you descend from the Quinjet, Natasha holding on to you. You set her down gently, and you both jump right in to fight the aliens.
Wanda looks at you with relief, and then a flash of panic crosses her features.
As you spot a cut in her forehead, your patience runs out, and you use the alienâs own blade to cut its head off. The weapon floats in the air as you manipulate it with your powers, sending it across the train station to knock down another alien that Natasha was fighting.
Thereâs an exchange between your friends and the creatures, but youâre too busy walking to Wanda.
Sheâs not alone. Vision is holding on to her hand, looking up at her as ifâŚ
No, that canât be.
âY/Nâ Wanda pleads when everything clicks for you.
Wanda and Vision, together. For how long, who knows, but long enough for her to leave you behind without a word. She risked getting caught just to see him, all the while you were the one putting your neck on the line to make sure she was safe.
âPleaseâ she sighs when you step back.
âDonâtâ you shake your head, going around the corner to hide yourself from the team. Leaning against a wall, you pinch the bridge of your nose, holding back tears. The feeling of betrayal burns your throat as a sob escapes from your mouth. You try to stiffle it, breathing to calm yourself down.
A hand rests on your shoulder, and you donât need to open your eyes to know who it is.
âIâm sorryâ Natasha says, wiping away another tear that rolls down your face. âIâm really sorry, Y/Nâ
âI can find my way back from hereâ you say after a beat of silence. You wonât spend another moment with Wanda.
âWell, thatâs not gonna workâ Steve says, joining you. Thereâs compassion in his eyes, but also a sense of urgency. âNew York has been targeted as well. Time to assembleâ
â
The trip to Wakanda will take at least 6 hours. This aircraft is smaller and slower than the Avengersâ Quinjet. You understand theyâve had to lay low and make the best of the resources they can find.
This also means youâre left with fewer places to hide from Wanda.
You go to the back of the jet, sitting on the floor. Itâs cold and uncomfortable, but you donât care. The silence is defeaning, Steve coordinating with Natasha in a low voice, Wanda reassuring Vision while you refuse to look her way.
âWeâre almost thereâ Natasha says after a few hours.
âI can tellâ you nod, stretching.
âHow?â
âThe vibranium. I feel it. Itâs a little overwhelmingâ
âHow so?â
âIâm used to sensing different materials that can be manipulated by my powers. Theyâre everywhere. But vibranium is so rare so itâs not part of my⌠filter. Iâm just not used to its presenceâ
âIs it uncomfortable?â Natasha says with a frown and you shake your head. She nods, placing her hand on your shoulder.
As you watch her walk back to the copilot seat, your eyes meet Wandaâs. You look away, swallowing to keep the tears at bay.
Once you arrive, the team meets, reaching out to everyone that can join the impending battle. You barely register the conversation, looking out the window. Itâs a nice view.
Thereâs talk about how to destroy the Mind Stone while keeping Vision alive.
âYou should destroy it while we still canâ he asks Wanda.
âBut youâll dieâ
Good.
Thereâs a gasp and you turn around, looking at Wanda. Natasha stares too, confused, which confirms that You didnât say it out loud, only thought about it.
âThatâs too much, even for youâ Wanda says.
âGet the fuck out of my head, then. If you want warm and fuzzy thoughts, maybe donât cheat on me, Wandaâ
The silence hangs in the room, and you leave, knowing your presence is only making it worse for everyone. Steve asked you to come and fight, not put on a show.
You stand at the first line of defense, next to Natasha, Steve and Bucky. As soon as the alien aircrafts show up, you bring them down, or make them crash against each other.
Once Thor joins the fight and takes over, you direct your attention to hand to hand combat. Using their own weapons against them, you keep the aliens at bay, clearing the path for Natasha and Steve.
âIâve had enough of youâ one of the aliens you saw in Edinburgh jumps, and theyâre too quick, punching you and throwing you across the field, leaving you out of breath. That and the exhaustion from using your powers for such an intense fight make you dizzy, and youâre not sure youâll be able to stand up in time.
Red wisps of magic throw the alien against a machine, killing them instantly.
âAre you ok?â Wanda runs to your side. Up until now, she had stayed next to Vision.
âIâm fineâ you lie. Sheâs about to argue with you when everything goes quiet.
Thanos, you hear someone whisper, and you immediately turn around. A chill runs down your spine as a gigantic figure shows up in the middle of the battlefield.
âIâm too tired to fly all the way there. Throw me and then get back to the stoneâ
âYouâre too weakâ she protests.
âJust do itâ
Wanda listens and you join Thor, Steve close behind. You close your hands in fists, so Thanoâs armour closes around his own body, crushing him. As Thor wields his axe, you pull away the gauntlet, throwing it to TâChalla. He carries it, putting distance between it and Thanos.
The creature letâs out a groan, throwing you against a tree while Thor pushes the axe against his neck. His arms shake with the force he is exerting, but itâs not enough.
Reaching forward, you use your powers to push down, moving the weapon further down his neck. You begin to see black spots, exhausted from the physical exhertion.
Thankfully, Steve shows up, delivering a final blow that separates Thanosâ head from his body.
Youâre too tense to let go, fearing heâll be able to grow a second head. Itâs only until Natasha runs to your side that you drop the headless body.
Out of breath, you fall to your knees, trying to stop shaking.
âAre you ok?â Natasha asks, inspecting every inch of your body.
âFineâ you mutter. Then, you bend over and throw up blood. âOk, maybe notâ
â
Shuri is next to your bed, checking your vitals. Sheâs been making her rounds between Vision and you. It seems like sheâll be able to separate the stone from the droid.
âHow is she?â Natasha asks, looking at you. Itâs been 12 hours since you passed out.
âSheâs stable. Her body needs to recover. It was overexhertion from exceptional use of her power, there are no other injuries. But I am told she can heal faster than a regular person, soâŚâ
âYeahâ Natasha nods, sighing. âSheâs strong. Iâm just worriedâ
âIt will be fine, agent. The price of saving the universeâ
You wake up the next night, in a dark room lit only by the monitor that keeps your vitals visible. You feel weak and thirsty, but you also know you have the get out of here.
Leaving the room behind, you walk out of the building when a voice stops you.
âYouâre upâ Wanda says and goes after you when you keep walking. âWait, what are you doing? You canât leaveâ
âI canât stay here. Iâm an outlawâ
âIâm sure that will change now that youâve saved the universe. Come on. You need your restâ Wanda takes your arm and you yank it away, as if her touch burns.
âDonât act like youâre concerned for me. You donât care about me at all, Wandaâ
âThatâs not trueâŚâ
âHow long?â you finally turn to her, and hold her stare as a tear rolls down her cheek.
âSix monthsâ
You nod, feeling like you might throw up again for a very different reason.
âHope youâre very happy with him. Goodbyeâ
âNo, wait! I didnât mean for it to happen⌠I didnât want to hurt youâ
âAnd yet here we areâ you mumble, wiping away the tears that run down your face. âGo be with him. Weâre done hereâ
You use the little strenght you have to turn invisible, hoping that will be enough to stop her from following you.
Still, Wanda stays glued to her spot, sobbing quietly.
âIs Y/N ok?â Natasha rushes to your room. âWhere is she?â
âSheâs goneâ
âWhy did you let her leave? Sheâs too weak to do anythingâ
âI couldnât stop herâ
âI wonder why that isâ Natasha bites back and Wanda glares at her.
âDonât talk to me like that, Natasha, you have no ideaâŚâ
âI do, actually. She risked her life to keep the government away from us. She was alone for two years while we protected you, Wanda. Youâre the one that screwed up here and itâs on you if something happens to herâ Natasha says in an even tone, as if sheâs bored with Wandaâs childish complaints. âYour precious robot is ready. Go be with him. The rest of us will clean after your messâ
Itâs been a month.
Youâre in Norway, in the middle of nowhere. No internet, radio or phone. Youâre clueless about what happened after the Battle of Wakanda and honestly, couldnât care less.
All you do is go around the forest, think about Wanda and hate her.
You miss her terribly, but itâs not like the other times, when you were apart, knowing youâd see her again. Thereâs no reunion or anticipation to hold her in your arms again. To hear her laugh and feel her lips on yours.
That part of your life is done for good. Thereâs nothing left.
The rain starts in the middle of your run, so you create a force field to shield you from the drops. As you approach the trailer, you notice the door is ajar.
Alerted, you go inside, ready to attack.
Natasha is fast asleep in your bed.
âHeyâ you nudge her with your foot and she grumbles.
âYou took foreverâ
âWell, thereâs nothing else to do around here so Iâm usually gone for hoursâ you explain. âWanna go for a swim?â
âThe water is freezing, are you insane? Oh, never mind, you are!â she punches your arm and you laugh.
âWhat are you on about, Romanoff?â
âYou left Wakanda half dead. And for a moment I thought you were, it took me forever to find youâ
âHow did you find me?â you wonder, taking off your wet sneakers, leaning against the wall while Natasha sits up, crossing her legs.
âMcDonaldâs security cameraâ
âI do love me some friesâ you sigh. âSo, what are you doing here?â
âJust checking to see if youâre okâ
âIâm aliveâ you shrug your shoulders. âThatâs about itâ
Natasha stares for a little too long, and you fidget under the intensity of her green eyes. You know what she means, but you refuse to mention Wanda or your break up.
âCome home with meâ she pleads, her voice soft. Youâre surprised at her vulnerability.
âI canât stand to watch her with that toaster every single dayâ
âTheyâre not in New Yorkâ
âWhere are they, then?â
âDoes it matter?â she challenges you. Of course, it doesnât. Itâs not your business. Not anymore. You sit next to her, bringing your knees to your chest.
âI was barely an Avenger, and the Compound⌠I donât know, Nat. I donât feel like I belong anywhere anymore. Especially in places where we were togetherâ
âWho said anything about the Compound? Iâm in my thirties, I figured having a bunch of roommates was too much. Iâm living in my own place now. And looking for someone to split the rent with, since I have very good taste and itâs in an expensive areaâ
âI thought roommates were too much for youâ you say with a smile.
âMultiple, yes. One, I can handleâ
You sigh, looking around you. Youâve been miserable and bored out of your mind. At some point, youâll have to live again. And if youâre gonna hate life, might as well do it in a city where you can get decent food.
âOkâ you nod, smiling when she extends her hand to seal the deal.
âYou better not leave wet towels in the bathroom floorâ she warns you.
â
âYou lied to meâ you grumble, giving the wall a second coat of paint. Natasha ignores you and you glare. âYou just wanted someone whoâd help you paint the place for freeâ
âAbsolutely not!â Natasha shakes her head no.
Except, maybe she left out how the apartment needed some work and there was nothing on it except the walls. Youâre being annoying, but you actually donât mind. This is the first time in your life where you get to decide how to live. It also helps to get your mind of everything that happened in the last month. When youâre assembling furniture and arguing over color palettes, heartbreak is not at the forefront of your mind.
You have not settled on a couch, so youâre still using the one you got from the Compound. Natasha insists that it doesnât have to be anything too expensive, but you keep saying a good living room is the soul of any great apartment.
âItâs not like weâre having a lot of people coming over, weâre both lonersâ
âAll the more reason to get a nice couch. We watch movies every night in the living roomâ
âIâm picking the movie tonight, by the wayâ
âYou already had your chanceâ you mumble. âThose privileges have been revoked for the rest of the weekâ
You had to sleep with the lights on after a marathon of all those Insidious movies she likes so much.
But still, you let her choose the movie because itâs nice and thereâs no point in fighting with the one person whoâs going out of her way to keep you company in your misery. After the movieâs done, she stands up, stretching her arms.
âIâm calling it a nightâ
âOkâ you smile, taking over the entire couch and covering yourself with the blanket. Natasha stares. âWhat?â
âYouâve been sleeping in the living room. Donât say itâs because of the movie, itâs been happening since you got here, Y/Nâ
âI⌠uhâ you scratch the back of your neck nervously. âMy room feels⌠lonely. Here I can listen to the sounds of the street. And sometimes when you go to the kitchen I hear your footsteps and feel less⌠horrible. Itâs stupidâ
âItâs notâ she shakes her head. âWeâll get a new couch tomorrowâ
âAlrightâ
âGood night, Y/Nâ
âNight, Natâ
â
People walk past you and you ignore them as you sit, Natasha to your right.
âPass the popcornâ you say and she pretends to grab something from the air, handing it over to you. âIâm not feeling itâ
âItâs a nice couchâ Natasha protests, trying to be patient. She has a feeling the couch is a metaphor for your love life, but youâre being impossible in your shopping trip.
âItâs not the couchâ you insist, pulling her up and walking around the shop. You mumble a number of things as you inspect different furniture. The color isnât right, itâs itchy, itâs too small.
âWeâre getting close, I can feel itâ you promise, walking backwards to look at Nat.
âWatch where youâre goingâŚâ
Too late, as you trip over and fall on your back. You yelp, landing on a cream colored sofa that feels perfect.
âAre you ok?â Natasha hurries over and you laugh, pulling her towards you by the hand. Itâs big enough to fit the both of you when you lie down on your side. âWow, this is greatâ
âRight?â you snuggle next to her, sighing. âWe found it, Natâ
âYeah, we didâ she smiles. âLetâs take it homeâ
You celebrate, hugging her until a store clerk comes by and ask if you need help. Natasha blushes as she breaks apart, confirming youâre buying it. Her hand never leaves your back as she speaks to the clerk.
âWe should celebrateâ you say as you leave the store, not dwelling too much on why buying furniture makes you so damn happy.
âIâd love to, but I have a missionâ Natasha sighs.
âOh. I understandâ
The universe might have been in danger, but the world -and the bad guys- certainly didnât stop. The Avengers were still operating, albeit with more freedom than before.
âWeâll do something when Iâm backâ she promises and you nod.
You can handle a day alone, right?
The apartment feels empty without her and you canât help but think about the past few months. You isolated yourself, then Natasha brought you back to the city, where you focused on fixing your apartment.
Sooner or later, youâd have to face the reality of your situation.
Wanda wasnât part of your life or future anymore. Sitting around doing nothing was not an option in the long run.
Which is why you show up at the Compound first thing in the morning, knocking on Steveâs door.
âNatasha wonât be back until later todayâ he says as you sit in front of him.
âI know. I wanted to talk to you about⌠coming back to the teamâ
âWeâd love to have you, Y/N. Your skills are incredibly helpful on the field, and weâve all seen that youâre very loyal. I know how much you risked to protect us as we were on the runâ
âI feel a but comingâ you say and Steve laughs.
âI just want to make sure youâre doing it for the right reasons. Because you want to, not because you feel like thereâs no other place to go toâ
âI think I can be useful, in a way only few people can. I mean, what am I going to do with magnetism manipulation? Work as a barista?â
âFair enoughâ he nods, leaning forward. âWelcome backâ
You have the presence of mind to ask him to hold off on telling Natasha, because you want to let her know yourself. It may be silly, but you make dinner and get her favorite wine as you wait for her to be back from the mission.
âWhat smells so good?â she greets, closing the door behind her. Sheâs out of her work clothes, wearing jeans, a simple white tee and leather jacket.
âI made chicken alfredoâ you say, moving the pasta around as you turn off the stove.
âSmells deliciousâ she looks over your shoulder, placing her hand on your lower back as she reaches for two plates and wine glasses.
During dinner, you listen to Natasha talk about the mission and how Sam and Bucky canât get along even after everything theyâve been through.
âIâm telling Steve to keep his boyfriends under controlâ
âSpeaking of⌠Steveâ you put your fork down, nervous all of the sudden. âIâm rejoining the Avengersâ
Natasha chews for a moment, sips from her glass and wipes the corner of her mouth. Once sheâs done, she sighs, looking up.
âIâm gonna kill himâ
âWhat? Who?â
âSteve! This is low, even for him. This is why I didnât want to leave for a mission just yet. I suspected heâd find a way to guilt you into thinking you owe the world somethingâ
âWait, no. Thatâs not what happened. Nat, listen to meâ you plead, reaching for her hand and forcing her to sit down. âI went to see him this morning. Maybe Iâm just⌠done with moping around and doing nothing. I canât go like this forever. Plus, weâd get to go on missions together, right? Or maybe not, youâll get sick of me, we already share an apartmentâ
Natasha calls for you, the way she says your name full of care and gentleness.
âIs this what you want?â
âYesâ you say, still holding her hand.
âThen Iâm happyâ she nods, smiling as she raises her glass.
â
Life is gentle, if only because you let yourself be. A routine develops, with training, missions, dinner and movies. Sometimes you go out, sometimes you cook for Natasha.
The constant is each otherâs presence. And whenever she has to be away on a solo mission, you find comfort in the things she leaves behind, like her clothes. She doesnât question anything the first time she comes back home and finds you napping in the couch, wearing one of her hoodies.
Natasha has also accepted every bouquet, commenting that it will look beautiful in the kitchen table. Sheâs right, but thatâs not why you buy them; itâs because youâre enamored by her smile as she inspects each flower.
Home takes on a different meaning. Itâs not just the apartment you share, itâs the mornings when Natasha comes back from her run with your favorite muffins; the days you find your favorite cookies in a grocery bag and those times when Nat insists on cleaning after eating whatever it is you prepared and she listens to you talk about your day as she washes dishes.
One day, as Natasha comes back from training new recruits, you greet her at the door. Her smile is gentle, but distant.
âI was wondering if⌠youâd like to go out tonight?â you ask, sensing this isnât the best time but you also know youâll chicken out if you donât do it now.
âIâm kinda tired. Iâll probably take a shower and call it a nightâ
âOh, yeahâ you nod, fidgeting with your hands.
âIâm sorry. Itâs been a weird day. My mindâs a messâ Natasha steps forward, reaching for your hand.
âIt doesnât have to be today. What I meant was⌠would you like to go on a date with me?â you finally look up, trying to decipher her expression.
Natasha smiles and you sigh with relief.
âHow about tomorrow?â
âSounds perfectâ
Thatâs exactly how the evening goes. Youâve shared so many nights together, but thereâs something different in the air. Itâs electric and it makes your head spin, craving more each time her hand touches yours.
âNext one is on meâ she promises when you insist on paying for dinner. You lean against her, until her arm goes around your shoulders.
âSo, thereâs gonna be a next one?â
âIâd like that, yesâ Natasha nod and you blush, practically hiding in her arms. She laughs, kissing your temple. The walk home is quiet, but not in an uncomfortable way.
Inevitably, your mind goes to your previous relationship. Truth be told, most of the time you spent with Wanda was brief and under difficult circumstances. There were never dates or any semblance of a normal life. Thereâs no way of knowing if youâd had worked out together. But, for the first time in six months, it doesnât hurt to think about what you lost.
You canât imagine your life without Natasha.
âOne episode, thatâs allâ you argue playfully as you go up the stairs, hoping Natasha wants to watch the show you were binging the other day.
âWe have an early morning tomorrowâ
âIâll make it worth your timeâŚâ you say, laughing.
âY/Nâ a different voice calls from the end of the hallway. You look back, your eyes meeting Wandaâs. Natasha doesnât seem as surprised.
âWanda, what are you doing here?â
âI came back a few days agoâŚâ the girl turns to Natasha, upset. âYou didnât tell her I was hereâ
âI was hoping youâd leave her aloneâ Natasha admits, avoiding your eyes.
âIs that really the only reason?â Wanda looks intently at the way youâre holding Natashaâs hand.
âWhat is that supposed to mean?â Natasha steps forward, but you pull her back.
âItâs not worth it, Natâ
âY/N, I just need five minutes. Aloneâ Wanda asks, focusing entirely on you. You can tell that Natasha feels defeated as you nod, but still goes inside without another word, the door closing behind her.
âFive minutesâ you say, crossing your arms. You miss Natashaâs warmth as soon as she leaves.
âI came back to say Iâm sorry. To say that I think I made a mistakeâ
âYou hurt me. I think that was a mistake, yes. Is that all?â
âThese past few months I⌠I have tried to convince myself that what I did was not so bad, or that it was meant to be between Vision and me. But lately, Iâve wondered if it wasnât only the stone. The connection was so strong between us, but now that the Mind stone is goneâŚâ
âNow youâre bored and coming back to meâ
âItâs not like thatâ
âWhatever it is, Iâm not interested, Wanda. Iâve moved on, worked on myself. Found someone who makes me happier than Iâve ever been. Iâm sorry, truly, that things didnât turn out the way you wanted. But coming back to me is not an option. That door is closed for goodâ
âOf courseâ she sighs, a tear rolling down her cheek. âIâm sorry for interrupting your date, Iâll leave nowâ
âWandaâ you call as she walks down the hall. âI really hope you can find happiness againâ
With that, you walk into your apartment.
âCan we talk?â you say, approaching Nat. She smiles sadly.
âLook, I understand. Wandaâs the one. Iâm sorry I didnât tell you she was here⌠I guess I just wanted to be a little selfish and have one date with youâ
You sigh, sitting down next to her.
âSheâs gone now. Iâm not⌠whatever it is I felt for her, itâs over now, Nat. Iâm sorry if I made you feel insecureâ you place your finger under her chin, making her look up. âI like that you sing while you wash the dishes. I know your favorite flowers are tulips. Iâd watch twenty horror movies just to see you smileâ she chuckles at that, reaching for your hand. âIâd do anything to give you a fraction of the happiness youâve given me, Natashaâ
âItâs hard to believe, thatâs all. Iâve never been easy to loveâ
âAnd yet, itâs the only thing thatâs kept me going for this long. Your love. Will you let me pay it back?â
âYesâ she nods, her nose rubbing against yours as you lean forward, kissing her gently at first, and then pushing her until sheâs laying on the couch. She pulls you closer, eager for more.
âI did say Iâd make it worth your timeâ
You laugh against Natashaâs lips, feeling how sheâs smiling into the kiss.
âLucky for us, we have the best couch in all of New York City, and all the time in the worldâ
âYes, we doâ you confirm, kissing her until youâre both out of breath. âAnd we have each otherâ
âThat tooâ Natasha nods, her hand on your cheek.
And youâd have each other, in the home you built.
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Have a Luigi and Bowser idea that lives in my head rent-free...
I wrote it down quickly and half asleep. I hope you can read it.
Find more Little Turtle here!
Little Turtle
At the age of 11, Luigi started losing his eyesight and became blind within one year.
Luigi is 24 now and lives with his twin brother Mario.
On his way home from university, Luigi reached their backyard and stopped in his tracks as he heard Mario... 'cursing'?
"Mario, are you alright?!" the younger twin shouted, ready to open the gate, as he stopped.
"Lu, you're home already? Wait, wait, wait, don't come in! There is a huge animal somewhere!" Mario sounded nervous.
Luigi paused. "A huge animal?"
"Y-yeah! Maybe you'd better take another walk until I get everything under control!"
That was weird, Luigi thought, but okay. He could come back later... at that, he closed the fence, ready to head anywhere else but stopped in his tracks, when he felt a warm breeze at the back of his head and neck...
Luigi's hands shook ever so slightly. This was no breeze. Someone or something stood behind him, breathing in his neck.
"H-hey." the young man started. "A-Are you the one m-my brother is talking about?" He turned around, slowly, his knees shaking like jelly.
"Do you mind if I take a look of you? ...I mean not look - look, I obviously can't see you, but I mean -" he held up his hands. "I can 'look' at you with my hands... if that's alright with you, that is..."
A short silence, then a snuffle can be heard, and for Luigi, it feels like permission. The young man smiled and reached out.
Something warm and soft brushed against his fingertips, and he gasped.
"Ah. There you are."
('How to train you Koopa King' lol)
Mario was searching for anything he could use as a weapon... how could this be?!
He was cleaning the living room - what he hated, but was forced to do since he lived with his blind brother.
The last time Mario decided to clean the floor 'later' , Luigi almost broke his arm.
Inside their home, Lu was swift on his feet. He knew where everything was, knew how many steps between every single piece of furniture were. And that day, he walked fast as always and fell hard over a box Mario left there on the floor. Thank the stars nothing worse happened, but Lu was forced to wear a cast for weeks nonetheless.
While cleaning, Mario took a look out of the window, and there he saw it.
A giant... Teenage... Mutant... Ninja... Turtle... thingy in the middle of their small piece of lawn. Mario freaked out and ran into the kitchen - looking for a knife or anything else he could use, while having his cellphone tugged between ear and shoulder.
The line beeping...
Mario cursed.
Then... did he just hear Luigis' voice?!! From the backyard???!!!
He had to get him away from there! So he yells at him to take another walk.
The line is still beeping....
Mario grabbed the knife and ran back into the living room. Taking another look at the garden, he panicked when he saw his baby-bro in the claws of this THING! Fighting for... his life? .... squishing the face of this... creature... thing...
Mario burst out of the door, screaming in horror.
"LU!!! NO!!!!!"
Luigi carefully touched the face in front of him. It was not human, that he could say at first touch. It was huge. Soft. He couldn't stop himself, and he squished the huge muzzle. The creature didn't flinch. Then he heard his brother behind him, screaming in horror.
"It's fine, Mario! He's nice. And I'm almost done here! Luigi stroked over the big creatures nose and felt something... smoll and even softer than the rest of the face... A scar?
"Ah!" Luigis face lit up. Could it be? After all these years... how! Why?
"Is that YOU, my little Turtle?!"
"'Little Turtle'?" Mario asked, dumbfounded.
And the line was still beeping...
Luigi turned the direction he thought Mario to be. He beamed.
"I told you about him! Don't you remember? Back when I fell down the street drain!"
-----
Luigi was 12 and just lost his eyesight completely. He had a very hard time and ran from home after an argument with his parents. Of course, he got lost immediately. The rain was pouring, and he fell down a barely secured street drain.
Down there, he crouched against the wall, trying to ignore the pain in his head from his fall, crying his eyes out. The other moment, Luigi heard another sound... whining?
The boy held his breath, trying to listen over the loud splashing water. Again.
"Hello?" Luigi crawled in the direction of the sound. "Do you need help? Are you lost too?" The next thing he felt was something hard. A... shell? A Turtle? "Are you hurt?" Luigi pet it carefully, searching for anything that might feel like injuries. He felt the animal shiver and whine under his fingers. "Don't worry, my little Turtle. I'll take care of you." There was a deep scratch close to the 'nose' and an open wound on its leg. The boy took off his scarf and tied it around the wound, then he took the animal on his lap. Under his hand, he felt... horns? And... hair??? Also, the little 'Turtle' was bigger than expected... odd.
Luigi talked to the little creature for hours, rocking them both until they fell asleep.
Hours later, Luigi was found by some workers. He must have slept for some time now, and when he woke, the turtle was gone...
-----
"I told you about him back then!" Luigi explained.
Mario looked at him in disbelief. "Mum and Dad always said you hit your head down there! Or you were too old for an imaginary friend... HOW do you know it's him?"
At that, Luigi went silent. "I just know it..." Then the younger twin felt something tug his hand...
Mario gasped loudly. The giant 'turtle' opened Luigi's hand and laid something inside.
Luigi felt some sort of cloth.
"Lu!" Mario shouted, excited. "That's it! That's the scarf you lost back then!"
Someone picked up the phone...
"Animal Control. What can I do for you?"
#bowser#luigi#super mario#super mario bros#mario#blind!luigi#luigi is blind#bowser fanart#luigi fanart#mario fanart#super mario au#comic#fanfiction#quick idea#digital painting#drawing#digital art#clip studio paint#digital drawing#bowuigi fanart#mario and luigi#luigi and mario#not really a ship this time#luigi my beloved#bowluigi#fanart#i swear to gawd i HATE drawing bowser#why is this SO hard for me#bowuigi#super mario bros au
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Ask: hi, could you write something about barty with the prompt c5. ("there will not be a day where i am not there for you") like he receives a letter from his dad and u can tell something is off ab him and comfort him ? thank youu
Words: 1.4k
Warnings/tags: gn!reader, implied mental health struggles on barty's front, barty isolating himself, hurt/comfort, romanian!barty, general fluff and unconditional love
Note: this request is super old, i'm terribly sorry lmao, but better late than never? barty deserves all the love<33
You had not seen Barty in 5 hours.
Considering that the boy usually seemed to be attached to you by some invisible 5 metres rope, you were growing increasingly concerned. Your poor cheeks were being gnawed off at record speed, and you knew he would chide you for âmaiming his loverâ later, but you had other priorities at the moment.
Between your last two lessons, he had slipped off down some hallway and never returned. You paid it little mind to begin with, Barty often ran off on spontaneous, perhaps reckless adventures. It was in the whole schoolâs best interest to just let him, saving all your questions for when he comes back, demanding stories of his grand escapades â because he always came back to your side quickly.
When he didnât show up for dinner, your worry thus began to settle despite your trying to fight it. Sometimes he did skip dinner for an array of different reasons, but he always notified you. Throughout the meal your thoughts wandered off, all yearning for him, but you knew how much he would scold you if he found out you skipped dinner for him.
You would hold it against him, if he was not the first person to admit he was being a hypocrite.
You clung onto hope that you would find him in his common room or his dorm afterwards. When you opened the door to his dorm only to be met with their shared snake, Nova, as the only living being in the room, you finally allowed yourself to give in and accept defeat.
Barty was missing and you were worried.
Behind you, the tell-tale sounds of Regulusâ dance-like steps alerted you to his incoming presence. âReg,â you said, poking your head out to catch his attention. âBarty hasnât told you where heâs off to?â
Regulus gave you a bit of an odd look as he passed you in the doorway. âDoes he ever?â
You gave him a look that hopefully said yeah, thatâs fair before you straightened up once more. âWill you tell me if you see him?â
âIf I see him, heâll be here.â Regulus was clearly not in one of his more chatty moods. This time you gave him a look you knew said play nice. He sighed. âIâll let you know, yeah. Iâll ask Evan too, when he gets here.â
You gave him a rueful smile. âThank you Reggie, this is why youâre my favourite.â
âYeah, yeah,â he grumbled as he laid down on his bed to read. You had enough wits about you to close the door before you left, not wanting a stinging curse to be thrown after you down the hallway and doubly not wanting Barty to get revenge on Regulus for doing so. He always found out somehow.
This was not Bartyâs first time disappearing, nor did you suspect it would be his last. You usually had a list of reasons why he might run off and places to look for him if he did.
Had he been in a particularly jittery or theatrical mood, you would have been worse off, as he quite literally could be anywhere where he might cause the most damage and drama. Usually you would begin in Gryffindor or the Care for Magical Creatures classroom, but thankfully you did not have to resort to those measures.
Because Barty had been in a very distinctive restrained mood that only you and a select few of his friends ever seemed to be able to decipher. When you first met him, you thought that mood meant he was annoyed somehow â now you knew that when Barty was truly irritated, he grinned like a maniac.
This almost stoicness meant only one thing; Barty was feeling vulnerable. Maybe even defeated.
Which quickly limited his hiding spots to places where he could grasp at some privacy without feeling trapped. Considering that the last time he tried to hide away in the prefectâs bathroom, he got caught by none other than James Potter, the poor sod, you narrowed your best bet down to the Astronomy Tower.
Led by a gut instinct and a mouthful of compassion, you scurried up the hundreds of steps needed, hoping to find him and not accidentally stumble in on some awkward attempt at a date between some fourth years.
When you tried to turn the handle to the Astronomy Towerâs door only to find it to be magically locked, you knew you were right in your judgement.
âBarty? Are you in there, love, itâs me?â you called through the door, aiming at making your voice as steady as possible. He hated being treated like he was fragile, at least before he was curled up in your arms.
The faint buzzing sound in your ears alerted you to the fact that he had thrown a muffliato over the room, meaning you wouldnât hear him if he replied. He could still hear you, though, so you tried your luck further.
âItâs alright, B. Iâm here.â You hoped to Merlin he could hear the love and reassurance dripping from your words.
The whirring sound was interrupted by a faint click as the lock was opened. Taking extra precautions, you looked behind you to ensure you would be alone and slipped in through the door, locking it behind you once more without looking.
Fresh air filled your lungs the second you stepped into the tower â one of the reasons why it was such a great place to escape to when feeling anxious or down or both. Your heart was similarly filled when you saw Barty sitting in a large windowsill with his knees pulled up to his chest, staring out with an empty gaze.
âHi there, lovely,â you said rather cheerily, making your relaxed state penetrate the atmosphere of doom that followed Barty on these days.
You walked over and went to lift yourself up into the windowsill, only for Barty to break free of his trance for a moment to take your hand and elbow and help you navigate carefully until you were seated across from him, legs entangling with his own. He let out a breath. âHi, DragÄ.â
You smiled carefully at him, settling into your place and letting the cold from the window seep in through your clothes without a bother. You leaned forward so your body was bent in half to rest your chin on his propped up knees, giving you a perfectly clear vision of his face. âDo you want to talk about it?â
âI donât want you to have to talk about it.â
Barty always did that when something was wrong â denying you of any responsibility or option to help, assuming it was below you to do so. After a few years attached at the hip, he had learned he could not make you ârealise you should leave his arseâ, but he would still aim to shield you from himself on these days.
Other days, he would do anything to make you not realise, desperate to claw you to himself. A boy that contained multitudes, each one equally lovable in your opinion, to which he called you horribly insane.
âAt least weâve got that in common, babe.â
âI donât have to do anything,â you reassured quietly, chin moving against his kneecaps. âI really do want to, though. Be there for you, I mean.â
His gaze met yours, softening at the authenticity and affection surely plastered all over your face. He brought a previously dead hand up from beside him to stroke his knuckles over your left cheek, moving them backwards into your hair. âYou always are, arenât you?â
You let your smile widen at him embracing your care. âThere will not be a day where I am not here for you, B. Whether you want me to or not.â
His eyes flickered with a vulnerability only you ever saw. The next thing he said was so meek that you almost didnât catch it, but flowers bloomed in your stomach when you did. âI want you to.â
You reached your own hand up to catch his in your hair and brought the inside of his wrist towards your mouth to press slow, gentle kisses to it. âIâm glad, lovely. Now spill.â
#barty crouch junior#barty crouch jr#barty crouch junior x reader#barty crouch junior x you#barty crouch junior x y/n#barty crouch jr x reader#barty crouch jr x you#barty crouch jr x y/n#barty x reader#barty x you#barty x y/n#barty crouch junior fic#barty crouch junior fanfic#barty crouch junior drabble#barty crouch junior fluff#barty crouch junior hurt/comfort#barty crouch junior imagine#barty crouch jr fic#barty crouch jr fanfic#barty crouch jr fluff#barty crouch jr hurt/comfort#barty crouch jr drabble#barty crouch jr imagine#barty fic#barty fanfic#barty imagine#barty drabble#barty fluff#barty hurt/comfort#romanian!barty
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Reunited
Agatha Harkness x Reader
Word count: 1.4k
Notes: Angry mob, mega fluff, soft!Agatha (potentially ooc)
Summary: Though you have lost your powers, you still find yourself subject to the hardships of being a witch, as an angry mob chases you out of town. As you run, you remember that Agatha lives in the area, hopefully she's home.
An: Very soft, kind of short, self indulgent fluff. As always likes, reblogs, replies, and asks always are always welcomed 𫶠(not proofread)
Masterlist
You could feel your heart beating in sync with your feet touching the ground. Your breaths were being forced out of your mouth, as the cold night air glided across your skin. Your arms, pumping faster than they ever had before as you ran.
The sound of the mob behind you never dulled, no matter how fast you thought you were going.
You knew better than to turn around and check, it would only make you split your focus. The destination you had in mind was quickly approaching, but part of you was hesitant.
There was a chance the witch no longer resided in that area. It had been years since you had seen her, but she was your only hope. The ruins she had in place would keep the angry mob from getting to you.
You were a witch without power and the townsfolk knew that. You were no threat to them like this, they were just naturally violent creatures.
There had been an incident at the market, where they thought they saw you doing magic. You denied, but the bigger the crowd got, the worse your nerves got. You took off and they followed behind you; torches and pitchforks in hand.
You smack into something while running. At first you believe it to be a tree, but you see nothing ahead. It looks like more forest, but you are physically unable to go through the barrier.
She was still here.
âAgatha, Agatha, please itâs me, Y/n. I donât have my magic, this mob is chasing me, please,â you whisper, against the field.
You hear their footsteps getting close and you go into full panic, abandoning your quiet tactic.
âAGATHA PLEASE!â You begin banging the invisible force, the sound echoes through the woods.
At your cry, you can hear them pick up speed and charge towards your direction.
âWITCH!â
You turn around your back leans against the field as your chest heaves in distress. Youâre helpless as the crowd begins to pour into your space. Fear has never felt so strong in your body.
They begin to corner you, pitchforks and torches point at you from all angles. Before any physical harm can be done, you feel yourself being yanked backwards into the protected area.
The adrenaline wears off when you feel a strong arm wrapped around your torso. Your legs give out, but the person continues to hold you up.
âYou ok, doll?â
Her voice feels like a sanctuary in the moment. The simple question overwhelms you quickly and you begin to break down. Tears stream down your face and you begin to sob.
Agatha turns you around to face her. She uses her free hand to smooth some of the hair on top of your head.
âYouâre safe now.â
You lean against her clutching her shirt. She lets you for a little, before making the executive decision to carry you inside.
She goes to lay you on the couch, but you refuse to let go of her.
âLet me take care of the mob, and Iâll be right back, ok? It wonât take long.â
She looks at you for approval. Maybe if this was years ago, you wouldâve told her no or tried to stop her, but you didnât have it in you anymore. Your large eyes were bloodshot from the crying and your legs were sore from the running.
You comply as she sits you on the couch this time, âOk.â
Agatha was surprised at your lack of argument. She didn't dwell on it long before heading out of the home.
It was true, whatever she did was quick, no longer than 5 minutes. You had curled far into yourself by the time she came back. Your feet dug into her couch as your knees were pulled to your chest, with your arms locked around you.
âY/n,â your name was soft on her lips.
You look at her, tears still in your eyes, âIâm sorry, I didn't know where else to go. If you got rid of them, I can leave.â
Agatha sits next to you, âGo where hun? Back to the village, to the cold of the forest? You can stay with me for a long as you want.â
âI canât, I don't have anything to offer you,â you try to curl further into yourself, which seems nearly impossible.
Agatha grabs your hand, âI'm not asking for anything in return.â
âB-But-"
âDoll, I want you to stay,â Agatha lets out a sigh.
You meet her blue eyes, âWhy?â
âI missed your company,â she speaks truthfully.
You blush at her honesty, diverting your gaze, âI missed you too.â
You subconsciously scoot a little closer to the woman. She takes the initiative, pulling you fully into her. The movement startles you at first, but her warm embrace calms you.
Your legs are on either side of hers, while your head rests in the crook of her neck.
âWhat happened to your magic?â
You deflate at the question, wishing that you could hide from it. Agatha uses her free hand to gently cup your face, coaxing it out of her neck. Her thumb moves gingerly across your cheek a few times.
You focus on that feeling when you speak, âSometime after our last encounter, I went looking for a coven. Thought Iâd have a better chance of surviving in a group. I found one, thought they were kind enough, I thought so at least. One day we camped out somewhere, when I woke up, they were gone and so was my magic. Iâm lucky I'm not dead.â
âIâll find them, take care of them for you doll.â Agathaâs words were calm, but you could see the fire behind her eyes.
You place your hand over hers, âIt doesnât matter anymore Ags.â
âWe should've never parted ways,â Agathaâs eyes pierce through yours.
You cast your gaze down, âI was only ever slowing you down.â
She shakes her head, âSometimes I needed it. I was reckless, but I would never admit it until youâd say it.â
You could feel her eyes drop down to your lips. Her loose grip on you, tightening slightly.
âAgatha,â your voice a quiet breathless warning.
Her eyes go back to yours, âHmmm.â
âAre you sure?â Your voice portrays your insecurities.
She pulls back some, âWhy wouldnât I be?â
You try to look away, but her finger hooks under your chin, âIâm not useful anymore, Iâm just some powerless girl.â
She searches for something across your face, âYouâre so much more than your magic. Youâve always been more than your magic.â
âAnd you still-â
âIâve always wanted you Y/n, nothing is going to change that,â her voice is unwavering as she speaks.
You blush at the conviction in her tone. You nod subtly and cautiously lean forward. Your eyes drop to her lips. Agatha is certain when she eagerly leans in to meet you.
Her lips are softer than you remember or maybe she's just being delicate with you. Her touch, her movements, everything feels like she is breathing life into you.
It's partially because she is. Her fingertips were slightly pressed against yours and she was passing small doses of her magic into yours.
She was the one to pull away first, longing to look into your eyes. When you open them, your amber irsises greet her. The twinkle in your eyes pull a smile at the end of her lips.
âDid you just? Agatha I canât, take it back. This is âŚâ
âMy way of apologizing. We should've stayed together. Itâs my fault you lost your magic, so it only makes sense I put it back.â
âYouâre always so different with me,â this time itâs her that blushes under your stare.
âWhat can I say doll, you bring it out of me.â
You toy with the collar of her shirt. A nervous habit you have always indulged in.
âWhat is it, Y/n?â
Though you feel shy, your eyes flicker to her's, âI have never loved anyone the way I love you.â
Her eyes soften more than they ever had before, âI love you too.â
This time you take the initiative to peck her lips. She chases your lips as you pull away. You continue giving her small pecks until you are in a fit of laughter.
Agatha smiles as she listens to your laughter, but she continues to kiss other parts of your face, eventually trailing down to your neck. The vibration of your laughter in your throat tickles against her lips.
Now itâs her head that rests in your neck. Your hands tangle into her hair, playing with the ends.
âThe terrifyingly sinister witch killer is just a big ol' softy.â
She shakes her and places one more kiss on your shoulder.
âOnly for you.â
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Hmm, how about your favorite overwatch characters with a tall reader?
Overwatch characters with a tall reader, featuring Ramattra, Junkrat, and Mauga
warnings: nsfw ahead! mentions and displays of size kink, dom/sub dynamics, nudity, degrading, sex, hatesex, masturbation etc etc
a/n: heyyy, anon! IâM SO SORRY IT TOOK THIS LONG *sniff sniff* Thanks for requesting and I hope you enjoy it!! I will take this very opportunity to be a bit⌠naughty and make this hcs nsfw flavored (maybe these will be the ones making me less self conscious of my smut writing⌠weâre hoping so). Also!! Will write for different characters this turn, despite Ramattra ofc; heâs my soulmate, I canât help but simp. *maybe I will do a version with Junker Queen, Ashe aaaand Ana later, rn I just wanted to give you this piece dkwajfk **reposting bc i guess my stupid try of posting during the afternoon plus being aesthetic FAILED KJDWKAF
OPEN FOR HEADCANON REQUESTS! Send yours here, but me mindful of my rules (I may write for other characters other them the listed if you ask nicely)
!! NSFW UNDER THE CUT â ď¸ MINORS DNI
Ramattra
He was built to be tall, standing above the tropes as Anubisâ commander of a deadly army; a living weapon in all meanings. So itâs an admirable surprise to find someone who, despite not matching his fully extension, can almost face him directly
He finds it⌠a bit challenging at first, also because you do challenge him with the unnerving comments you call opinions, and itâs so much worse when it ends up you were right all along
A human, who should be inferior to him not only in intellectual aspects, but in constitution as also, and itâs none of it at all? I mean, big fella is so mad at it that itâs actually a shame how much he gets turned on by all this hatred
And as despise grows inside him, burning his circuits by the memory of you alone, something else finds a room to sneak in, making these heated feelings even worse
How he would love to silence this clever tongue of yours whenever you used it against him, to have you swallow all of your words instead of him being the one to gulp his pride as trying to untangle the mess you made of him with your words only
Ramattra wants revenge on all the times youâve made a fool of him, to let you know who is really above here; not only by the few inches that apart your heights, but to clearly state for once whoâs the superior being
And when you dare to use your tongue against him again, an argument about to explode⌠letâs just say you both find it a better use. A much, much better one.
Now youâre the one to be taken by surprise, finding yourself fitting his length all the way down to your throat; a few gags here and there, but still your mouth circles his cock almost perfectly, as it was made for you and for you only. Well⌠youâre not sure about it, not even why a R-7000 of all omnics had a dick module installed nice and ready, but this was no time to ask, was it?
What you do know is how sensitive it is, for the way Ramattra flinches when your tongue touches his tip before running all the way down. You know heâs doing his best to keep his usual steadiness, stopping the grunts that are vocalized with a little static, after all, his pride was his to maintain unharmed; or as little as he could. The failing is obvious, but still itâs damn amusing to see how even under him, you got the upper hand nonetheless
Thatâs when he catches you grinning like a devil, your tongue swirling around and the warm wetness of your mouth driving him fucking insane; something you already did with no effort, but now⌠itâs divine as much as itâs wicked. A creature like you, a pathetic human with little care for danger sucking a goddamn Ravager out of his mind. Maybe he should give you more credit⌠Once heâs done, who knows, right now he canât think of other thing but you, kneeling between his legs, taking him without a trouble; as youâve desired this longer than he did
âYouâre enjoying this, arenât you?â he groans, fingers finding their way through your hair, hissing when he grabs a handful too close to the scalp, tight enough for your skin to burn in response. The reply is right there, on the tip of your tongue⌠but your grin just gets wider before you could come up with it. âDonât act like you arenât.â
Junkrat
When he looks up at you, itâs almost like you can see the stars sparkling in his eyes. Amazed is one way to describe it, but if he was the one in charge of choosing a word for this feeling it would totally be: SMASH!
Definitely, Junkrat would love to be smashed by you. One recurrent and very dirty thought of his is to have you sitting on his face, dwarfing his frame with yours, until his moans were suffocated by your skin as he indecently runs his tongue all around your soft spots
He canât help being a bit of a slut, actually. Always touchy and clingy, running his fingers around the lines on your palm, claiming how big your fingers are and then wondering how they would feel if you randomly smacked them right into his cheek. Oh, how sad it would be⌠and the great pain that would come⌠dude has a boner before he can think twice
A masochist and proud, thank you. To be spanked and have his pleasure denied by you? The thought of it already has him nuts! Junkrat is one who loves to be mistreated already, and by a stunning person such as yourself just makes it even better
Most of the time, youâre the one on top, and he insists itâs like this. If youâre riding him, you can totally use his neck for support, of course! Please, just do it with your big fucking hands and choke him until his face burns red. Hell, heâll take everything with an enormous goofy smile to his lips, braincells going dead with each bounce of your hips making the pressure on his neck rougher and rougher
Pinning him against a wall is a MUST. He will blush and squirm pathetically as you lean on, barely making with a sloppy kiss before turning a mess of himself from how his whole body quivers in anticipation, a huge bulge to his pants that definitely will end up being rubbed on your thigh, perfectly fit between his legs; and even raising him a little bit
Eager to try something new, making quite a pervy genius as he comes up with toys you donât even know that existed in shape and length, some of them his own making. Junkratâs favorite by now is wax play, which has him trembling and almost imploding when the warm wax touches his skin, tracing patterns all along his back as he shivers and moans your name over and over. And, again, if youâre down for it heâll beg for you to sit on top of him while you do it
Just. sit. on. him. But not on his lap, no: he wants you to be laying under you, to have his figure clouded by your shadow, at your full mercy and⌠yeah, also your chest is actually really really great to be seen from this angle. And your face, oh your face! Itâs just one hundred times meaner when you stare at him from above, asking whoâs your little slut
âITâS ME! ITâS ME!â
Enjoys degrading much more than he should. At first youâre uneasy about saying such things, but again: Junkrat insists. He wants to hear you putting him in his place, calling him pet names that state youâre the one in control⌠heâs yours to be tortured until heâs crying out from pleasure. Still, he will beg for more
âA lilâ bit harder wonât hurt, yâknow? Well- who am I trying to fool here? âCourse it will hurt, bring it on!â
In the aftermath, he IS the little spoon, no point arguing. And with the height difference between you, his body fits much better in yours this way, so there isnât a reason to complain, actually
Mauga
Dude is big already and always thought the little ones were so fun to ruin. So when you tag along with Tallon, standing a few inches under his shoulder length⌠a whole lot of new ideas instantly pop into his head. And boy, none of them are less than nasty
Mauga tries to corner you everytime, pinning you down a wall would be a statement, but⌠your faces are pretty much on the same level, so thereâs no down here, and you easily brush him off around his first eleven tries. Well, plan B was to stay in front of you during missions and then ooopsieeee⌠falling down on top of you while so innocently trying to prevent you from being damaged. All of it for your well being, damn!
Reaper has scolded you both for it despite you having nothing to do with whatever Mauga thinks heâs doing with those stupid muscles, the obvious flirtation and that ridiculously charming smirk⌠oh, fuck him!
Even when you had a spare day to keep your mind cool, there he was, testing your nerves. Youâre doing great on ignoring him, until the bastard shot a compliment to your body, and you did blush madly with each word he spoke evenly
âYou have such beautiful long legs, yâknow? Tch, youâd need a pair of big hands to smooth them right,â the most shameless smirk ever follows along, and despite you feel like smacking it out of Maugaâs face⌠you feel something tingling under your skin
Still, the best way to deal with a teaser is to not let them embarrass you. Direct confrontation should do, and despite your burning cheeks stating the contrary, you had the guts to stare right into his eyes and dare him to do it so, since he had hands big enough for the job
Thatâs how you ended up fucking.
Before you knew it, your face was pressed against the wall, a cold contrast to Maugaâs fever pitched body behind you, pressing you further as his hand get rid of your pants, leaving the free way to skin to touch skin
Indeed, his hands were more than fitting the run along the extension of your tights, leaving nothing untouched as they reached for the inner parts, brushing against your core until youâre swallowing thick
âTold yaâ, darling. You just needed the right guy for it,â is it questionable that of all options you could have, he would be the right one? Yes. Would you contest him as his fingers teased you further? Absolutely not. You couldnât care less for all the shit he had ever done as your underwear is pulled, thick fingers trailing their way between your folds as he already knew you for ages
All Mauga could think as he fucks you with his fingers, curling them inside and reaching for that sweet spot as his other hand muffles your fucking delicious moans, is how youâre a perfectly fit for each other. The way his body molds itself against yours, the little difference just makes it even perfect, how effortless youâve given yourself to him⌠oh, heâs your soulmate, for sure
This man turns out to be absolutely obsessed with you, your body, your voice: everything. Both of his hearts are beating for you, and only you⌠and say toodaloo to your peace, âcause he wonât leave your heel any sooner
#overwatch 2#overwatch x reader#overwatch headcanons#overwatch smut#ramattra#ramattra x reader#overwatch mauga#mauga x reader#junkrat#jamison fawkes x reader#junkrat x reader
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i think that "freeing modern-day elves from the yoke of human oppression" was originally much more felassan's goal ("why not let the girl try?"), than solas'âit was pretty much universally understood by the fandom that "but the People... they need me" was solas talking about the spirits (the true, literal el-vhen, as we now know) rather than the modern elves.
and now i'm thinking how, ten years after the events of inquisition, solas seems to have taken on board much more of felassan's worldview than before. he has lived-in the world. he has been-with the world. depending on his relationship with the inquisitor, even that one year was enough to begin changing his mind about the cost of his plan. i wish we had been able to sit more with that in veilguard, that slow-growing process, the knowledge of the modern world as real, changing him, shifting his motivations.
i think that is where i feel the sense of lost potential with the deletion of the rebellion plot that we still get glimpses of in the missing and tevinter nights: solas having to interface with modern elves beyond his experience in the inquisition or in the year before, developing those same bonds he developed during his original rebellion but with elves he considers "lesser", not fully formed, and having to dig his sunk cost fallacy hole even deeper.
as much as i love veilguard, corinne busche was right when she said that the prologue feels like the final act of another game, but that is for better (big, bombastic set piece! action packed! gets the blood pumping! crash-lands you into thedas on one of its worse days and parallels the opening of inquisition nicely) and for worse (how did solas get here? he is a mirror, a creature of empathyâhow does his callousness, ie "people die. it is what they do" clash with what he has so far experienced of the world?).
that is my one big gripe of veilguard: in choosing to remove solas' rebels, we lose a facet of solas' that i would have loved to further explore.
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â¨High School Sweetheart - Pt 9â¨
Summary: You come face-to-face with a ghost from your pastâDean Winchester. Five years after he vanished from your life without a word, and now he´s here. But neither you nor he are teenagers anymore.
-Listen to "Chance with you"-
Pairing: Dean x Reader
Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language, Fuff, Angst
Word Count: 8800
A/N: English isnât my first language, please be lenient. đ
He met your gaze, a mixture of regret and understanding in his eyes. âGuess I left you with more than a few bruises that didnât heal so easyâ. His voice was quiet, and for once, he wasnât hiding behind his usual bravado. âI know I⌠wasnât around to help pick up the piecesâ.
You looked down, tracing the edge of your wine glass with your finger, the years of hurt and healing flashing through your mind. âI tried to let it go, you know? Tried to be⌠okayâ. You took a breath, steadying yourself. âBut itâs hard when you canât shake the feeling that somethingâs missing. Like youâre trying to move on, but thereâs always this empty space that just⌠doesnât go awayâ.
Dean opened his mouth, the words forming on his lips, but you gently raised a hand, stopping him before he could speak. âItâs not your fault, Deanâ, you said softly, your voice steady but threaded with the honesty youâd held back for so long. âEight years ago, you were upfront with me. You never promised me forever; I knew what I was getting into with youâ.
You looked down again. âI just⌠I guess I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, youâd feel enough to come back. That one day, youâd walk back through that door on your ownâ.
Deanâs face fell, the weight of your words pressing down on him, and he took a shaky breath, the flicker of guilt and sorrow unmistakable in his eyes. âI thought about it⌠about coming backâ, he admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper. âMore times than you could imagine. But every time, I told myself you deserved better than a guy who could only give you bits and pieces. I didnât want to hold you back from having⌠everythingâ.
You looked up, meeting his gaze, a mixture of tenderness and hurt in your expression. âEverything, Dean?â, You let out a soft, sad chuckle. âWhatâs everything without the person you canât stop thinking about?â.
The vulnerability in your voice broke something in him, and he reached across the table, his hand finding yours, his touch warm and grounding. His thumb traced gentle circles on your hand, grounding you both. âI was scaredâ, he admitted, his voice rough with emotion. âScared I couldnât be what you needed⌠that Iâd mess up something real and leave you worse offâ. He hesitated, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. âBut not a day went by when I didnât regret it. Not oneâ.
Deanâs grip on your hand tightened, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that held years of unspoken words and hidden fears. âI wanted you to have⌠kidsâ, he began, his voice rough, each word a struggle, as if saying it out loud made it hurt more. âThat house we always talked about, a life, (Y/N). Not thisâ. He gestured vaguely, encompassing everything that his life had becomeâthe dangerous hunts, the constant running, the never-ending fight against things that most people only read about in horror novels.
He let out a heavy sigh, his gaze dropping for a moment as he gathered his thoughts. âItâs not just ghosts and werewolves, sweetheartâ, he said softly, his voice filled with a quiet urgency. âItâs demons, things darker and⌠worse than I could ever explain. And you donât belong on that path. I canât stand the thought of you living in fearâsleeping in dirty motels, wondering if youâre going to wake up the next morning, or if some creatureâs going to turn up andâŚâ. He trailed off, shaking his head, his eyes brimming with something raw and unshielded.
âI want you to have peaceâ, he murmured, his voice so low it was almost a whisper. âTo feel safe, to have that family, to go to sleep at night knowing youâre going to wake up safe in the morning. I want you to have a life thatâs⌠beautiful, and not shadowed by the things I canât escapeâ.
You felt the weight of his words settle over you, the quiet, profound ache behind every syllable. Dean had left, not because he didnât love you, but because he loved you too much to drag you into his world. The realization washed over you like a wave, the years of wondering and hurting suddenly making a different kind of sense.
âBut Deanâ, you whispered, your voice trembling, âthat life⌠it doesnât mean much if youâre not thereâ. You reached up, your hand brushing gently along his jaw, grounding him in your touch, your voice thick with emotion. âI get what you wanted for me, but⌠all I wanted was youâ.
Dean looked away, his jaw clenching as he wrestled with the emotions your words stirred up. You could see itâthe conflict, the regret, the deep-seated belief that he was doing what was best for you, no matter how much it tore him apart.
â(Y/N)â, he murmured, his voice thick, each word weighed down with guilt and sorrow. âYou donât understand⌠you deserve so much more than what I can give you. My life, itâs⌠itâs a war zone. Iâve seen things, been through things Iâd never want you to know aboutâ. His voice broke slightly, and he took a shaky breath, steadying himself. âIâd be lying if I said I didnât want to stay. But wanting isnât the same as doing right by youâ.
His thumb brushed over your knuckles, a gesture that felt as comforting as it was heartbreaking. âIf I stay⌠youâll never be free. Youâd be tied to a life that would keep you looking over your shoulder, wondering if Iâll come back each time I leave. And youâd see meââ. He hesitated, his voice filled with a quiet self-loathing that nearly undid you. âYouâd see me worn down, one hunt after another, one scar after the next. I canât do that to youâ.
Tears pricked your eyes, but you refused to look away, to let him turn this into a goodbye. âBut, Dean⌠I donât care about any of thatâ, you said, your voice thick with the love youâd held onto for so long. âYouâre not just some guy who comes and goesâyouâre⌠youâre the one person I never stopped loving. I donât care about the scars, the hunts, the danger. I care about you. And if you think youâre sparing me from something by leaving, youâre wrongâ.
He shook his head, a pained smile flickering across his face. â(Y/N), this life⌠it breaks you. Itâs broken me. And youâyouâre strong and good, and I donât want to be the thing that takes that from youâ.
âYou donât get to decide that for me, Deanâ, you whispered, your voice firm even as it trembled. âYou donât get to choose what Iâm willing to face, who Iâm willing to love. Thatâs mine, and Iâm choosing you. Iâve always chosen youâ.
Deanâs shoulders slumped, and for a moment, he looked as though the fight had finally left him, his resolve crumbling under the weight of his own feelings. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, they were filled with a raw vulnerability that he rarely let anyone see.
âDo you know how many times I thought about coming back?â, he whispered, his voice barely audible, as though he were confessing a sin. âEvery time I thought maybe, just maybe, Iâd be strong enough to keep you safe. That we could have that life. But then Iâd see⌠the things I had to do, the people I couldnât save, and Iâd talk myself out of it. I kept telling myself that letting you go was the only way I could protect youâ.
Your eyes glistened, a mixture of frustration and heartbreak surfacing after years of keeping it buried. The words escaped before you could rein them in, soft but edged with a quiet, fierce pain. âNothing⌠nothing could feel worse than waiting eight damn years, Dean. Eight years for that one guy who took my heart with him when he leftâ.
Deanâs gaze dropped, the weight of your words settling over him, his own pain evident in the tight line of his jaw, the way he ran a hand through his hair as if trying to find a way to fix what had broken. He opened his mouth to speak but then closed it, the words clearly failing him. He looked at you as if seeing the hurt heâd caused in a way he hadnât allowed himself to before, the reality of it hitting him with a force he couldnât ignore.
Your voice dropped to a whisper, carrying the weight of every year youâd spent trying to move forward yet feeling anchored to a part of your life that hadnât let you go. âLook where I am, Deanâ, you murmured, the words trembling with a quiet vulnerability. âI donât care about my stupid bookstore, or the dress hanging in my closet that Iâll never wear⌠every step, every plan, every single moment, I kept wondering⌠what if Dean was by my side?â.
Your voice gained a quiet, trembling strength, the years of suppressed pain and longing spilling over. âIâm anything but happy, Deanâ, you whispered, your voice growing more resolute with each word. âAnything but at peace. Every single day, it feels like Iâm just⌠existing, going through the motions, trying to build a life that doesnât feel real without you in itâ.
Deanâs expression twisted with a mix of frustration and anguish, his jaw tightening as he tried to hold back the emotions surging within him. Finally, he let out a frustrated sigh, his voice sharp, edged with pain. âBut youâre alive, dammit. Youâre here, safe, in one piece. Thatâs what I wanted for you, even if it meantâŚâ. His voice cracked, but he pushed on, âeven if it meant I had to stay awayâ.
You flinched slightly at his tone, not from fear, but from the raw truth embedded in his words. He had chosen your safety over his own happiness, a decision that had broken both of you in different ways.
Your voice rose, trembling with the intensity of every feeling youâd held back for so long. âI would trade my damn safety in an instant, Deanâ, you whispered, the rawness in your voice making him falter, âif it meant I could be with you. If it meant feeling alive again, actually living instead of just⌠existingâ.
Dean stood up, his expression filled with a mixture of frustration and something darkerâsomething that carried years of wounds, both seen and unseen. Without a word, he lifted his shirt, revealing the bruises and fresh stitches scattered across his torso. But the worst of it was a deep, angry gash just above his heart, the skin around it still raw and healing. You inhaled sharply, a wave of shock and horror settling over you as you took in the reality of what heâd endured.
His voice was barely steady, each word laced with a raw edge. âI was possessed, (Y/N). Literally. There was⌠someone else in my head, guiding me, forcing meâ. His eyes flashed with a bitterness that cut through you, and he gestured to the wound on his chest. âI took this knifeâmy own damn handâand I slit my chest open. Tried to rip out my own heart. But it wasnât me⌠it was a demon. A demon using me, my own mind, my own handsâ.
He paused, the words hanging heavily between you, the rawness of his confession unraveling the walls youâd built to protect yourself from fully understanding what his life entailed. âIs that what you want?â, he continued, his voice breaking. âBecause thatâs the life youâre asking for right nowâa life where every time you turn around, youâre wondering if itâs me, or if itâs something thatâs using me to get to you, or to hurt youâ.
You looked down, your mind spinning as you tried to process the weight of what heâd just shared. Dean leaned back against the kitchen counter, arms crossed defensively over his bruised chest, his expression hard but filled with a pain that went beyond the physical. There was a rawness in his eyes, a desperate, unspoken need for you to understand, and yet⌠a hesitance, as if he were daring you to truly see the darkness he lived with.
âLook at meâ, he said, his voice low and filled with a bitterness that broke your heart. âAnd tell me⌠tell me that loving me is enough to overshadow all of that sick shitâ. The words came out with an edge of self-loathing, as if he couldnât fathom anyone wanting to hold onto someone so scarred, so damaged by things most people could never even comprehend.
The way he spokeâas though even the idea of loving him was something uglyâsent a pang through you. You lifted your gaze, taking in the bruises, the cuts, the haunted look in his eyes, and you felt your own heart ache. Heâd endured so much, and he still couldnât see that none of it made him unworthy. If anything, it made him braver, stronger, someone who bore the weight of the world on his shoulders alone because he didnât want it to touch the people he cared about.
You took a small, steadying breath, meeting his gaze with an intensity that matched the weight of his words. âObviously, you donât know how much Iâve fallen for you if you think any of this would stop meâ, you whispered, the words slipping out softly but laced with unwavering conviction.
Deanâs posture stiffened, a flicker of surprise crossing his face as he absorbed your words, his defenses crumbling in a way that left him looking more exposed than ever. For a moment, he was silent, his eyes searching yours as if trying to understand how you could look at him that way, how you could see all of himâthe scars, the trauma, the darknessâand still be here.
He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, seemingly at a loss, his shoulders sagging under the weight of everything heâd been holding back. âI just⌠I donât get itâ, he murmured, his voice raw, almost vulnerable. âWhy? Why me, when all I seem to do is break things?â.
Deanâs voice dropped to a murmur, barely more than a whisper. âIâm not worth it, baby. Trust meâ, he said, his eyes darkening with an ache that went far beyond the bruises on his body, carrying the weight of everything heâd been through, every person heâd lost. He shook his head slightly, as if trying to push the thought of deserving you away. âAll I do is bring people down⌠get them hurt or worse. You deserve so much better than someone like meâ.
Your heart clenched at the self-doubt etched into his face, the look of someone who had spent too long believing he was unworthy of love. You reached up, gently cupping his face, your thumb brushing over his cheek. âDean, donât you see? You donât have to be anything other than who you are. Youâve spent your whole life trying to protect everyone, carrying everyone elseâs pain. I know youâve been through hell and back, and I know you think that makes you damaged somehow. But it doesnâtâ.
He looked down, swallowing hard, his expression wavering between hope and disbelief as he leaned into your touch. âBut what if⌠what if all of this, everything Iâve seen, everything Iâve done⌠itâs too much? What if one day I look at you and I see the hurt Iâm so afraid to put you through?â.
You held his gaze, steady and unflinching. âThen we face it together, Dean. Because Iâm choosing this. Iâm choosing youâ.
Your voice trembled as you looked up at him, eyes glistening with tears that held both the ache of the past and the fragile hope for something more. âI spent eight damn years missing you, Deanâ, you murmured, the weight of those years evident in every syllable. âThinking about you, wishing⌠for nothing but you in my lifeâ.
You took a deep breath, the vulnerability in your words spilling over, raw and unfiltered. âI donât care about where we go, or what it looks like, or if itâs not what most people would call normal. I just want you. In all those dirty motels, on the road, wherever you go, take me with you, Dean. Pleaseâ.
Deanâs face softened, the tension in his shoulders easing as he took in the sincerity in your gaze. His own eyes glistened, caught between disbelief and a kind of cautious hope he hadnât felt in years. He reached up, brushing his thumb gently over your cheek as if grounding himself in your touch, his hand steady despite the whirlwind of emotions behind his gaze.
âI canât promise you anything but the life Iâve got⌠and itâs not prettyâ, he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Your breath hitched as you whispered, âI donât care, Deanâ. The words left you in a soft, trembling rush, tears beginning to trace paths down your cheeks. âI canât let you leave me again, not this time. Not againâ.
For a moment, he didnât say anything, his gaze locked on yours, the intensity in his eyes almost overwhelming. And then, without a word, he pulled you closer, both hands coming up to cradle your face with a tenderness that stole what little breath you had left. His thumbs brushed away the tears as he looked at you, his own eyes shining with a vulnerability he rarely showed. Then, slowly, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that felt like a promise, a reunion, and an apology all at once.
It was gentle at first, like he was rediscovering something precious, but as the years of longing and missed chances caught up with you both, it deepened, each second erasing the distance that had once stretched between you. His fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you impossibly closer, as if he needed to prove that this moment was real, that you were here, together, in spite of everything.
When you finally pulled apart, your foreheads resting against each other, both of you were breathless.
Deanâs hands slipped from your face, his gaze holding yours for one more beat before he let them drift down to your hips, his fingers gripping you with a renewed urgency. Without another word, he lifted you effortlessly, his arms wrapping around you in a way that felt both possessive and tender, as though he couldnât bear to let you go even for a moment.
Your arms wound around his neck as he carried you down the hallway, each step steady, his eyes never leaving yours. The weight of everything unsaid, everything lost, and everything found again lingered in the air, creating a feeling both electric and deeply comforting. By the time he reached your bedroom, his breaths were ragged, mirroring your own, a testament to the years of longing youâd both endured in silence.
Gently, he laid you back on the bed, his hands still cradling your hips, and his gaze softened, holding a quiet reverence as he took you in. He leaned down, pressing his lips softly to your forehead, then your cheek, his touch warm and lingering as if he were mapping the parts of you he had missed. The room fell into a calm quiet, filled with the steady rhythm of shared breaths and the comfort of knowing you were finally here, together, without any walls between you.
He kissed you again, deeply, fully, as his hands traced the curve of your waist, his touch saying all the words that had lingered between you.
Only a few minutes later, you found yourself straddling Deanâs lap, your hand resting gently on his shoulder, mindful of the bruises and healing wounds scattered across his body. The heat between you both was undeniable, a palpable warmth building with each passing second, but you hesitated, searching his face, worried that even the smallest movement might hurt him.
Dean, ever himself, noticed the hesitation in your eyes and let out a soft, exasperated chuckle, his hands giving your waist a reassuring squeeze. âC´mon, sweetheartâ, he murmured, that familiar teasing glint sparking in his gaze. âYou really think a few bruises are gonna keep me down?â. He tilted his head, flashing that trademark smirk that somehow made your heart race and eased your worries at the same time.
âTrust me, Iâm not made of glassâ, he added, his voice dropping to a low murmur as his thumb traced circles against your hip. âIâve been through worse, and Iâm still here, arenât I?â.
You felt a smile tug at your lips, your nerves fading under the warmth of his gaze. Dean leaned forward, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, âBesides, if this is how I go out, I canât think of a better wayâ. His voice held that cocky, playful edge that was so quintessentially him, reminding you that beneath the scars and bruises, Dean Winchester was still very much himselfâunbreakable, stubborn, and entirely in the moment with you.
With a soft laugh, you leaned in, finally letting go of your hesitation. âAlright, Winchesterâ, you whispered back, âjust donât say I didnât warn youâ.
Deanâs smirk widened, his eyes sparking with that familiar mischief. âYou know, I donât mind a little painâ, he teased, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as he held you steady, his hands warm and firm on your hips. âActually⌠might even say I like itâ. His grin grew as he emphasized his words by pushing his hips up gently, nudging himself just barely inside you, a silent reminder of his impatience and his eagerness to close the distance between you.
The small movement sent a spark of heat through you, erasing any remaining hesitation. Deanâs eyes locked onto yours, holding you in his gaze. âYouâre making me wait way too long, sweetheartâ, he murmured, his hands urging you closer. âWhatâs a guy gotta do to show heâs ready?â.
Rolling your eyes, you leaned in, meeting his gaze with equal intensity as you let yourself sink down onto him, savoring the feeling of being close in a way that felt both familiar and brand new. Deanâs grip on your hips tightened, his breath hitching as you settled fully, and for a moment, the only sounds were your shared breaths.
âDamnâ, he muttered, his hands moving up your back as he pulled you in for a kiss, slow and deep, his usual playfulness softening into something more intense and tender. âGuess that was worth the waitâ.
You couldnât help but shiver, caught off guard by the intensity, the fullness, as if youâd forgotten just how overwhelming being with him could feel. You took a steadying breath, letting the sensation settle over you, before slowly lifting your hips. Deanâs hands moved with you, guiding you with a care that softened every edge of the moment. His gaze was fixed intently on your face, his eyes heavy-lidded, a quiet awe filling them as he took in every little reaction, every flicker of pleasure that crossed your expression.
His jaw tightened, and he bit his lip, clearly trying to rein in the sounds building in his chest. But a low groan slipped through, despite his efforts, his breath hitching as he felt you sink back down. His hands pressed into your hips with just enough pressure to ground you both, a silent testament to his own restraint.
âFuck, you have no ideaâ, he murmured, his voice strained, as if the words were pulled from somewhere deep within him. âNo one⌠no one has ever felt this goodâ. He shifted slightly, his hands guiding you into a rhythm that made your breath catch.
You let out a shaky, breathless laugh, leaning in close enough that your lips brushed his ear as you moved, your voice a teasing murmur. âIs that what you say to all the women youâve been with these past eight years?â. Your words were light, but there was a hint of something deeper, a vulnerability you tried to hide beneath your playful tone as you sank down onto him again, letting your hips roll in a way that made him groan.
Deanâs eyes darkened, his hands gripping your hips a little tighter, pulling you closer, his own breath coming out in a shudder. He shook his head, a small, breathless chuckle escaping him as he looked up at you, a tender honesty in his gaze. âYou really think anyone else could ever feel like this?â, he murmured, his voice low, each word laced with that familiar intensity. âTrust me, no one even came closeâ.
He lifted his hips to meet yours, his movements growing a little more insistent, as if to prove his words. His gaze stayed locked on yours, a silent promise in his eyes. âItâs just youâ, he whispered, his voice rough. âAlways wasâ.
A quiet whine slipped from your lips as you looked down at him, your fingers tracing a path along his shoulder, your voice barely a murmur as you teased, âI donât believe youâ.
Deanâs eyes narrowed playfully, a hint of a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he tilted his head, his hands pressing you down against him with a gentle, insistent pressure. âOh, you donât, huh?â, he murmured, his voice low, almost daring. âGuess Iâll just have to prove it to youâ.
Dean shifted, turning the two of you over despite the clear discomfort it must have caused him. His eyes glinted with that unmistakable spark, the one that told you he wasnât about to let anything hold him back. You felt him still inside you, steady and unyielding, his warmth grounding you both.
Your gaze drifted down to his chest, taking in the angry, jagged cut just above his heart. The stitches looked haphazard, as though theyâd been done in a rush, and the surrounding skin was a mix of deep purples and bluesâevidence of just how much heâd been through. Gently, your fingertip traced along the edge of the bruised skin, your touch feather-light, filled with worry and tenderness.
Your voice came out in a quiet murmur, worry lacing your tone. âDean⌠itâs infectedâ, you whispered, your fingers hovering over the wound, the red, inflamed skin and rough stitches telling a story of hurried care and relentless battles. You could feel the concern flooding through you, the urge to make him rest, to tend to his wounds.
But before you could say more, Deanâs hands found your hips, grounding you. His eyes, filled with an unwavering intensity, held yours as if to say heâd handle every ounce of pain if it meant proving just how much you meant to him. Without a word, he shifted, pulling you closer, his own pain evident but ignored as he thrust deeply, a gesture meant to bring you back to the moment, to remind you both why you were hereâtogether.
A breath caught in your throat, a mix of sensation and shared vulnerability bringing you back, anchoring you to him.
Dean's voice was low, rough with both determination and an edge of vulnerability. "I want you here with me, sweetheart", he murmured, his gaze never leaving yours, his hands steady and grounding on your hips. "Iâve waited eight years⌠so stop worrying about something stupid like me".
His words hung between you, raw and insistent, filled with a depth of feeling he usually kept hidden beneath layers of armor. You could feel his sincerity, the unyielding need that drove him to push past his pain, to have this moment with you, undiluted and real. He wanted to make every second count, to show you that even through all his scars, he was still yours.
You felt the last of your reservations fall away, leaning into his touch, matching the intensity in his eyes with your own. âIâm here, Deanâ, you whispered, your voice steady, your hand resting softly over his heart, feeling its strong, unbroken beat.
"Good", he whispered, a soft smile tugging at his lips before he leaned in, brushing a tender kiss across your mouth. His touch trailed down along your jaw, his lips grazing your skin with a gentleness that made your breath catch. All the while, his movements were unhurried, savoring each moment as he thrust slowly, steadily, holding you close as if he wanted to prolong every second of this closeness.
There was an intimacy in his touch, a quiet reverence that spoke volumes without a single word. Each gentle thrust, every brush of his lips along your neck, felt like a vow, a promise made in the quiet spaces between heartbeats. The world seemed to fade, leaving just the two of youâno past regrets, no fears of what was to come, just the warmth of his skin against yours and the shared rhythm youâd fallen into together.
It felt like coming home.
A soft gasp escaped your lips as you instinctively tightened around him, your body responding to his touch, to the feeling of him moving within you. Every inch of him felt achingly familiar, yet new, as though the time and distance had only intensified the way he filled the spaces youâd kept hidden for so long. It was overwhelming, each slow movement stirring up emotions you hadnât let yourself feel in years, everything raw and unfiltered.
For Dean, every sensation felt like a reunion, a rediscovery of something heâd lost but never truly let go of. The warmth of your skin, the softness of your touch, the quiet gasps you made as you held onto himâeach was a reminder of the love heâd left behind, of the emptiness that had lingered in every city, every hunt, every lonely motel room. The pain and sacrifice, the years spent convincing himself youâd be better off without him, all of it melted away in this moment.
Both of you moved in sync, guided not by urgency but by a quiet, reverent understanding of the time youâd lost. His hands held you with a mixture of tenderness and need, each brush of his thumb against your skin, each press of his body against yours, a silent reassurance that he was here, now, and he wasnât going anywhere. The weight of eight long years, the ache of missing each other, faded into a wordless connection, a love that hadnât dimmed but had only grown stronger, waiting patiently to be reignited.
In that moment, there was no doubt, no lingering fearsâonly the overwhelming relief of being together, two hearts finding their way back home.
You spent hours wrapped up in each other, lost in the warmth and connection that had been denied for so long. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word filled the room with an intimacy that felt like both a reunion and a promise. The night stretched on, and the world outside seemed to fade, leaving just the two of you in a cocoon of shared breaths and murmured affection.
By the time the clock neared three in the morning, you were both spent, your bodies exhausted and drenched in a comfortable sheen of sweat. Deanâs face was flushed, a shade deeper than usual, his breathing heavy as he finally allowed himself to collapse beside you. He let out a quiet sigh, a contented sound, as though just being there, with you, had lifted the weight heâd been carrying for years.
You turned toward him, reaching out to brush a damp strand of hair from his forehead, but as you did, you noticed the warmth radiating from his skin, hotter than usual. A small frown tugged at your lips as you gently touched his cheek, the flush there not entirely from the hours spent together. His eyes flickered open, catching your worried expression.
âDean⌠youâre burning upâ, you murmured softly, concern etching into your voice.
He gave a lazy, dismissive smile, waving off your worry. âIâm fineâ, he mumbled, voice thick with fatigue. âJust⌠been a long few days, thatâs allâ. But the weariness in his gaze, the slight edge of fever in his flushed skin, told you there was more to it than he was willing to admit.
You pressed your palm firmly against Deanâs forehead, feeling the heat radiate through your handâa clear sign that his fever wasnât just ânothingâ. Your gaze traveled down to the wound on his chest, your concern deepening as you took in the angry, red edges of the cut. It was obvious that the stitches were barely holding, and the faint yellow tint around the area spoke to a growing infection. The rough bandage job and few pieces of surgical tape were only making things worse, failing to keep the wound clean or properly closed.
âDean⌠this isnât just a little feverâ, you murmured, your voice edged with worry. âThis is serious. You need proper stitches, and we need to take care of that infection. You canât just ignore it and hope it goes awayâ.
He let out a sigh, his attempt at a reassuring smile faltering under your concern. âIâve had worseâ, he said quietly, but even he seemed to know how thin that excuse sounded as he shifted uncomfortably, the strain on his face evident.
You stood up from the bed, slipping into your satin robe. As you moved toward the bathroom, you could feel Deanâs gaze on you, and even though you knew he was stubborn enough to resist, you werenât going to let this go. Pulling the first aid kit from the cabinet, you began rifling through its contents, mentally cataloging what youâd need.
âDean, you really canât keep brushing this offâ, you called over your shoulder, your tone leaving no room for argument.
He shifted uncomfortably, grumbling in that way only he could. âYou know, just because you took one semester of medical school doesnât make you a doctorâ, he muttered, his voice holding that familiar mix of sarcasm and exasperation.
You returned to the bed, raising a brow as you met his gaze. âAnd Iâm hoping youâre just this mean because of the feverâ, you shot back, unflinching, though your worry softened the edge in your voice. âOtherwise, I might start thinking you donât appreciate the fact that Iâm trying to keep you from ending up with an infection that could put you in the hospitalâ.
Dean huffed, averting his eyes. âI appreciate itâ, he mumbled, begrudgingly. âItâs just⌠Iâm fine. Iâve had worse, reallyâ.
You let out an exasperated sigh, rolling your eyes as you took a closer look at the wound, the jagged edges of the stitches clearly the result of a rushed, one-handed job. You stepped between his legs, hands on your hips as you inspected the inflamed, swollen area, barely able to keep the frustration out of your voice.
âWho the hell stitched this up, anyway?â, you muttered, raising an eyebrow as you glanced at him, fully expecting an explanation.
Dean looked away, a bit of embarrassment flickering over his face before he grumbled, âDid it myself. Sam wasnât around, and I wasnât about to go to some clinic just so they could tell me to âtake it easyââ. He paused, glancing at the bruised mess on his chest, almost as if seeing it through your eyes. âIt wasnât exactly my best workâ, he admitted, his voice barely more than a mutter.
Your heart softened despite yourself, knowing how fiercely independent he was, how he hated being vulnerable. You let out a slow breath, the mix of worry and tenderness filling your chest. Gently, you touched the skin around the wound, your fingers brushing softly as you examined it.
"Clearlyâ, you mumbled, trying to keep the frustration in your voice light as you unscrewed the cap of the antiseptic. You soaked a cotton pad, glancing up at him for a brief moment to give him a wordless warning. Dean was already bracing himself, his hands gripping the bedframe on either side, his jaw tightening as he looked down.
The second the antiseptic touched his skin, he sucked in a sharp breath, his knuckles going white as he held onto the bed. His entire body tensed, his eyes squeezing shut as he muttered a string of curses under his breath. You couldnât help the tiny smirk that crossed your lips, a part of you secretly pleased that you were getting back at him just a little for the stress heâd put you through.
âHurts that much, huh?â, you teased, though there was an unmistakable gentleness in your voice. You dabbed carefully, doing your best to be gentle while still cleaning the wound properly.
He let out a strained chuckle, his voice rough. âFeels like hellfire, sweetheart. But donât let me stop you⌠â, he bit out.
You gave him a sympathetic but firm look, your tone softening slightly as you said, âYou know Iâm going to have to take these stitches out, right? Theyâre⌠not doing you any favors. I need to redo them, and itâs going to hurtâprobably a lotâespecially with this infectionâ.
Deanâs face twisted in a grimace, his fingers flexing around the bedframe as he let out a resigned sigh. âPerfect. Exactly what I wanted to hear at three in the morningâ, he grumbled.
A faint smile tugged at your lips as you looked up at him, trying to lighten the mood. âWell, maybe next time youâll think twice before going all DIY surgeon on yourselfâ, you teased, your tone warm but edged with concern.
Dean scoffed, though his grin was tight as he braced himself. âYeah, because I have so many other options on a huntâ, he muttered, a hint of defiance in his voice.
You couldnât help but roll your eyes, fingers gentle as you began to carefully peel back the old, grimy surgical tape. He hissed, the tension evident in the way his hands tightened around the bedframe, his jaw clenching as he tried to mask the pain.
âDonât be such a babyâ, you murmured, attempting to keep your touch as soft as possible. âBig, tough hunter, but a little bit of tape has you groaning like that?â.
He shot you a look, his usual bravado slipping just enough to reveal the discomfort. âYeah, yeahâ, he ground out, wincing again as you finally pulled the last bit of tape free. âYou try dealing with it and see if youâre all smiles and rainbowsâ.
âMaybe I would beâ, you replied, giving him a teasing smirk, though your voice softened as you took in the state of his wound. âBut seriously, Dean⌠if Iâm not here next time, maybe just skip the home surgery routine?â.
Deanâs expression softened, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face. âMaybe Iâll just⌠stick around, thenâ, he mumbled, almost as if he hadnât meant to say it aloud. The unexpected confession hung in the air, heavy but laced with something hopeful, and you felt your heart tighten.
âYeahâ, you replied softly, letting the weight of his words settle over you both. âMaybe you shouldâ.
As the last of the tape came off, you took a steadying breath and began the delicate process of undoing the stitches, working carefully to minimize his discomfort. Deanâs breath hitched with each slight tug, his hands gripping the bedframe tightly, but he kept his eyes on you, watching every movement as though grounding himself in your presence.
Every so often, a tiny bead of blood would surface along the wound, and youâd pause to dab it away gently with cotton, the antiseptic stinging just enough to make him wince. His jaw tightened, but he stayed still, holding himself steady through the pain with quiet resilience.
âAlmost thereâ, you murmured softly, your voice soothing. âJust a few more, then Iâll clean it up and redo themâ.
Dean gave a slight nod, his eyes never leaving your face. âYou make it sound like itâs nothingâ, he muttered, a faint smirk tugging at his lips despite the strain. âForget the one semesterâyouâre practically a pro at thisâ.
You chuckled quietly, though your focus didnât waver. âAnd here I thought you didnât think I was qualifiedâ, you teased back, trying to keep his spirits up as you finished removing the last of the stitches.
As you carefully set the first new stitch, Deanâs hands instinctively flew to your thighs, his grip tightening almost reflexively as a pained groan slipped through his clenched teeth. His fingers dug in, steadying himself against the sharp sting, grounding himself through the contact with you. You glanced down at his hands, feeling the warmth of his touch even through the tension of the moment, and you couldnât help but pause for just a second, your gaze flickering to meet his.
âHold on, Deanâ, you murmured gently, focusing on keeping your movements as smooth and precise as possible. âJust a few moreâ.
Deanâs eyes closed briefly, his jaw flexing as he drew in a shaky breath, his fingers still gripping your thighs as though he needed the contact to anchor him through the pain. âYouâre⌠doing greatâ, he managed, voice rough but laced with gratitude, the faintest hint of a smirk breaking through despite his discomfort. âJust⌠didnât realize youâd turn torture into a bonding experienceâ.
You let out a soft laugh, the warmth of it soothing the tense air around you both. âI thought you could handle a little pain, Winchesterâ, you teased gently, finishing the stitch with as much care as you could manage. He huffed out a laugh, squeezing your thigh once in acknowledgment, his fingers relaxing slightly as he took a deep breath.
âOne down, a few more to goâ, you whispered, your tone reassuring as you moved to the next stitch. Deanâs hands remained on your thighs, steadying himself, and somehow, amidst the quiet pain and gentle touches, a calm seemed to settle over both of you, an unspoken understanding that this momentâlike so many before itâwas bringing you closer in a way that went beyond words.
After a few more stitches, the cotton pads in front of you were soaked in his blood, a quiet testament to the care and patience youâd poured into every careful movement. You let out a breath of relief as you finally tied off the last knot, your fingers moving with a practiced gentleness as you made sure everything was secure. Just as you reached for a bandage to cover the wound, you felt a subtle tug at your waist, Deanâs hand slipping beneath the edge of your robe, fingers brushing your skin with a warmth that sent a gentle shiver through you.
You glanced down, meeting his gaze, seeing the flicker of tenderness and gratitude mixed with something elseâa quiet, unspoken need that lingered between you both. His hand opened your robe just enough for his fingers to rest against your hip, his touch light, hesitant, as if waiting for your permission.
Deanâs eyes softened, an almost playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. âGuess I owe you one, huh?â, he murmured, his voice low, roughened by the combination of pain and something deeper. He leaned forward slightly, the hint of vulnerability in his gaze grounding you both in the intimacy of the moment. âYou patched me up pretty good⌠now I just need to return the favorâ.
Despite everythingâthe pain, the exhaustionâyou felt warmth bloom in your chest, the connection between you two as solid and undeniable as ever.
Deanâs lips trailed ghost-light over your stomach, hovering dangerously close to where every nerve seemed to spark under his touch. His breath was warm against your skin, and you felt the familiar ache of anticipation, even as your voice faltered with concern. âDean, you need to rest nowâ, you mumbled, trying to keep your resolve firm as you reached to gather the bloodied cotton and gauze.
But Deanâs hand closed gently over yours, stilling your movements. âJust⌠stayâ, he murmured, his voice low and filled with that undeniable pull that only he could create. He looked up at you, a teasing glint in his eyes tempered by something deeper. âBesides, I think youâre the one who needs to unwindâ.
You tried to protest, to insist he should be resting after everything, but his gaze held yours with a quiet determination. Deanâs fingers grazed up your thigh, grounding you in the moment as he leaned in, his lips pressing warm, lingering kisses along your skin.
"Let me take care of you for once", he murmured softly, his voice roughened but sincere.
You let out a soft groan, partly in annoyance at Deanâs stubbornness, but mostly at the way he knew exactly how to coax you into letting go of any protests. Just as you opened your mouth to object, he sank back onto the bed, settling himself comfortably with that signature grin that was equal parts challenge and invitation. He lifted his hand, curling his fingers in a slow, beckoning motion, and grinned wider as he said, âSitâ.
You stared at him, your brow furrowing slightly in confusion. His smirk deepened, eyes glinting with mischief as he saw the uncertainty flicker across your face.
Slowly, you climbed on top of him, instinctively moving to settle over his hips, but Deanâs hands tightened gently around your waist, guiding you higher, closer to his face. His touch was both steady and insistent, and when you finally realized what he wanted, a flush of warmth spread over your cheeks, your heart beginning to race. He looked up at you, his gaze dark and filled with a heat that made your pulse quicken even further.
âRight here, sweetheartâ, he murmured, his voice low, filled with a soft, teasing warmth that only heightened the intensity of the moment. His eyes held yours, his expression open and eager, as if he wanted nothing more than to lose himself in the pleasure of you. His hands settled firmly on your thighs, grounding you, reassuring you that he meant every word, that this was exactly where he wanted you.
You hesitated for just a second, your heart pounding, but as his hands guided you forward, you felt every lingering worry slip away. He looked at you with such genuine affection, that familiar, stubborn patience in his gaze, that it was impossible to resist
As the early morning light crept into the room, you found yourself under the warm spray of the shower, the heat easing the fatigue from a night filled with closeness and quiet whispers. Dean joined you, carefully adjusting his stance to avoid getting his wound wet. Despite his best efforts, you could see him wince every so often, his jaw clenched in concentration.
âYouâre as stubborn as everâ, you teased, stepping closer to help shield his wound from the water.
Dean took the opportunity to draw you in, his arms wrapping around your waist with a gentle but steady pull. He guided you back just enough so the water wasnât pouring directly over you both, creating a small, intimate space where the warmth of his body surrounded you.
You felt his lips press softly against your shoulder blade, a lingering kiss that sent a shiver up your spine. His embrace tightened slightly as he leaned into you, his chin resting on your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. His hand splayed across your waist, anchoring you both in the moment.
"Thanks for looking out for me", he murmured, his voice a low hum that vibrated softly against you. There was a rare vulnerability in his tone, a quiet appreciation that went beyond words.
You leaned back against him, resting your hands over his as you both stood there in comfortable silence, the sound of the water filling the room. His hand slid up, brushing a stray droplet from your collarbone, his fingers lingering as if memorizing every curve and line. For a moment, it was as if time stood still, the world outside fading away as you both found peace in the closeness you shared.
With a soft sigh, he pressed another kiss to your shoulder, his lips lingering as he whispered, "I could get used to mornings like this".
You mumbled, barely above a whisper, âYou said that beforeâŚright before you left me the second timeâ. The words slipped out, laced with a hint of sadness. You bit your lip, feeling the weight of the past settle around you both, the times heâd walked away despite the promises that still lingered between you.
Deanâs arms tightened around your waist, his hold becoming firmer, as if he could anchor you to him just by sheer will. His breath stilled for a moment, and you could sense his heart beating a little faster against your back, knowing he felt the truth in your words.
You turned in his embrace, looking up at him, a fierce determination in your eyes. âI swear to you, Dean, if youâre not taking me with you this timeâŚâ. You paused, your voice steady, holding his gaze without a hint of hesitation. âIâll hunt you. Iâll join up with every demon, ghost, and whatever else is out there, and Iâll find you. Iâm not losing you againâ.
A flicker of something softened in his eyes. He swallowed, his hand coming up to cup your face gently, his thumb brushing your cheek in a silent apology. âI knowâ, he said, his voice barely a whisper. âAnd Iâm done running, I promise. Youâre coming with meâŚwherever this road goesâ.
You felt the tension melt away as he pulled you closer, his forehead resting against yours. In that moment, you knew he meant itâthis time, he wasnât going anywhere without you. The past may have cast its shadows, but standing there with him, you felt the strength of something real, something that wouldnât break again.
The warm spray of the shower continued to cascade around you, but the world felt perfectly still. Deanâs arms around you, his forehead pressed to yours, were more grounding than anything youâd ever known. For the first time in what felt like forever, the doubts and fears that had haunted you both were quiet, replaced by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against yours.
His whispered promise lingered in the air between you, fragile but unshakable, like the first light of dawn breaking through the darkness. âWherever this road goesâ, you echoed, the words a vow of your own, a tether tying you both to the promise of staying together.
Dean looked at you then, his gaze filled with an unspoken tenderness that seemed to reach into your very soul. âWeâve got thisâ, he murmured, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was as much reassurance as it was devotion.
You knew deep down that, no matter the battles or storms to come, youâd face them side by side. Together, you had finally found your way home.
-The End-
âââââââââââ
A/N: I LOVED writing this one. I hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know what you think.đĽ°
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Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @globetrotter28 @ladykitana90
#jensen ackles#dean and sam#deanwinchester#dean x y/n#dean x you#dean x reader#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester x you#dean winchester fic#deanwinchtser#dean winchester#dean winchester x y/n
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This is probably the weirdest way to show that I'm in the Mouthwashing fandom, and like nobody is going to see this BUT
If I see ONE MORE person compare Ted to Jimmy I'm going to LOSE MY FUCKING MIND. Is this another testament to people not understanding Ted's overall role in the story and his character arc? YES, YES IT IS. RE READ THE BOOK. RE LISTEN TO THE RADIO DRAMA. GAME IS IT'S OWN CONVERSATION THAT WILL TAKE TOO LONG FOR ME TO DISECT + IT HAS IT'S OWN STORY AND THUS WILL NOT BE INCLUDED HERE.
Jimmy is a jealous man, who assaults (and unfortunately impregnates) Anya, and then tries to crash the ship so he doesn't have to deal with the consequences, and when everyone lives, they live in misery BECAUSE OF HIM. He is the co-pilot, he has more power and authority over the others, and he ACTIVELY makes things worse, and is at fault for the crash and the subsequent fallout. (this section is shorter, simply because I've been in the IHNMAIMS fandom much longer and have way more thoughts on Ted) Ted, on the other hand, is not at fault for the world ending. He is just as trapped as the other five, he's more prone to mental manipulation and THINKING he's better off, but he really isn't. He doesn't have more power of the others because he's also a victim. He is by no means a great guy, or even a good guy; They key difference is that at the end of his story, the book, he actually fucking HELPS. Rather than make his friends continue to live in misery, he puts them out of it, and rather than end his own suffering, he spends those precious few seconds he could be ramming an icicle into himself, comforting Ellen as she dies. It doesn't make up for what he's thought and said, BUT, it's something at least. It's remorse, it's letting her finally be content, it's trying to give her the empathy she showed him time and time again. And he gets turned into a horrid slug creature after, he actively suffers more than everyone else for the rest of time- he self sacrifices so his friends could be at peace. TLDR: Jimmy is objectively selfish and doesn't change much throughout the game, save for MAYBE the very end (ig putting Curly in the pod is one brownie point for him) however Ted actually shows growth by the end of the story, and makes a point to end the suffering of his friends, while ultimately sacrificing himself in the process. If I catch another person equating these two I'm just gonna start throwing hammers at them I DON'T CARE. I am THE Ted defender, and I WILL stand my ground that, while he is no where near perfect, he DOES become a better person by the end of the story and deserves to have that acknowledged. anyway this has been sick rants with me, feel free to add on in reblogs or perchance spark a FRIENDLY debate. I apologize if I come off rude here, Ted and IHNMAIMS have been a hyperfixation of mine for months and I am very easily riled up about the story and characters. adding new tag ; Jace rants đŻď¸ ! For all my ranting escapades from now on.
#ihnmaims#ted ihnmaims#i have no mouth and i must scream#ihnmaims ted#mouthwashing#jimmy mouthwashing#rant#yap sesh#hyperfixation rant#ramble#ramblings#Jace rants đŻď¸
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It Keeps Us Dancing by The Family Crest as EliottĂŠ and Faustus. is this anything
slowly turns to you
youre the worst /pos. I think you'll enjoy this
//wynncraft spoilers
My Eli,
I hope this letter reaches you soon. Iâve just arrived in Thanos a few days agoâmy first break since leaving Efilim. As usual, theyâre wearing me down out here. Actually, Iâve been assigned to handle a dragon of all thingsâcan you believe it? I was only tasked with moving her egg, but still, being so close to a creature like that was quite the experience.
Youâd like the people here. Theyâre full of energy and definitely loud, kind of like Tasim and Aledar. I miss them. I miss you.
The city itself is nice, though the heat makes me feel like Iâm a piece of metal in the blacksmithâs forge, constantly being tossed from one task to the next. But the foodâit makes it all worth it. Iâll have to bring you here sometime, just for the food. As lovely as this place is, I donât think I could stand another night here.
[The end of the paragraph is hurried, as if Faust was called away in the middle of writing]
Iâm lost. The cliffs around me keep shifting, and I havenât figured out their pattern well enough to find my way out. For now, Iâll just keep heading east, following the sunrise. There has to be something that way. Iâll make it back to you.
I made it to Bantisu, though Iâm currently stuck in bed. The monks here insist I rest, which, honestly, isnât the worst thingâitâs giving me a chance to write to you. I had to carry a tourist, I think, up the steps before I arrived. I tuned them out pretty quicklyâtypical complainer, you know? After that, I was brought to their hospital, and I canât say I mind being in a proper bed again. Itâs comfortable here, and the breeze is cool and refreshing. Youâd love it. It feels free.
Iâm so sorry. I owe you an apology for all the things Iâve never been able to say. Thereâs so much Iâve kept hidden from you, afraid of how youâd react, afraid of how youâd see me. I canât keep it from you any longer, I need to come clean about everything.
Tasim left because of what he saw that day in Elkurn. He saw something, and he didnât want me to tell Aledar about it, so I lied. I lied to everyone, including you. I couldn't tell anyone, he asked me not to, Iâm so so sorry. My spells, havenât been right, not because I couldnât master them, but because of the corruption. It got to me, the corruption has been altering them and itâs killing me from the inside. I can feel it every day, and it terrifies me. The people disappearing, used as experiments for the golems, I could have stopped Dr. Urelix. I chose not to. I didnât tell anyone, and I let it continue. Itâs for the best, it has to be. Thereâs this elf named Lari. I canât shake the feeling that everything thatâs happened, everything thatâs gone wrong with Gavel, is because of her. If sheâd stopped holding onto her pacifistic ideals just long enough to act, we wouldnât be stuck in this mess right now and Iâm just trying to clean up the chaos she hasn't been able to fix. Orphion made me pick. Do I kill the mayor or Dr. Urelix? I killed him. The mayor. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt anyone. But it's for the better of the people. Orphion supports me. I had these horrible visions of what could happen to you if the decay reached you. I couldnât bear the thought of losing you, so I had to send you away. I know it was wrong, and it tore us apart, but I couldnât risk you getting caught in this. I couldnât let anything happen to you.
I'm exhausted from these visions. I keep seeing fragments of the past, and I can't tell if it'sOrphion or something else. Each one is worse than the lastâfamilies torn apart, lives destroyed. People I couldn't save. The mayor, Dulluhan, you, all in their place. I can't stand it anymore. The warden, the prison, three months of endless torture before I finally escaped. Maybe I should've stayed. The warden's rightâmaybe I deserve all of this. You should hate me for what I've done. I should've died in that mine. But I'll find my way back to you, even if all I see in your eyes is hatred. I have to see you again.
[The letter ends abruptly, the bottom of it torn and smudged with ink.]
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Okay, Part 2 of my Liir fanfic
Part 1 here
Edit: Part 3! What about Boq?
Okay, when we left off Elphaba has faked her death and given birth to Liir, Glinda is passing him off as her son with Fiyero, and Fiyero is a scarecrow. Okay he's also keeping his true identity secret from everyone, including Glinda and Liir; I haven't come up with a reason why he didn't tell Glinda who he was when Liir was born, but he did realize Liir being the son of Glinda the Good and the late great Prince Fiyero Tigelaar is better for the boy
Oh, also before continuing, I forgot to mention is part 1 that before Liir was born and Fiyero realized Elphaba isn't actually dead; Glinda tried to get Elphaba's hat from the Scarecrow to give back to Elphie, but he would not separate from it, he hold onto the thing like his life depended on it
Okay, moving on: The Scarecrow becomes a part of Young Liir Tigelaar's life (although he does have the tendency to disappear for months at the time), and as ridiculous as it sounds he grows to see the creature as something of a father figure; he will learn the irony of this when his daughter is born.
So Liir has a daughter. His It's Complicated Candle (not to be confused with Liir's true love Trism bon Cavalish, who apparently trains dragons? Neat) has a daughter they name Oziandra or "Rain" for short; so expectedly Rain is born is green, which worries and confuses her parents. Again stealing from this fic Glinda is forced to tell Liir the truth about his parentage the so called "Wicked Witch of the West"
To say Liir is upset to realize his entire life is a lie is an understatement, and then it get better! Scarecrow, who has made a point to be there for Liir his whole life, comes to meet Liir new daughter; Liir tells Scarecrow that Rain is "special", the scarecrow gasp softly when he looks at the little girl and immediately softens and carefully strokes her face as he did Liir himself so many years ago, Liir is honestly relieved Scarecrow took in Rain's condition so well, and has no idea what's coming, because Glinda is also here.
Now I want to say Glinda always suspected, but she didn't; she had an idea in the back of her mind, an idea she never followed up on because it's too painful and honestly kinda ridiculous, but it's an idea that lives in her head. The idea comes up every once in a while, specially when she sees Scarecrow telling Liir stories about the Vinkus and teaching him about life; now watching Scarecrow with Liir newborn daughter the idea starts to creep back, and then the being says something, it's only a whisper meant for the baby alone but Glinda hears it anyway: "You looks just like you're grandmother" he says. The idea hits Glinda full force and she looks at the Scarecrow, really looks at him for the first time ever, and she's mad
Fiyero knows he's in trouble the moment he sees Glinda's face; "YOU!" she doesn't shout which makes it worse, "Glinda" he tries, backing away from the crib in a placating gesture, she ignores him "All this years and You, You. It's YOU", and she hits him with her wand with all her strength, "yeah, I probably deserve that" he says "yes you do" and hits him again, and again, and again
Liir has no idea what's happening; Scarecrow is trying to back away from his mother being like "Glinda please, not in front of the baby"; while she ignores him and just whacks him with her wand. Scarecrow is like "I'm sorry" and Glinda is like "You should be! I can't believe it! All these years! I mourned you, for years I mourned you! And you were here! Playing dumb while I was raising your son!" Wait what? "It's not that simple Glinda!" she smacks him in the head for that one, seriously what; so he's like "what the hell is happening?" Which makes Scarecrow turn to him worried but Glinda asures him she told him everything, "everything I knew, at least" and hits him again "are you done?" "No" and Glinda hits Fiyero one more time and then puts her wand against his face and goes "You. Explain. Now" So Scarecrow looks at Liir and goes "Yes, I am your father" and proceeds to explain how he became a scarecrow, and Liir who was still reeling from learning the Wicked Witch of the West is his birth mother and not actually wicked is now learning that the sentient scarecrow that he's come to see as a father figure is his actual father, what the hell
And Liir asks the obvious question: Why? "Look at me, I'm just a bag of hay with no brains, Glinda presented you to Oz as the son of two of the most important people in the Land, this is much safer for you" "But you could've come forward as yourself, tell Oz the Witch cursed you like she cursed Boq" "Participate in the slandering of your mother you mean. I can't do that; Elphaba suffered so much, I can't do that to her" Glinda does ask why he didn't tell her, but I don't have an answer yet, Fiyero does, I don't; let's just say all of Liir's parents made some questionable choices
And oh yeah, also Fiyero asks Glinda if she knows where Elphaba is, but she says that she doesn't; but remember how Scarecrow had the tendency to disappear for months at the time? Glinda is hit with a realization, "you've been looking for her!"
Anyway, what comes next is fuzzy, I'm thinking the revisiting of history happens in this era (you know, how the Battle of Wounded Knee became know as the Massacre of Wounded Knee); but for now Elphaba enters the scene. She had been using her magic to keep tabs on Liir (and like Glinda she has no idea why the Scarecrow cares so much about her son, but also like Glinda she's not about to question it); so when Liir's daughter of born Elphaba comes back to Oz to see her, in the dark of the night while everyone sleeps, spooky! The moment Elphaba sees Rain she breaks, No! She passed her curse to an innocent child! How could she? Meanwhile Fiyero doesn't sleep so he's around keeping guard and hears a person crying in Rain's room; he goes there and it's shocked to see a figure on the baby's crib, a figure in black, a familiar figure in black; "Elphaba?" he calls out and Elphaba freaks, no one was supposed to be here, she runs. Fiyero has been looking for Elphaba for 24 years, he's not about to miss this opportunity, he runs after her; "Elphaba wait" she ignores him, "Fae, please I've looked for so long!" Elphaba stops in her tracks, "What did you call me?" "Fae, it's me, I've been looking for you, please" Elphaba looks at the scarecrow long and hard, it's insane, but also makes so much sense, she even knew he mourned her death "Yero?" "Fae"
And I ran out of ideas; Liir will meet his birth mother in the morning I guess. This guy just had his whole world turned upside down; and I totally forgot the cartoon scene where we see the story Liir was sold of the fairy tale romance of Fiyero and Glinda, contrasted with reality of her hitting him with her wand (I'm not sure if it's in character for Glinda, but it is funny)
#my post#my writing#wicked#wicked musical#wicked spoilers#liir thropp#AU#elphaba thropp#glinda upland#fiyero tigelaar
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Ch 29: ...Pay the Price
Master List ~~ Previous Chapter ~~ WC: 2.3k
Song: Not the sound so much as the lyrics: Chris Isaak - Wicked Game Lyrics (youtube.com)
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Hunter slowly became aware of his face smashed into a pillow, and as his consciousness returned, he was simultaneously incredibly comfortable and insanely wrecked. His whole body hurt, with a particular stinging pain on his ribcage, and waves of nausea immediately commenced as he pushed himself to an upright position. The netting shirt from the night before was wrapped around his hair, and a part of it fell into his face before he threw it off with vehemence. Heâd been sprawled across the entire bed in their shared hotel room, and he glanced around for Luci, rubbing his bleary eyes and blinking quickly to try to focus.
He spotted her in a chair, passed out face-down on the small dining table. Brow furrowing, he painstakingly climbed to his feet, bracing himself against the wall for a moment as his head spun and stabbed. He drew near enough to confirm that she was breathing, then staggered to the bathroom for some undignified time of dealing with the consequences of the night before. He tried to take a shower, but the water made him feel even sicker, so he settled to splash cold water on his face and search the hotel cooling chamber for some water.
âHey babe,â came Luciâs high, soft voice as she sat up from the table, wiping a small line of drool from the corner of her mouth. Her hair was a rumpled mess, falling around her face in frizzy waves, and she pushed it back as she stood up. Sheâd ditched her clothes in a pile by the door at some point and was instead wearing one of the hotel robes, which she had to re-tie upon standing. Hunter stared out the window, his hand loosely clutching the small bottle of water heâd found.
âNot good,â was all he could mutter, smoky voice hoarse with discomfort.
âIâm sorry,â she said quietly, stretching and yawning before taking a quick bathroom break. She emerged a few moments later looking like her normal self â clean face, hair smoothed and scrunched, and bright eyes ready to take on the day. âThereâs a juice bar here that has just the thing to help you feel better.â She appeared no worse for the wear, and he stared at her over his shoulder, heavy-lidded eyes scrutinizing her bubbly, carefree disposition.
âYouâre fine?â he grated.
âItâs not my first pod race,â she smiled, approaching him slowly. âBut Iâve been there.â She carefully touched his cheek, causing him to flinch and a wave of nausea to rise again, and she backed away, large eyes filled with apologetic empathy. âYou know what⌠You rest here. Iâll get the juice and be back, ok?â
âMmph.â
Hunter was simultaneously starving and sick, and he couldnât tell if he needed to eat or to never touch food again. He carefully sat on the couch, stretching his feet out, and pressed a hand to his eyes. It was so damn bright, and the water in the pipes in the wall was so damn loud. It was only once he had settled himself into apprehensive stillness that his mind began to race.
What the kriff had he doneâŚ
* * *
Plates clinked above the general hubbub of conversation at family dinner, and the twinkling string lights above the table danced in the gentle breeze. Everyone was together again, bringing a general atmosphere of contented joy. It had been a few days since Hunterâs return from his overnight trip to Plata, and it had taken him that long to feel semi-normal again.
âSounds like someoneâs got a bit of a crush,â Wreckerâs teasing voice reached his ears, and Hunter turned just in time to see Crosshair glaring at his brother with piercing eyes that could skewer any living creature. But Wrecker was unaffected, clapping him on the back in his trademark move of affection. Crosshairâs expression softened for a moment and he shook his head, stabbing a piece of meat on his plate.
âHeâs just good at his job, alright?â he evaded, but Tech was on his case now too.
âCompetence can be extremely attractive,â he chipped in, casting a glance at Phee, who wiggled her eyebrows at him with a small smile on her face. âThere is no shame in it. You have experienced it a number of times since our arrival here with a variety of people of all genders. I am surprised you find it something to be embarrassed of.â
âIâm not embarrassed,â Crosshair hissed. âI just donât need you all meddling in it.â
âWeâre not meddlinâ, weâre cheerinâ you on!â said Wrecker, positively beaming now. âYou deserve a lil fun!â
âI think Hunterâs been having enough fun for all of us,â Omegaâs voice came from the other end of the table, and his head jerked up, eyes narrowed.
âWhat do you mean?â he asked slowly, mind racing through all the possibilities that he absolutely didnât want to consider.
âWell, I was having a late dinner with some friends on a cafe patio on PlataâŚâ she began, a wry grin curving her cheeks. âAnd I saw the funniest thingâŚâ
âNo you didnât,â Hunter said, far too quickly. They now had the attention of everyone at the table, and there had been a slow development of tension in the air that now seemed about to snap at a single word.
âOh, okay. I didnât,â she conceded with a casual shrug. âSo, Echo⌠Where did you go this last week?â
âOh no you donât,â Echo snickered, shaking his head with a smirk. âHunterâs not getting off that easy. Please, Omega, go on. What did you see?â
âThe whole town seemed to be quite boisterous with the music festival,â she said slowly, flickering a glance to Hunter, whose expression looked like someone ready to face their own death. âAnd I could swear I saw Luci running down the street and diving into a fountain.â
âAnd Hunter was there to rescue her and give her a stern talking-to about her reckless behavior?â Echo interrupted, nodding sagely with an expression of utmost innocence.
âYou would think so,â Omega continued, eyes sparkling with mirth. âBut I didnât even see him there⌠Luci was being chased by some dude with pigtails and a mesh shirtâŚâ
Phee slowly leaned forward, resting an elbow on the table â the only movement among an entire group of people who seemed frozen, holding their breath, about to crack at any moment.
âWas⌠Was it Hunter?â Wrecker ventured, eyes large as plates, voice tight with restraint.
âI donât think so,â she answered, a slight letdown passing through each person, yet the tension remained. âThis guy looked a lot like him, but had quite an interesting tattoo on his ribcage. It looked pretty fresh.â
âIt would be most unwise to expose a fresh tattoo to the innumerable pathogens in a public water fountain,â Tech interjected. âAnd Hunterâs ribs are already tattooed.â
âOn one side, yes,â Omega said. âOr⌠is it both now?â
Hunter shifted in his seat, staring at the rest of them with an utterly dumbfounded expression. He held his breath.
âWell, go on,â Crosshair needled, eyes glimmering in delight. âLetâs see it, Hunter.â
âThis is all ridiculous,â Hunter began, but the air was starting to break with little snorts and snickers from his family.
âCome on, Sarge,â Phee said playfully. âAll youâve gotta do is show us and weâll leave you alone.â
With one last sharp glance at Omega, who was smiling at him angelically, Hunter carefully lifted up just one side of his shirt, revealing the faded skeleton tattoo that followed the curves of his ribcage.
âAnd the other side?â Echo said politely.
It was useless to resist. They had him cornered and he knew it. With a deep sigh, he picked up the rest of his shirt. The entire patio was immediately filled with a cacophony of hoots and hollers.
âWhat is that?!â Wrecker bellowed, slapping the table between fits of laughter.
âKarking hell,â Echo spluttered, mouth open slightly as he stared between the tattoo and Hunterâs face, which was as red as heâd ever seen it.
Omega had melted into helpless giggles, and once overcoming their initial shock, Tech and Phee were both snickering behind their hands.
In the middle of his ribcage, on the right side, Hunter was now sporting a brightly colored tattoo about the size of his palm. The graceful wings of a butterfly curved up either side of his body, but this was quite a special creature. One side of the insect was a plump body and lush wing of with purple, orange, and blue⌠and the other side was just a skeletal outline.
âOh, itâs perfect,â said Crosshair, absolutely radiating delight.
âWhat in the vast, Maker-forsaken galaxy possessed you to do that?!â Echoâs question was peppered with snorts as he stared at Hunter in mirthful disbelief.
âThere are few possibilities that donât involve mind-altering substances of some sort,â Tech posited. âWhich is not highly unlikely, considering the lifestyle of Hunterâs current romantic interest.â
âDoing drugs and partying on Plata?â Omega said, shaking her head in parentified disapproval. âTsk tsk, Hunter. You know that island is a cavalcade of beggars, sin, and wine.â
âWhat kind of phrase is that?â Echo chuckled.
âItâs from a song,â she grinned. âHunter probably knows it now.â
Lowering his shirt and his head in utter dejection, Hunterâs mouth felt dry. Heâd never been so ashamed, and it was quickly giving way to anger. How had he gotten here? There was something refreshing about the lighthearted fun and thrill-seeking freedom that Luci invited him into, but this was too far.
Another masterpiece by @clownbloody đ
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âWe need to talk,â Hunter said, as soon as Luci opened the door to her apartment. Concern flickered across her face, but she ushered him in with the same warmth nonetheless.
âYou okay?â she asked, slipping her arms around his waist.
He pulled away.
âThat Plata stuff⌠Thatâs not me.â He stood in the center of the living room, wide space around him on all sides, then pulled up the right side of his shirt, watching her eyebrows climb far up her forehead as she clapped her hand over her mouth to hide her simultaneous mirth and cringe at the sight of his half-skeleton butterfly. âThis is not me. I donât know what got into me, but that is not going to happen again.â
âThat is⌠Wow, thatâs a good one,â she snickered, turning serious as she lifted her eyes to his face, which had absolutely no hint of humor. âIf it makes you feel any betterâŚâ she paused, pulling her pants down on one side to reveal a surprisingly old tattoo across the side of her thigh. In an embellished, messy Aurebesh, it said âNo Ragretsâ.
Hunter stared.
Luci giggled, tugging her sweats back up.
âIt happens,â she said simply, with a casual shrug.
âNot to me,â Hunter growled, rubbing his face in his hands before returning his gaze to her. âIâve really enjoyed our time, but thatâs too far.â
âI get it,â came the quiet response. She was matching his energy now, joining him in the sobriety of the situation. âIâm sorry," she said, drawing near to touch his forearm as she looked up at him with an inexplicably soft expression, apologetic and affirming all at the same time. âYouâve had such a hard life of duty and strife⌠Itâs nice to let go of it all for a while. But I absolutely understand.â
"Well, your way of 'letting go' isn't going to work for me," he started, but drifted off lamely with a huff of indignation.
"All good, babe. I get it." She nodded, earnest and calm.
"So..." He wanted to put his foot down more but didn't know where to go with it. She waited patiently for a moment, then spoke up.
"So... no worries. I enjoy being around you and I'm down to keep having fun. No pressure, no expectations, no strings attached. I know we're going to have our differences, and if it's too much and you don't want to hang out anymore, that's alright too."
Hunter sighed. It felt as though some kind of command or decision needed to be made, and yet she seemed content to leave it completely unresolved. He was eternally mystified by her ability to hold things so loosely and was trying to convince himself that it was somehow... freeing?
Just then, some random memory from that fateful night on Plata resurfaced in his mind, something about sadness and emptiness, and he wracked his brain in an attempt to recall the full sequence. But it was lost, along with whatever else happened that he was unaware of, and he was brought back to the present by a light pat on his arm.
"I'll give you some space. You know where to find me."
âAlright,â he said, face softening slightly as he looked at her. She always threw him off; he'd expected some kind of defensiveness and yet had been met with acceptance., and he couldn't deny that he was mildly mollified by her accommodating response.
"Can I make one small request though?" she asked, as though just remembering something. "You don't have to answer now. But that wedding we agreed to go to together is next week. I'd appreciate if you'd still come as my date."
Hunter squinted.
"It's nothing crazy!" she added quickly in response to his expression. "It's here on Xylo. Small ceremony on a restaurant patio, calm dinner in the Town Square, and some nice orderly dancing. I'd just love to do a couple of the ones we practiced, if you're willing."
"Hm." He heard her. It sounded reasonable. And he hated that it sounded reasonable.
"Let me know," she invited, giving his forearm a squeeze before backing away courteously.
.
Author's Note: Okay, now that I'm reading this again after sharing the journey so far with you all, I imagine it might feel frustrating or out of character for Hunter to not be 100% done with her, but there were a few more scenes that were necessary for the overall plot, progression, build-up, etc. So... forgive me if it rankles a bit. đŹ (littlefeatherr explained it well here though!!)
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As all should know by now, I am pretty passionate when it comes to flora and fauna. As a researcher, I've devoted my life to learning everything I can and seeing every creature I can. I find it all so fascinating, and I can't help but fall in love with the natural world over and over again. I don't know how to put it into words, or properly explain why I care so much about it. Well, actually, I can put it into words, but someone won't let me properly explain it! "Too long," she says! "An intro shouldn't be longer than a novella," she says! But wasn't she the one who told me to write about my passion?! It's lunacy, I tell you! To tell me to pour my heart out and put into words the love and energy that keeps me going, keeps me living, but then limit it to a measly few pages! I won't have it! I won't tolerate it! I will give her a piece of my mind when I see her again! Apparently the last five times didn't get through her thick cap!....Now what was I writing again?
YES, nature! Wonderful animals and plants! What I was getting at was my love for such things, and all the weird shapes, sizes and types they come in! It is perfection! Wonder! Beauty! Every creature adapted in such specific ways! Given such incredible traits! They are living pieces of art! SO WHY DOES SOME NOXIOUS WEED OF A KNOTHEAD THINK THEY CAN DO BETTER?! Magic and its wretched alterations! Bah! Don't get me wrong, magic is a wonderful thing in itself, and it has certainly made everyone's lives easier! Well, at least if you aren't on the receiving end of a magic bolt. Or belong to a poor village that is going to be demolished to have a fancy academy put in instead... But nothing drives me crazier than people using magic to alter and mutate perfectly good species into something else! Okay, well maybe stupid naming conventions are worse. And, perhaps idiots who introduce invasive species on purpose. Okay, so, actually one of the things that drives me absolutely mad is magic alterations of plants and animals.
Now, of course, changing flora and fauna used in agriculture is perfectly reasonable. We were doing it well before magic got so big. The knot in my side is when people mutate species purely for spectacle or to make them living weapons! And with no thought or care for the creature itself! A tool to be used and thrown out! Disgusting! We dryads may use our affinity to these things to cause changes, but we do so respectfully and ensure that the species is not seen as a disposable trinket. The Eyahs are a good example of magic mutations that were done in the worst way possible. A simple primate warped into a crazed, bloodthirsty killer, but then abandoned the second the war was over! Vile! Hateful! A putrid violation of life! But of course I didn't bring this stuff up purely to get my sap pumping, as it is relevant to the species I wanted to write about. The bolt spider is an arachnid that faced a similar fate, used as an experiment in magic.
Originally, the bolt spider was a relatively simple species. About the size of a dinner plate, found in places that had plenty of trees or high up vantage points. Like many of their relatives, they spun webs in order to trap passing prey. The difference here, though, was that the bolt spider was capable of producing a glowing webbing that had some shocking properties! By that I mean it could be electrified by a pulse from the spider's special organs. This was how it quickly dispatched large prey that flew into their web! And the glow of their silk attracted food and drew them closer to their doom! Wonderful stuff! What a neat little species! However, some folk saw these spiders and thought they could do better...
According to the tales, the original intent was to make these spiders larger and produce more silk. This was because their beautiful glowing silk was a prized material, and used in a variety of fancy clothing, potions and other such things. The wild spider populations were taking a hit from over harvesting, as their silk fetched a fair sum. So the idea was to make a captive breed that could fulfill the market's wants more easily. However, at some point, things went foul. It would seem that the bolstering of this species size and abilities through magic caught the attention of some nasty folk. And when they began to meddle with things, a new direction was taken in this program. What resulted was the bolt spiders we know today, a species that is the disgust of many. This is because they are now associated with a magic group that is very unpopular with the public: necromancers.
It would seem that an interesting thing was found with the bolt spider's electrical capabilities. When bolstered to a greater size, there was more power to their jolts, more danger. A full burst unleashed upon a person could fry them outright, but that wasn't the interesting part. What really caught folk's attention was how the electricity affected the dead. When dead flesh was exposed to this energy, it would seemingly come to life! The electricity would make the muscles and limbs go crazy! And that was when the experiments took their turn. They would cease to be silk spinners for fancy tapestries, and instead become undead monstrosities.
The resulting bolt spider was much larger, more potent and very deadly. Its electrical capabilities have been greatly enhanced, and its aggression has been increased as well. These arachnids now rarely hunt by waiting in shocking webs, and instead attack prey straight on. Their legs end in sharp points, which can easily pierce skin. Through this, they can pump a lethal amount of volts into victims. And when one of these large spiders jumps on to you and fully snares you in its steel trap grip, it is all over. For you at least, because with this new corpse, the bolt spider has a new task to complete. Time to take its new toy home...
When presented with a dead body, the bolt spider will position itself on the deceased's back. It aims to align its own body with the spine, where it will clamp down. Its legs will then pierce specific points of the corpse, going for limbs, shoulders and thighs. Its fangs will unsheathe and pierce into the neck, while its odd pedipalps will embed themselves into the neck. Now fully latched on, it will release its energy and the corpse will come to life! Well, not really. What actually happens is that the spider uses its electricity to control the deceased, turning them into an undead puppet. This is how they bring their food back to their nest, or use this new bulky body to fend off foes and capture new prey. But it doesn't end there! Trained by necromancers and enhanced by their foul magic, the bolt spider wants more than a simple human body. As they gather more carcasses, they will use their serrated chelicerae to gnaw through limbs and break them down into pieces. Then, their silk will be utilized to sew the desirable chunks back together, into a horrible amalgamation of flesh and death. Copious webbing will be used to patch it together and hold it all into one piece. And when the bolt spider latches on and uses its energy, the whole thing will come to life, powered by its piercing limbs and electrified webbing. This is where the horror stories begin, with monstrous brutes of undead flesh and glowing "veins," striking foes down with electric web whips and unnatural strength.
Thankfully, the original species can still be found in some remote forests, but they are incredibly rare. These monstrous versions are all people know now, and it is so unfair! A brilliant creature now turned into some undead nightmare! The gall of it all! It causes fear and hate towards the species, even the unaltered ones! Now anytime anyone even thinks of an electric spider, they think of these horrible electric terrors that kill and consume, stitching victims onto their growing mass. Vile! Disgusting! Oh how I would love to tear apart the necromancers responsible for this with may bare hands! Of course, Eucella is very adamant that I don't do this, and that I swear I won't go picking fight with necromancers. Hmph! Tell me what to do! She's still worried about that troll poaching incident. I was fine, I had everything under control! Yeah, so what if they were armed? So was I, with the power of justice and righteousness! Those who kill innocent beasts for no reason will hear from me! I WILL STRIKE THEM DOWN, even if it is only with my fists! Just ask those two poachers I beat to a pulp before Eucella dragged me off them! I could have done worse! (And they could have too, Chlora! There were FIVE poachers there! With spears! I stopped you from getting skewered like a vegetarian kebab, you ignorant weed! And also if you come to my office to rant about the intro again I swear I am locking you in the closet and going home for a long weekend. - E.R.)
Chlora Myron
Dryad Natural Historian
----------------------------
"Bolt Spider"
Uh, it is actually called Frankenstein's Spider, thank you very much! Gosh, people!
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What if it was Banâs turn to dog sit scratch at the Crimson Palace? Iâm sure Lord AncunĂn would LOVE that đ
Love is made of fur and dander
Alright! First ask I'm answering. This is a nice, rather fluffy AA piece for fun. I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.
The mutt's here. Here. In his Palace, in his home, tracking mud and fur and soil in its paws and gods know what else -
Astarion bites back the urge to yell at the wretched creature as it runs past where he's perched on his throne to Ban, who's seated on the floor, arms open for the mutt.
He sighs. "My dearest consort - you do realize how much fur this animal sheds, do you not? Do have some mercy on our floors and upholstery, please, and take him outside."
Ban looks up at him from the mess of white fur she's half-buried in, shooting him a small smile. "Oh, come on. It's only for a day, the servants can clean it all up afterwards, and the house will be none the worse for wear!"
He opens his mouth to retort; Ban gives him no chance. "Besides," she adds, "didn't werewolves use to live here? I remember seeing them the day we did the rite."
"They were a fairly recent addition by Cazador," Astarion replies, crossing his legs irritably. "Only summoned once I had escaped. And that doesn't trivialize any of my concerns; if anything it only proves them accurate - did you not see the sheer amount of fur littering the house that day?"
He's not mad, he thinks. Just... piqued. His beloved always has a penchant for loving strays. This dog, the owlbear that he worried would eat them one day, and, well - himself, if he's being honest.
Astarion watches more intently, leaning forward on his throne, watching his wife disappear into white fur yet again. He feels a slight pang of sympathy for the mutt, a creature who was picked up from certain doom by Ban, who's been given a new lease in life, who's been accepted by her, loved by her - and hopelessly loves her in turn.
Choosing to momentarily ignore that rush of affection in his breast the Ascendant stands and approaches the pair. The moment he's close he regrets it; Scratch immediately bounds towards him, standing up on its haunches in an attempt to lick his face. The dog's forepaws land on the cream lapels of his suit and he curses, despairing of what its condition will be.
"Gods! I've half a mind to drink you dry, mutt!" he hisses, only to be met by his wife's incensed glare. Ban calls Scratch back to her, and holds him protectively.
"Astarion," she chides. "He is a dog. He does not know any better."
"Yes, I am fully, painfully, aware of that fact - but look at my suit!" He gestures at the cream soiled by mud, the rest of the suit none too worse for wear other than for a smattering of dander.
She shrugs. "And so are my clothes. We can have it washed. Stop whinging." Ban finally stands, patting her thigh to ask the dog to follow her. "We're heading to the bedroom. I'd very much like to nap, and I missed cuddling Scratch like we used to in camp."
The Vampire Ascendant, the greatest vampire in all the realms, splutters at those words. Their bed. Really? When Ban has always been so precious about the sheets, asking him to remove your shoes, please and don't wear anything other than nightclothes on the bed, my love and yet she'll let Scratch stay there?
"Ban," he manages to grit out, jaw clenched. "The bed. Are you serious?"
"Oh, completely," she says, not even looking back. "You're free to join us, you know."
He watches them go, crossing his arms. No. Under no circumstances is he joining them. Never mind that they used to do that, back in their adventuring days, Ban wrapped in his arms while the dog slept on top of them. Never mind that it was comfortable, even nice - and oh gods, is he actually considering this?
Ban peeks her head out from the mass of white licking her face to see her husband walk in, a sullen look on his face. He's taken his clothes off save his underwear in some ridiculous attempt to save them, she realizes; she can't help the bark of laughter that crosses her at this.
He glowers, then sits at the edge of the bed. "I had nothing better to do, so I'll indulge you this," he grumbles, "but you can never complain about clothes on the bed ever again. Is that a deal?"
She frowns, weighing it; Scratch chooses that moment to bound over to Astarion again. Despite himself he lets his hand run through the dog's fur, the feeling of it sending him back to those days at camp. He absently cards through the white, coarse hairs, smiling a little.
"Fine," Ban finally says. "You can wear whatever you wish to the bed, but -"
"I know," he says, "no footwear of any kind is allowed; I am fully aware. You needn't remind me every single time."
She rolls her eyes. "Well you need reminding, considering how many times you do it."
Another sigh and he finally crawls towards her, grabbing her by the waist and tugging her close. He presses himself against her back, placing kisses down her jaw to her throat. "Can I tempt you into something a little more interesting than a nap, darling?"
She chuckles, and as she does Scratch settles over his usual spot on top of their legs; Astarion groans at the reminder.
"I suppose that's a no," he mumbles, and Ban's bark of laughter is all the confirmation he needs.
He lets out an exaggerated, long suffering sigh, then settles against her. "If only I didn't love you so much, Ban," he whispers right against her ear.
"Ah, don't pretend, Astarion." She turns to place a kiss on his lips, one he returns with eagerness. "We both know you enjoy this too."
He harrumphs, but knows the battle is lost. Not that he minds much, really.
This, after all, is nice.
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Espilver Week day 1: Invisible
"The Wisps are truly remarkable creatures, are they not?â the chameleon muses one warm afternoon.
With a smile Silver nods at Espioâs question, studying their strange companions fluttering and cooing around in the distance. The two of them had been exploring around following a tip Sonic had provided them with, and Silver has to admit: the Lost Hex is nothing to sneeze at. Windy Hill could not be better to just wander through with his beloved at his side, his quills fluttering and Espio humming contently at the breeze. But the fact Wisps had come rushing right over with coos galore means that the place isnât as alone and deserted for lovebirds to spend their dates at as Sonic had proclaimed, even if Silver doesnât mind it. Thereâs worse companions to have than a bunch of curious aliens.
âThey always look so funny. And theyâre so nice to us too,â the hedgehog answers, giving the Red Wisp that had snuggled itself into his hands and refused to remove itself from the decadent affection elicited on it since yet another caress over its head. Espio has found himself a similar object of the Wispsâ interest, with how a Magenta one is doing its very best to stay balanced on top of his crest where many of its siblings have fallen off already. The antics make Silver laugh, which makes the Wisps laugh and Espio too, and that is the sweetest reward of all.
The Red Wispâs tentacles twitch and curl like the flame of a fire, Silver studying it curiously. âI wonder where they get their special powers from. What creates Hyper-go-on,â he brings up. It's question heâs wondered before, but during wars and racing events thereâs not much time to ponder those things over. The Wisps seem to know, though; or at least, they respond with a whole bunch of chatters that Silver canât follow in the slightest. âSorry, we donât have any communicators,â he apologises.
âWeâll have to make do the old-fashioned way. Guess-work. Let us see⌠It is either something very special or very mundane,â Espio nods from where he grabs and scrutinises the Magenta Wisp so closely Silver can only presume his look of seriousness is tremendously exaggerated, though it wavers at the response of cries the hedgehog swears are disappointed. At least that means he kind of has an idea whatâs going on!
Wriggling a finger onto the body of the Red Wisp and grinning at the giggling squeal it elicits Silver hums. âI guess it doesnât matter so much. But itâs nice the Wisps have managed to make their home here. Itâs a great place to live,â he muses, more to himself than to Espio; but Windy Hill is gorgeous and just ambling through it with Espio as the sun shines on his face and the trees sway in the breeze gives plenty of room for happy thoughts. No wonder the Wisps so delightfully chase each other around and draw Silver and Espioâs attention towards flowers and critters scampering around without a care in the world. And even Espio looks carefree, the other drawing a deep breath of the fresh air with a smile on his face.
âIndeed. I can imagine it gives them plenty of space to use those powers of theirs.â
âCertainly,â Silver agrees, a Blue Wisp squeaking loudly and immediately transforming in a cube the moment he and Espio look over. âVery impressive,â the hedgehog encourages their new friends. âWhatâs your favourite power, Espio?â
âPsychokinesis,â the dry retort comes⌠as does many an adorably angry leer from the Wisps cluttering around them. âOkay, okay,â the chameleon relents with a chuckle. âI like⌠Crimson Eagle best.â
Silverâs lips twitch up in a grin. âBecause it allows you to fly?â
âShush, you,â Espio chastises him fondly as Silver very elaborately takes to floating in the air. The hedgehog can see some reasons why his beloved would like the ability to fly best⌠âWhich one do you enjoy?â the other adds, Silverâs ears shooting right up.
âJade Ghost!â
ââŚBecause it allows you to turn invisible?â
âNo, because it allows me to focus on my missions without everyone constantly getting in my way-â Silver falls right into explaining⌠before blinking. âOh. Because Iâm invisible and they canât see me.â
That elicits a snort from Espioâs side and a delighted coo from a Jade Wisp in the distance. "But I'm not playing favourites," Silver assures the Red Wisp he's holding still, that's quite promptly taken to pouting- and shrieking, as its Jade companion comes rushing right over and bonks it right out of Silver's arms.
The hedgehog gasps by instinct, as his hold promptly houses a completely different Wisp that expectantly chirps at him and tugs at his fingers. Beside him Espio laughs, as does the Magenta Wisp smugly sprawled out in Espio's grasp with an air that it would not be removed so easily. âEager, arenât you?â the chameleon smiles at the Jade Wisp, that coos in approval with its little mouth forming a grin. Its red companion has taken the change less well: mad squeaks and growls fill the air around Silver and Espio, three eyes narrowed angrily and a tendril shaken as if itâs a fist. Adorable, Silver stops himself from cooing out loud. Espio clearly thinks the same, a fond golden gaze meeting Silverâs. âBoth of you, pipe down," the chameleon soothes. "Youâre reminding me quite a bit of a certain someone when you act like this, heh.â
âThatâs not true! I also like Jade Ghost because it means I donât need to constantly attack people which costs way too much time," Silver huffs back, Espio laughing most teasingly from where he gets shoved by psychokinesis. Incorrigible, that beloved of his, the hedgehog decreed with a shake of his head; even if hearing Espio laugh like that always makes him flutter on the inside. "But I guess you are not bothered much by that, are you, little one? You did just push your friend right away to get some attention. I would never do such a thing myself," he adds to the Jade Wisp he's holding, Espio taking the angrily-jabbering Red Wisp to soothe and cuddle instead while the hedgehog shoots a teasing little grin to his own charge. It promptly makes a similar peeved noise as its friend, Silver muffling a laugh as it bonks its head against his stomachâŚ
And a zap of energy going through him makes the fur on his spine rise, though as Silver looks down at the Wisp he can look quite a bit through himself, too.
âHuh,â Espio remarks over the giggles and squeals from their various companions. âYour friend there didnât like to hear that, tenshi.â
With a curious hum Silver sticks out his hand: heâs very much still here, but also very much translucent, a green aura radiating from his body and the Wisp flying right out of his grasp through his arm with plenty of cheeky coos. âJade Ghost,â the hedgehog easily determines. Not as complete as heâs used to, but pushing a hand through his stomach is easy as can be.
âThatâs creepy,â Espioâs teasing judgement comes.
Laughing at the Jade Wisp fluttering around his head with scolding chirps Silver shakes out his glowing quills. âAw, come on. Canât handle a bit of see-through-ness?â
âExcuse me? I am the expert at see-through-ness,â the chameleon retorts; and quite suddenly it looks as if the Red Wisp is floating into nothingness, the creature squeaking in alarm as Espio disappears with a gale and some leaves fluttering around him. âI am still here, my friend. You would not be held up if I was not,â the ninjaâs disembodied voice assures it, Silverâs ears twitching in amusement. Yes, Espio does not become intangible when invisibleâŚ
âThatâs true! Heâs right here,â he smirks, and Espioâs noise of warning does not deter him from pushing his translucent hand right into where the otherâs body must be.
A full yell and a startle follow, Espioâs purple colours rushing right back from where he jumps away. âSilver!â the chameleon huffs at him. âThatâs cold!â
âHeh. Sorry,â Silver retorts, not at all apologetic.
âIncorrigible,â he gets scolded... though Espioâs attempt to grab twitching grey ears and give them a tug promptly finds itself foiled as his hand goes through Silverâs head instead. It leaves the two of them laughing, as does the Jade Wisp prodding away at Silverâs body. âAlas, I have been defeated by the power of the Wisps. I guess Iâll just have to get used to my beloved always being half there,â the chameleon bemoans playfully. âI would give you a kiss⌠but it cannot be achieved. You are intangible.â
:"...Oh. Heck." With his quills shooting right up in horror Silver blinks, staring at himself and his see-through body: that is quite a good point, actually. But not one that is irreversible! After all, Wisp powers always run out right when he doesn't want them to; surely this half-formed Jade Ghost has only been kept active because its responsible Wisp has been battering at Silver relentlessly this whole time. âHey,â he pipes up to their Jade companion, who has crossed two of its tentacles to pout at him. âSorry for painting you as a Wisp-bonking menace. It was a compliment.â
Jabbering something back the Jade Wisp rubs its little face, or at least Silver figures; but with a final bonk and mad cackles it flies off, the hedgehog chuckling as well. Before he knows it the usual grey of his pelt as returned, his hand pushing into his stomach instead of through. âWell! Now you can kiss me,â he grins at Espio, eager as can be-
Before squealing in disdain as the other shoots over and tugs at his ears after all.
âThere. My revenge has been had,â the chameleon smirks, Silver wriggling in his grasp and laughing at the flailing of the Red Wisp finding itself rather stuck between their two bodies. Eventually it breaks free with similar peeved jabbers, though Silver is a bit too preoccupied to really pay attention to that: Espio's hands run over his back and his quills, their faces so tantalisingly close a kiss is mere seconds away after all.
Huffing a breath into Espio neck first, just to make a statement, Silver snuggles even closer. âRude,â his protest comes; but so does his coveted kiss, his arms wrapping around Espioâs body and purrs rumbling in his chest from where he gets petted so lavishly.
That is, until he gets rammed in the back by a madly-cackling Wisp and the zap of energy makes him stumble; through Espio, who altogether shrieks at the sensation, and after that they spend a lot of the afternoon chasing after their mischievous Jade friend and trading pecks once Silver has become tangible again.
Next time theyâre getting a Crimson Wisp to play with because at least those donât make Espio become translucent, Silver determines, but for now heâs perfectly happy to snuggle with his beloved into the grass from Windy Hills, content as can be.
@espilver-week đ
#silver the hedgehog#espio the chameleon#espilver#Espilver Week 2024#blue's writing#I am EXHAUSTED so bear with me when it comes to more extensive tags and summaries and what-not XD
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