#i especially like the part about the dawn obeying God

[everyday-is-brighter-with-you]

In Jerusalem by Tamim Al-Barghouti - Translated by Anas and Amena, based off Houssem Ben Lazreg

In Jerusalem

We passed by the beloved’s house, but were turned away​ by the enemy’s laws and the enemy's wall.​

I told myself, “Maybe, that is a blessing,” for what will you see in Jerusalem when ​you visit it?

You will see all that you cannot endure, when its houses appear by the ​side of the road.​

And not every soul rejoices when it meets its beloved, nor does every separation harm it.​

For if their meetings pleased it before separation,​ That pleasure is not, after their reunion, guaranteed.

Once you set your eyes on Old Jerusalem one time, your eyes will then see it, wherever you set them. ……………………………………………………………………………….

In Jerusalem is a greengrocer from Georgia, annoyed with his wife, thinking of going on vacation ​or of painting his house.​

In Jerusalem is a Torah ​ and an elderly man come from Upper Manhattan to teach Polish boys its commandments.​

In Jerusalem is an Ethiopian policeman closing off a street in the marketplace.​ A machine gun on a settler not yet twenty.​ A hat greeting the Wailing Wall. ​

​And European tourists who do not see Jerusalem at all.​ You see them taking pictures ​of each other ​with a Palestinian woman who sells radishes in public squares ​all day long.​

In Jerusalem the soldiers marched ​with heavy boots ​over the clouds. In Jerusalem we prayed on the asphalt. ​In Jerusalem ​is…​whomsoever is in Jerusalem…but you.​

And History turned to me and smiled: ​ "Did you really think that your eye would overlook them and see other than them? Here they are in front of you; ​The text,​ of which you are the footnote and margin.

O son, did you think ​that a visit would lift​ off of the city’s face ​the thick veil of its reality, so that you may see what you desire?​ In Jerusalem ​is every young man…​but you.​

It is the deer in the distance whom fate decreed stay out of reach,​ you still chase after her ​ever since she said goodbye with a tear​. Go easy on yourself for a moment, ​I see that you have become weak…​ In Jerusalem ​is​…whomsoever is in Jerusalem…​but you.​"

O chronicler of history, wait a minute for the city’s timeline is twofold: One is foreign, serene, with steady steps ​as if sleepwalking​ And there is another, hidden, masked, walking silently, cautious of the first…​

And Jerusalem knows itself. ​Ask the people there everyone will guide you,​ for every thing in the city has a tongue ​eloquent when you ask it.​

In Jerusalem the crescent becomes more curved, like an embryo,​ bending towards its likenesses over the domes, developing with them over the years a relationship,​ as of a father to his sons.​

In Jerusalem are buildings whose stones are quotations​ from the Bible and the Quran.​

In Jerusalem the definition of beauty is ​a blue octagon,​ on top of it, dear friend, lies a golden dome ​that looks to me like ​a convex mirror in which heaven’s face ​is reflected,​ coddled, drawn near, ​ distributed like aid to the ​needy as they are besieged ​ when they appeal to God ​after a Friday sermon. ​ In Jerusalem the sky is amongst us, ​ we protect it and it ​protects us, ​ and we would carry it on​ our shoulders if Time ever ​oppressed its moons.​

In Jerusalem are dark marble columns,​ the veins in the marble resemble smoke. ​ And windows, high on mosques and churches, taking Dawn by hand to show it how engraving in colour is done. ​

Dawn says, “like this,” ​and the windows reply, “no, rather like this.” ​ And whenever this debate lasts long, they compromise. For Dawn is free outside the thresholds, but​ if it ever wishes to enter ​it is bound to the rules of the windows and their Lord.​

In Jerusalem there’s a school built by a Mameluke who came from beyond the river, was sold at a slave market in Isfahan, to a merchant from Baghdad, who traveled to Aleppo, and gave the Mameluke to Aleppo’s Prince, Fearing the blueness in the Mameluke’s left eye, the Prince gave him to a caravan heading for Egypt where soon, he became the vanquisher of the Moguls and the Sovereign Sultan

In Jerusalem is a scent that captures the essence of Babylon and India​ at an herbalist’s shop in Khan El Zeit.​ A scent that I swear has a language ​you will understand if you listen to; And it says to me when they fire tear gas at me “Don’t worry about them.” And it fills the air again as the gas ​fades away and it says to me: “Do you see?”​

In Jerusalem contradictions are in agreement, ​and the wonders people cannot deny;​ they check them out like pieces of cloth, old and new,​ and the miracles there they touch with their hands.

In Jerusalem if you shake hands with an old man or touch a building, you will find engraved on your palm, ​my friend, lines of a poem or two.​

In Jerusalem despite the succession of calamities a breeze of innocence fills the air, a breeze of childhood.​ And you will see doves flying declaring the birth of a state between two bullets.

​In Jerusalem the rows of graves are lined like they are ​the lines of the city’s history, ​ and the book is its soil. ​

Everyone has passed through here for Jerusalem welcomes all who come to it.​ Walk through it, and read its gravestones in the languages of all peoples of the Earth. There are the Africans, Europeans, Kipchaks, Slavs, Bosniaks, Tatars, Turks, the believers, disbelievers, poor, rich, sinners, hermits. In here are all the peoples that have ever walked the face of the Earth.​

Oh chronicler of history! ​What has happened that you ​have excluded us? Have you found that we are the only ones with no place left for us in the city? Re-write and read again for I see that you have erred.​

My eyes close, then look again. The driver of the yellow car heads north, away from the city’s gates, and now Jerusalem is behind us.

My eyes see it in the right-side mirror, as its colors have changed in the sun before sunset, when a smile surprised me, how it sneaked onto my face, I do not know.​

It said to me after all this pondering: ​ “O you weeping behind the city wall, are you a fool? Have you lost your mind? ​ Do not weep O you who have been excluded from the text of the book. ​ Do not weep O Arab, and know surely that​

In Jerusalem ​is whomsoever is in Jerusalem but…In Jerusalem ​I see no one…but you.”​

-

Original source: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SVYbsjK4nVA

[drawnecromancy]

Lumeria

From the coldest part of the continent, basically living in a place that's kept alive through magic and prayers

Analyst of the University of Vano, a university that is quite literally run by the god of Teaching, Writing, Knowledge and so many other little things (Volieda, the Headmaster).

Spider theming : her god of preference is Cenaldir, the Spider God, in Vannean lore the god of Luck, Death, Thievery, Lust, Disasters and to some extent Romantic Love, if you're really desperate for someone to listen to you. She wears spiderwebs at her wedding, specifically because to her knowledge, Cenaldir and the Emperor fucking Hate each other despite being father and son. Or maybe because they're father and son. Apparently when I write her lying, i sprinkle in some good old fashioned spider related words, too.

Has a knack for observing everything around her and trying to figure out what's going on with people, sometimes even without talking to them. Once she becomes acquainted with the Emperor's court, she knows all of the drama without being involved in it, and she knows she could use it against others if she wished.

Good liar, has honed that skill her entire life and keeps using it all the time especially around the Emperor.

She lies to him. To his face. And sometimes does it well enough that he believes her.

Physical appearance : thin and tall, long blond hair with cyan eyes. Yes literally the eye hurty color, cyan. Tendency to wear dresses with many layers, although I haven't yet found a historical aesthetic i want to draw from when thinking of her.

Colors : Gold, silver, blue, green to some extent (that's for Cenaldir).

Elysia

Ice magic that she uses when she needs to hurt or physically restrain others, but also uses for creative expression in her spare time. Incredibly skilled and dangerous in a fight. Extensive ice theming with Vincent, another ice user, who she initially dates because he's from Lonna and she'd like to become that region's Master for reasons.

Shield magic that she uses incredibly regularly, with the ice.

Comes from the Sky City's Academy, the only place where an Anomaly can even hope to have a good future, the only place where Dawn has decided she could make magical soldiers loyal to her and her only, the only place where one may get the training required to become Master of a region, the highest ranked pawn in Dawn's ideal hierarchy. She is a teacher there, for a time.

Speak to animals ability : she knows everything about everyone if they even so much as live near animals, including insects. She uses this to blackmail and force people to obey to her all the time. That's how she figures out secrets, that's how she can get pretty much anyone expelled from the Sky City's Academy if she wishes to. That's how she learns where things are hidden and how to find them.

Incredible liar and manipulator, she bends entire character arcs to her whim using these skills, on top of the general intimidation factor of her fighting prowess. Drives a good portion of the later parts of the plot through the sheer... well. webs she has spun.

She lies to Dawn. To her face. And Dawn believes her.

Physical appearance : thin and tall, long blond hair with cyan eyes. Perfectly tailored shirts and waistcoats with a vest and pants to match.

Colors : Grey, white, ice-blue and gold.

[with-love-from-hell]

What They Wear to Bed

Fandom: Obey Me!

Genre: Headcanons, light comedy

Characters featured: Brothers

CW: swearing, somewhat suggestive at parts, also images of folks who may be barely clothed? 

A/n: I saw something like this floating around the fandom a few months back and I had thoughts so here are my headcanons.

Side Characters version

Lucifer

I think that Lucifer would likely wear something comfortable, and easy to move around in if he needs to get up and deal with his brother’s BS during the middle of the night. I definitely think Lucifer is someone who typically runs cold, but there’s no way his room isn’t a sauna with that god damn fireplace lol. So I think he would dress minimally in boxerbriefs, throwing on a robe if he needs to move around the house or if he’s just relaxing before bed. 

Mammon

Lazy SOB probably doesn’t even have the energy to throw these on some nights lmao but when he thinks about it or if he needs to exit his room for some reason, this is likely what mammon would wear. Simple, comfortable, and brand-named of course. I can see him sometimes dawning a silk set if he’s feeling especially fancy, but a simple jersey material is probably his go-to. 

Levi

Anime Pjs- his favorite are Ruri-Chan based- obviously. (bonus: he will also likely get a matching set for MC)

Satan

Simple and practical. I also think he is the opposite of Lucifer and runs too hot, so I imagine him dawning thin shorts and a thin button-up shirt. He likely will take the shirt off halfway through the night, so the buttons make it easy to do that. 

Asmo

If he could, he would wear lingerie, obviously. But probably got yelled at by Lucifer for having his dick too visible in the house when he leaves his room so this is his compromise. A nice silk tank and silk booty shorts. It’s also good for his skin!

Beel

He likely doesn’t put much thought into it- just wearing boxers and a white tee is enough for him I would think. He likely is one who does a work out before bed, so I think he would probably be most comfortable in something like this after a cold shower. I also think Beel runs cold, which is why the additional tee-shirt is added. I can imagine him waking up freezing in the middle of the night because Belphie stole his blanket lol. Gotta keep them nip nops warm, folks. 

Belphie

100% fleece or flannel pajamas with slippers or fuzzy socks. He lives for comfort and seriously, have you seen his every day clothes? literally looks like something off of the Lane Bryant sleep & lounge line lol. He probably has tons of different sets too because I don’t think this stinky boy (affectionate) does laundry all that often. 

[putflowersinmyhair-callmepretty]

Dove (Finan x Reader)

A/N: I wanted to challenge myself and writing a short smut seemed about right. Hope you enjoy it, baci baci. Cate. WORDS: 2341 Warnings: Lot of fluff, smut smut smut: oral, dom!Finan, just a lot of love making :)

18+ only please

“For the love of God, Sithric, stay still!” Y/N screamed, turning his head to make him look straight ahead. He was sitting on a block of wood and she was standing behind him, comb and knife in her hands. Traveling with men is never easy but is even worse if the men in question are warriors. Y/N, however, had grown used to them and most of the time she enjoyed her time. An exception being that particular day. While riding in the wild, she had noticed that the warriors’ hairs had grown out of control and kept falling on their eyes, frustrating them; therefore, when they had stopped to rest for the day, she had forced Sithric down on the block of wood, deaf to his protests. He was the one with the wildest hair, thin as feather but dense. It was hard to cut it with the unsharpened blade of her dagger, and, as if that wasn’t enough, Sithric was acting like a child and he could not sit still. “If you don’t stop moving, I swear to God, I will cut your throat. I swear on your gods, even.” she hissed and he laughed chugging a cup of ale “I apologize my Lady” he sang, turning around to send her a wink “I’m positive that the gods would love the bloodshed but I do love my pretty face where it is, right over my neck. Don’t you?” “I will make you the ugliest Dane alive, Sithric. Do not provoke me” she mumbled and cut a big strand of his dark hair, Sithric screamed outraged. Meanwhile Finan was enjoying the view, resting under the shadow of the old oak. Y/N heard him laugh and turned around to shot him an amused look “I wouldn’t laugh if I were you, Irishman. You’re next.” Sithric’s hair turned out good, the left side of his head completely shaven, the right full of long, untangled curls that she had cut irregularly until the middle of his neck. She had also braided a strand between the two section, adding the jewellery she had so often seen on Vikings and he had smiled at her gratefully; she knew how much his culture meant to him and she did want him to honour his people, how he could. She was now cutting his beard, who had grown to long for his fresh features; she did not know exactly his age, but she was sure he looked younger that he really was. “You look very handsome, Sithric” she then said, patting his cheek “Your wife’s a lucky woman” “You know you’re always welcome in our bed, Y/N” She laughed and winked at him “I’ll keep that in mind” “Oy! I’m still here, ye know?!” Finan shouted and stood up; with two long strides, he was behind the woman and wrapped his strong arms around her full hips. He buried his face in her neck and growled, high enough for Sithric to hear “I do not like to share.” Y/N blushed, still not used to this part of Finan. They had been companions and friends for years and Y/N had been in love with him since the first day, suffering for her unreciprocated love. What she did not know was that Finan was just as deeply in love with her. And so they fought and tried to find other lovers, and cried and shouted until their friends, sick and tired of their behaviour, forced them to face each other and their reciprocated feelings. Again, they had screamed and fought as always until Finan had crashed his lips against hers. They had made love then and there for the first time and had finally found each other. They were still discovering each other, but Y/N had soon found out that Finan was a very affectionate man, always touching her as he could, and she loved it. She shivered, when he kissed her softly just under her jaw and she raised a hand to graze her nail through his beard. “Very well” Sithric interrupted their flirting “It’s my cue to go, thanks for the cut Y/N.” “Anytime” she mumbled at short of breath, and she spun in her lover’s arms smiling at his cheeky smirk and he patted her bum, making her squeal embarrassed and sneak out of his embrace.

He tried to catch her again, but she stepped away quickly, laughing. “Behave, Finan. And sit down, let me cut your hair.” Finan’s hair had grown a lot in the last year and she liked how it framed his strong masculine face, softening his features. He was the most handsome man in England, she was sure of it, and the more she fell in love with his personality, the more handsome he became for her and the harder it was for her to refrain to kiss him and touch him and make love to him. She placed herself between his legs, not caring about invading his personal space, wanting to be as close as possible to him. He didn’t seem to mind, though, quite the opposite: he smiled widely, looking up to her, and put his large hands on her waist, squeezing jokingly her flesh. “Hi, dove.” “Hello to you, handsome.” She was watching him with a piercing gaze, chewing hardly her bottom lip and he freed it with his thumb. She smiled sweetly recognizing his hungry gaze. “I really like your hair, I just want it to be neater.” She mumbled and scratched his beard again, drawing a deep animal growl out of his throat “and I certainly like your beard.” “I know that.” He said, squeezing her hips “You like how it feels on your skin” his long fingers caressed her inner tight, over the soft leather of her trousers “Especially here. Don’t you, dove?” “Shut your mouth” she growled with a little smile on her full lips, blush spreading from the neckline of her red vest, which was actually Finan’s vest. “Kiss me than and I shall be quiet.” She rolled her eyes, but she didn’t let him stew for long; she lowered her mouth on his and he immediately opened his lips in a deeper, more intimate kiss. He caressed her tongue with his and she moaned, before capturing his lips between her teeth. “Sweet, Jesus Christ” he mumbled, breaking the kiss just for the time necessary to catch his breath and grip the back of her tights, guiding her to straddle him. With a hand on her back, he pushed her against his groin and she moaned loudly, feeling how hard he had already become. She put her hands around his neck, pushed with her thumbs on his chin to raise his face and kissed him harder, then pulled away abruptly. He pouted and leaned for another kiss but she pushed him away laughing; defeated, he dropped his forehead on her chest “You kill me, woman.” he murmured against her skin, biting lightly her collarbone; she scratched his neck with her nails, under the hem of his green vest and he groaned “Lord, cut my hair. Now.” and here he was, his dominant side finally bursting through his controlled behaviour. She had already met that part of him, which he hid remarkable well on normal days, and she adored it. Not only he looked ferally handsome, but he also made her feel desirable as no one had ever before. Moreover, living as a warrior, the chances letting herself go and be at the complete mercy of another human being were slim to none and Finan helped her discover that she liked to be pushed, now toughly now kindly, to her limits. “Do as I said, Y/N. Ye know I don’t like to wait.” “Yes, my lord.” she obeyed swiftly, standing up and positioning her body once again between his knees. It wasn’t the best way to cut hair, standing in front of him, partly because she wasn’t free to move, partly because his eager gaze made her hands shake. However, she managed to shave the sides of his head and even his beard before dawn. “All done.” she whispered lowly, dropping comb and knife in his open hand. He smiled sweetly, brushing his knuckle on the apple of her cheek “Good girl” he pinched her skin lightly “Ye hungry?” Of you, Finan “Not at all.” “Good, we’re skipping dinner.” Thanks God they hadn’t wear they armour that day; stripping out of all that chain and leather was always hard, boring and ridiculous. Most of the time, they ended laughing, all their energy drained out. But that particular day, they were only wearing their vests and trousers and, as soon as they entered their shared tent, Finan took of his green vest. “Sweet god!” Y/N exclaimed, never used to his magnificent body, and Finan laughed, pulling her against his naked chest “Just me here, dove. Am I not enough?” She run her fingers through the soft hair on his pecs “ ‘M not complaining, am I?” His cold hands dipped under her vest and found her hardened nipple that he twisted harshly making her moan loudly, for the surprise and the pleasure “Seems like ye enjoying it, actually” her vest dropped on the floor and just moments later he lifted her from the ground and dropped her on their bed. It was not the widest nor the softer, but Y/N couldn’t care less, she just wanted Finan. To keep kissing her and to finally push himself inside her. He was in no rush, though, and slowly bit and kissed and licked every inch of her scarred skin “Beautiful creature, ye are. Can’t get enough of ye” he mumbled, removing her trousers. “I don’t want you to” she breathed out and he shot her his sweetest, happiest smile before burying his face between her tight with a low, feral growl. The deep strokes of his tongue on the most intimate part of her body clouded her mind and tighten her stomach; she gripped and pulled his hair, screaming his name when he dipped a finger inside her. At some point, the pleasure became too much, and she closed her eyes ready to reach the peak of her pleasure, but she knew he wouldn’t let her cum so easily. As she expected, he stopped and stood on his knees, watching her with a wide, glistening smirk “Ye a’right there, dove?” She groaned frustrated and found in herself the strength to pull him on his back and crawl over him. He got comfortable on the furs, letting her hungrily strip him out of his trousers. When he was finally naked, she shot him a shy look, asking for permission; he pushed his thumb through her agape full lips and moaned loudly when she swirled her tongue against it, sucking lightly. “Ye want to taste me, dear?” she nodded eagerly “Go for it, then” He was big to the point that her lips painfully stretched around him; it was a sweet pain, though, and she moaned, trying to take him as deeper as possible, to the point that she could not breath anymore. “Oy!” Finan pulled her hair harshly and she found herself face to face with the warrior “Ye have to breath, understood?” She nodded quickly and he gripped her face “Words, Y/N.” “Yes, lord.” He patted her cheek lightly “Good girl. On yer back now, I want to be with ye” he ordered, but didn’t let her time to obey, slapping her bum harshly, making her scream in pleasure, and spinning around, so that she laid where he was before and he stood above her on his knees; she couldn’t even catch her breath before he sunk inside her, slowly. They both moaned and Finan leant down to kiss her deeply, her hand wandering down to his full arse; she dipped her fingers in his flesh and guided him to push deeper inside her, until their body became one. And when the man of her life bit down on the skin of her shoulder, she came with a loud scream of his name and he followed her soon after, murmuring her name in a low pray. They had fallen asleep when the moon was already high in the sky. Finan didn’t sleep for long, though, and soon he found himself wide awake, lost in his thoughts. She was deep in her sleep, mouth slightly open. He watched her until the sun started rising, too scare to touch her, not wanting to wake his beautiful woman, who he knew was a light sleeper. It was what the life of a warrior does to you, it strips you of many things, one being a good night of sleep. Finan had always found it hard, but now that Y/N slept next to him, his nightmare were gone. She had had more trouble than him to adjust to the new situation, but now she slept well too, without screams nor cries. And she slept for long, profoundly, until the sun was up in the sky. He decided to run his finger on every feature of her lovely face, until the caresses woke her up; with a slow fluttering of eyelashes and lazy smile “You all right, Fin?” “Good morning, dove. It’s well past noon.” She slipped closer to him, wrapping her leg around his hips, her hands on his chest, and she closed her eyes again, shivering against the warm of his body “No worries. Did you sleep well?” “I did, but not for long.” “How so?” she murmured against his jaw, curling her lips in a lazy kiss. “Too excited to sleep.” “Why’s that?” “ ‘Cause I can’t wait to marry ye.” She opened her eyes again, now fully awake “Are we getting marry?” He smiled down at her sweetly, completely enamoured “If ye want me, I’d love to wife ye.” “Well, thank you for asking.” she joked, pinching his nipple lightly, then she straddle him with the happiest, widest smile on her red lips “Guess I’ll marry you, Finan the Agile.”

[plush-rabbit]

Say Your Prayers

Warnings: Prayers

Word Count: 4.3K

-

The palace is large and with walls that bleed together and portraits that watch you with unblinking eyes, you lose your way. Walls extend and you never seem to reach any doors, always out of reach and disappearing into thin air. You wonder if the castle was meant for people to get lost, to never find their way out and to die from exhaustion or hunger - which ever gets them first. A shiver is sent down your spine and you regret scaring yourself. You stand out like a sore thumb here. Light colors that make you easy to spot against the stone walls lit by dimming yellow light.

You can’t seem to recognize any corridors and you’re starting to get desperate. The rosary in your hand is biting into your skin, the mark of the cross indented into the softness of your hand. You pray for someone to come and help you. For a sign on where to go, where to be lead and who to follow. You pray to God, beg for them to hear your whispers, and lead you out of this maze that seems as if it wants to swallow you whole.

Your eyes grow heavy and you can’t stop the yawns that fill the hallway, tears springing as you gaze the halls, begging for a sign of life. You want to rest, to collapse on the floor and let sleep wrap its arms around you. A loud crash wakes you up from the sleep that has threatened to consume your body. The rosary drips out of your hand before it’s tucked safely back in. A sign of life. You speed walk over, your skirt fluttering in the wind as you try to catch whoever made that noise before they leave you.

Shadows are cast on the stone floor. Your footsteps turn fast and you’re running to your savior. There’s a rush in your heart and you’re wishing that the person wouldn’t walk away. You turn the corner and stop in your tracks, breathing deep and face pale when you spot the Future King of Devildom, Lord Diavolo.

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ears and clasp your hands behind your back. “Hello Lord Diavolo,” you breath out, standing straight and smiling at him.

“Ah! Hello!” He turns to face you, a large smile on his face. “What are you doing up so late?” He cocks his head to the side and for a second he seems harmless with light golden eyes that flick into a deep shade of honey. “Did you get lost?” He asks, taking a small step towards you, a gentle smile that makes him seem welcoming.

You chuckle nervously. “Yeah-Yes I did.” You lick your lips. “I’m sorry Lord Diavolo,” you whisper out and look down at the ground.

“Oh you have nothing to be sorry for,” he waves. You look up at him and give him a nervous smile. “If you would like,” he extends his hand to you, “I can escort you to your room.”

“It’s rude to reject an offering, especially from someone from his high standing,” you think to yourself. A small lump is beginning to form in your throat. You nod and smile and place the hand free of the rosary in his. “I would appreciate that very much Lord Diavolo,” you whisper.

He smiles broadly and interlaces his fingers with yours. His hand is large in yours, completely enveloping yours. His slender fingers stroke the back of your hand. The sound of your steps echo in the hallways, flickering lights make you clench your hands, your hand tightens around his and the rosary in your free hand.

You don’t recognize where you’re going. Paintings are unfamiliar, door decorations are missing and you’re climbing up steps with intricate railings that make you feel as if you’re going deeper into the castle. There’s a flutter of butterflies in your stomach and your heart drops when the door he opens isn’t your room but seems to be his as he steps inside with confidence.

You stand at the doorway, and look at him with confusion. He merely raises an eyebrow as beckons you to enter, his hand still wrapped around yours, tugging on it gently.

You come upon a door that you know isn’t the one that leads to your room and when it opens you stare at him with wide eyes. You shuffle into the room and let your hand fall from him, wrapping it around your other. “Lord Diavolo—”

“I know this isn’t your room. It’s mine,” he says coolly and stands in front of you. “I have a proposition for you, my dear.” He brings your hand up to his lips and kisses your knuckles. “Know that you are able to reject and if you do, I’ll escort you back to your room. You have my word.” He peers into your face waiting for a reply. You only nod, your eyebrows knitted in confusion and mouth slightly parted. “Let me,” a kiss is pressed against your wrist, “have you for tonight.” He smiles wide and his teeth touch your bare wrist.

“I’m sorry?” You yelp and move away from him, snatching your wrist into your palm, fingers gently soothing it over. “I-I don’t understand?” You opt to say, clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth.

He gives you a smile. “Well you see, I find you attractive and I would love to have you for the night.” His playful personality is gone and it’s been replaced by something that makes you nervous. “You’re free to say no of course! But I could make it worth your while.” His tongue darts out and your face flushes.

His expression is unreadable. He watches you patiently with his hands clasped hind his back, a waiting smile on his lips. There’s an opening to the door and he’s given you his word that he’ll escort you back to your room. You suck in your bottom limp, your eyes glance between the door and him and you take one deep breath. There won’t ever be another chance for this, you try to tell yourself as you walk across the room and sit on the bed. The dark, wine red sheets make you look like a doll against his bed. You look at him expectantly and he smiles, eyes closing in a pleased look.

He makes his way towards you and lifts your legs onto the bed. He slips your white flats off of you and places them on the floor. Your face is burning with a mixture of anxiety, adrenaline, and excitement. Your heart is beating against your chest that you feel as if it’s going to burst out. You wet your lips, your soft pink tongue darting out and he slips off hit coat. Your knees bend and your white skirt flutters down, your delicates peek out.

His eyes are trained on you, watching every movement, fingers curling and mouth parted open. His hands run up and down your legs, shivers are left in his wake. He’s memorized by how soft you are, how plush and delicate your body is compared to his. He smiles wickedly and that’s when it dawns on you that you’re about to lose your virginity to the Devil. Close your eyes and mouth moves silently, a silent prayer uttered in the Devil’s bedroom.

You let out a high yelp when your legs are parted. His hands are placed on your knees; you can feel his lips graze your skin, dragging to your core. You burn with his touch. “Say your prayers,” he whispers, hot air puffs against your clothed heat. His eyes are dark with hunger; they gaze across your body and land on your eyes. His teasing, friendly smile is now that of a predator, his canine gleams in the light. Your body is covered in shivers, fingers twitching and scratching at the silk covers.

Your lips part, the rosary in your hand slips between your fingers and pools onto the bed and you wordlessly breathe, your lips moving but no sound fills the room other than deep breathing.

A thin finger slides down from the top of your slit to dip into your entrance. Arousal leaks out and stains your delicates. “Out loud. Your Lord demands it,” he breathes, nearing his mouth onto your sheathed clit, tongue laying flat against it.

“Lord God,” you let a sharp gasp when fingers hook into the waistband of your white, lace delicates, “I pray for your protection,” words are stuttered and slurred as you only form of protection are slipped off. “You are my hiding place,” you hold off on a whine and shut your eyes tight, fingers grasping at the sheets underneath you, beads from your rosary dig into you and make marks. “Protect me from trouble wherever I go, oh my!” His tongue is hot against you, swirling so close yet so far from your weeping hole. “Ke-Keep evil far from me.” Your teeth bite down on your plump lips, turning them from a sweet pink to a lustful red. Tears brim in your eyes and you’re not sure if it’s from shame or the pleasure that is coursing throughout you.

“Will you repent?” He asks, words low and warm against you. “Will you go against your God and go seek for salvation?” Salvia seeps from his mouth and pushes inside of you, fluids mixing together and tongue rims your entrance, peeking into and tasting you. “Or will you beg for me?” His tongue makes you cry out and the rosary is nudged to the side by your hand, the sheets firmly in your grasp as his tongues moves inside of you. “Will you seek me out when you salvation?” His tone is serious as his mouth envelops you, sucking in your juices, tongue stroking your inner walls that respond to him immediately.

There’s a tight knot in your stomach every time his tongue swipes up and brushes against your clit. You want to raise your hips and meet his face, you want his tongue deep inside of you. “Lord Diavolo,” you breathe out, eyes fluttered closed, your blush spreading across your body and down to your chest. Suddenly your shirt is too tight and you feel hotter than when you first came in. Your hands come down to the bottom shirt and as you’re about to pull it off, his hand comes up to stop you. He mumbles against you to bite down on it, that he wants to take it off when the time comes. You obey.

The shirt muffles your cries as you twitch with his tongue and fingers moving around your body expertly. Slow, tantalizing circles are on your clit, his mouth on your entrance as he feasts upon you, your arousal prominent around his face.

“Have you ever been touched like this before?” He pulls his mouth away and chuckles when you whine, your pelvis jerking to reach for him mouth. He responds by dragging his fingers into you.

“N-No. I was saving myself—”

“For marriage?” He asks, rolling his eyes. “What a sham.” He kisses your clit and you can feel the grin on his face. “Though, I do have to admit, it is nice knowing I’ll be the first to fuck you.” His crass words send another wave of arousal around his fingers. “You’re going to be fucked by a future king.” His fingers curl in you.

There’s a sort of magical feeling when you’re being fingered. When you’ve been untouched before, even by your own hand. When you’ve looked away from the sin to stay faithful to God. But with how his fingers massage your plush walls, how his slender fingers move inside of you and spread you so good, you understand why people would stray from God’s light. There’s sparks of desire, electricity, carnal want, that makes your toes curl around him and shirt dampen as you moan around it, soaking in your saliva and bitten through with sharp teeth.

He’s spreading you, his fingers scissoring you and making you open for his cock. There’s a deep want in you that wants to go down on knees and praise him, make him as good as you’re feeling. You’re coming undone around his fingers, clenching and stars are in your vision. He watches with half lidded eyes, unable to look away from your dripping cunt as his fingers continue to pet your walls. Your screams are muffled through the shirt and eyes are shut tight.

This pleasure is almost sinful. The way that your cunt contracts around his fingers, desperate for him to make you feel that way again. How your vision goes dark and stars decorate the inside of your eyelids. Jolts of electricity shock your body and you feel as if you’re on pins and needles. Your cunt is dripping with your high, his fingers squish your walls, feeling them growing softer and he’s positive that he can now enter you without making it painful for you.

Your legs are left shaking as he undresses and you push the fabric out your mouth with your tongue. You can hardly catch your breath, your hand coming up and placing itself delicately over your heart. Your mind is foggy and you peer out of the corner of your eye to watch Lord Diavolo undress himself. Skin illuminated by the soft glow from the light above. You stare at him, your eyes drinking in his form, your hand over your chest, cupping a breast through your bra. You can feel through the fabric that your nipple has hardened. Your cunt lays wet and sticky, oversensitive to any touch that is about to come.

He walks to you, feet padding against the floor and you spread your legs, watching him with a dazed expression. He’s on top of you faster than you can blink, something hard presses against your inner thigh and it jerks when you shift your leg.

He catches you in a deep kiss, lips sucking on your bottom one and tugging on it between teeth. His tongue slips in and moves inside. You burst with newfound energy and wrap your arms around him, fingers knotting in his hair and pressing yourself deeper against him. Warm liquid runs down your thigh but you’re unable to tell if it’s from you or him. His hands run up and down your sides, going underneath to unhook your bra. You pull away from the kiss, your lips swollen and red.

“Take off my shirt,” you mumble against him, pulling him into another kiss.

Hands fumble and limbs stretch as he removes your blouse. It’s tossed to the side and slips off the bed. Large hands grope your chest, the bra loose now becoming disheveled upon you. Your pert nipples peek out and fingers pinch them roughly. You yelp into his mouth, your back arches into his hands and your fingers tug on his hair. He lets out a low groan and moves his mouth across your face, his lips kissing your jaw and down to your neck. Your breasts spill out of your bra and he tugs on it roughly, growling at it when it doesn’t come off as quick as he’d like. You push yourself up and he follows suit, cold hands move to your waist. With an awkward shrugging motion, you peel your bra off and toss it to the floor.

“You smell absolutely divine,” he whispers against your skin. Hot breaths moisten your skin, the graze of his teeth and touch of his hands makes your head swirl. His hands run up your body and grope at your breasts, spreading his hands wide and trapping a perked bud between the space of his fingers. His touch is rough, moving and pressing down on your chest, a hitch of breath and quiet groan is all you gave to go off on that he’s enjoying this as much as you. Your breasts are soft under his hand, sweet pouches filled with the softest filling that molded under his fingers.

He pushes you down on the bed and hovers over you, pressing another kiss onto your red lips. His neck cranes down and you’re mewling underneath him as he nurses on your breast, the neglected one being fondled with, little waves of pleasure going straight down to the building heat in the pouch of your stomach. Sweet, wet suck noises are made by his mouth. Hit wraps around your pebbled teat, tongue moving it around gently and pulling away to blow cool air on it, biting in the area that surrounds it.

He kisses his way to your other breasts, little pecks that mark you with a swipe of his tongue. He leaves your wet breast alone, his fingers dancing downward to capture your heat in his hands. You bend to his touch, greedy to have him grope your body to his desires. His mouth wraps around the nipple, mouth already nursing on it, sweet little whimpers of pleasure that leave your mouth as you push your chest further into his mouth. There’s something cute about how you’re so needy, so willing to throw God away for a night of pleasure. His eyes shine in a dark amber hue, his cock leaking with arousal as he corrupts you, gets you drunk off of desire, where you hump yourself against his hand, his fingers circling your clit and dipping into your squishy cunt, pulling out juices and lubricating his fingers with it.

His cock is beginning to ache, package tight with the need to fill you, to go in deep and press himself against you until you’re dripping his seed. He’s going to fill up this little lamb.

He teethes your bud, his lips curling into a sinful grin. He rises and stands on his knees, grabbing your legs and pulling you against his bare skin. “Oh my little lamb, you’re about to be defiled by the very thing you prayed against.” His cock is hot against his hand as he swipes it up and down your slit, hitting the bundle of nerves in slow strokes. “Beg for my cock little lamb,” he orders with a stern gaze.

Your face is burning, the tips of your ears hot against the silk and you cover your chest to hide the reaching blush but to no avail as it peeks through your hands, staining your body with red. “Please Lord Diavolo,” your tone heavy with lust, “put your cock in me.” The words are odd on your tongue. You purse your lips and move your hands away from your chest, letting them rest above your head. “Corrupt my body Lord Diavolo. I am weak to the Devil’s temptation. Ruin the body that was meant for God.”

His upper lip curls into an ugly sneer that falls into an ‘O’ when he sheaths himself inside of you. His tip stretches you wide, your eyes going wide and mouth parted as he inches himself inside of you. The ridges around his cock head make your pussy constrict around him. He pushes himself deeper into you; the ridges that make his cock send ecstasy throughout your body. His cock is adorned in different textures. A tip with dipping curves that rim his head, flowing into thick veins that run down his cock, more curves that grace his cock, beautiful ridges that press against your gooey walls and make your eyes shine with tears. His hands grip the side of your rear and he keeps himself pressed tight against you. Black nails drag down your skin and mark you with red lines. He grits his teeth and waits for you to move first.

You’re still under him, biting down on your lip and clutching the rosary back in your hand. It stings more than you expected. Through your hazy eyes you hadn’t gotten a good look at his shaft but with how it feels inside of you, it’s much bigger than you could ever have imagined. It’s deep in you, the ridges and veins throb in you and you look up at him, glossy eyes that blue your vision. You feel a hand brush against your cheek, words that don’t reach your ears and you bring a hand to your clit and begin to pleasure yourself while full of cock. You cunt grips onto him and with a little push, he begins to pump himself inside of you. The stinging pain has begun to fade, the pleasure overriding it as you bring your hand to your chest and let your rosary spill and slide down.

“Continue with your prayers.” He groans through a choked breath. “Beg for forgiveness.” A wave of arousal coats his length.

“Lord Jesus, Son of God,” you let out a high pitched whine, bucking your hips to meet his. “Have mercy on me, a sinner.” A sinner is what you are, leaking around the Devil’s cock and using prayers to help get off.

“You’re tight like a virgin.” He grits out. “A pretty, little pussy of yours that was touched first by your Lord.” You cunt is plush, enveloping around him and molding to fit his shape. The thought of ruining you for others brings him closer to his high. “A soft cunt that gushes around me.” He leans over and with shaky hands puts on the rosary. It dangles around his chest and swings as he moves inside of you, the slapping of skin mixed in with moans. Golden eyes meets your, a strong hand gripping your face to keep your eyes on him. The rosary spills into the valley of your breasts, moving with gently swaying by the rocking motion of your body.

“You shouldn’t wear the rosary,” you breathe against his skin, pursing your lips, hungry for another kiss. “It’s disrespectful.” Your mouth salivates with the thought of his.

He gags you with two of his fingers. You chock against them as they hit the back of your throat and with a clouded mind, you wrap your plump lips around them, sucking on the fingers as if they’d provide you with the release you’re desperately seeking for. His mouth attacks your neck, swiping his tongue when he bites, dark red marks that threaten to spill the blood of the lamb. He pulls his fingers out, a string of spit connecting them until it snaps off. His fingers curl around your clit, mouth sucking on a soft spot on your neck as you writhe underneath him.

“How does it feel?” He asks in a low voice, words drunk with desire.

“Good, so good,” you manage to make out through your moans.

He stops in his movements and smirks when you rut yourself against him. “Ah, ah.” He waves a finger. “I need a proper sentence little lamb.”

You let out a pitiful cry. “Good! Oh Lord, it feels so good!” You let out a sigh of bliss when he resumes his movements. “I’ve never felt like this. I’ve never felt so full and so good all at once.” You head is spinning with pleasure. “It’s my first cock. And it’s so big inside of me. I feel as if I’m being torn apart. Oh!” He’s hit a spot that makes you cry. “Never leave my cunt! It’s sinful and unholy but I crave more! Let me feed on my sins, let me become greedy with want, oh please My Lord! Let me wallow in sin!” The knot feels as if it’s about to snap.

Your walls are gummy, molding to his shape and tugging and wrapping themselves tightly around him, begging for his cum. You’re underneath him and begging for more, the rosary slipping in and out of view with every motion. Your neck is littered with marks that you won’t be able to hide tomorrow. You’ll be on show for everyone to see who you truly belong to. You’re begging for his cum, your tongue rolling out of your mouth and eyes going backwards as your clench around him, nails raking down his back while he feels your orgasm wash around him.

He keeps himself in you, rubbing at your clit, helping you reach farther than you could ever dream of. You’re moans have high pitched, your arousal leaking out and staining the sheets. With his cock in you, he bites down on your shoulder, iron blooming in his mouth as he pumps himself inside of you, slowing down to a silence, his cock hidden inside your soft walls that constrict around him.

Your face relaxes into one of peace, your eyes fluttering to a close with a heaving chest. Tears run down your face, fingers rub small circles on his back as he spills his seed in you. You can feel your lower belly swell with his cum and feel it heat up as if flames were shot inside of you. He keeps his cock pressed deep inside of you, filling you up until you begin to leak with spare seed. He pulls out of you slowly, your cunt sore and puffy from the Lord’s cock.

“You shouldn’t waste a King’s seed,” he tells you lovingly, reaching over to grab your lacy underwear. You hum in response and shift when your delicates become sticky with his cum. As you move, it squishes inside of you and more of it spills out to stain you.

Your body is tired. Everything aches and stings and you feel yourself fixed on the bed, head resting against a soft pillow with a thick comforter pulled and tucked around you. You snuggle into the chest of Lord Diavolo with eyes still closed and mumble a goodnight prayer, smiling against his chest when he chuckles. You’ll worry about the bites tomorrow. You’ll worry about the cum that’s inside of you tomorrow. For now, you’ll rest and snuggle against the strong body that has their arms wrapped around you.

[hellflame-for-a-reason]

Ingenium Fracta

Chapter one: the day the world caved in

Tw: mention of trauma, fire, vomit mention, implied major character death.

It had been yet another field trip- they really should stop going on those. Aizawa had been told to take them on a normal trip for once, so they were going to the mall, they probably should have been doing more normal teen things anyway. It really wasn't his fault this time, but it was obvious he was going to feel guilty. He had just been sitting on the bench when he saw her; a young girl, around the same age as his students, but she was definitely no hero, her blonde hair was pulled into space buns and her teeth were sharpened into fangs. The girl, Toga Himiko, made eye contact with him, smiling sweetly as she waved.

"Hiya EraserHead!"

"Oh god no." He stood up, putting his coffee down, glancing around and realizing he could only see around five of his students. The goggles went straight on, and he locked eyes with the girl, "where are your friends?"

"You mean the league?" She giggled as he began to walk towards her, "they're everywhere, just waiting for my signal! You can't do anything Eraser, you can't erase them if you don't know where they are!" Another giggle, this mini villain was really trying to test his patience but Aizawa wasn't going to let her get to him. Putting a hand up, he clicked the button in his hand, it was primed to send a message to the students' phones informing them to meet back where Aizawa was waiting for them. "Huh? What are you doing?" The girl asked him, tilting his head slightly, her smile pausing for just a moment.

"I'm bringing my students to me, so they know you lot are here." He turned to see the few that were closer look over and panic, recognising Toga.

"Sir!" One of his students, Ojiro, ran up to him, "why is a villain here??" Others quickly joined, crowding around him.

"Can someone go and alert security that there are villains here? Thank you, now how many do we have?" He began his headcount as Ojiro ran off again, quickly realising that they were seven short. He scanned the crowd again, "who are we missing?"

"Bakugo, Kirishima, Mina and Kaminari are still in hot topic, sir. I think they put their phones on silent," Sero spoke up, pulling at his tape nervously. Aizawa knew this boy cared deeply about his friends and of course he was bound to worry about Bakugo after their last run in with the league of villains.

"Alright, go and alert them, who else?"

"Sir," Todoroki spoke up in his usual tone, only a tad shakier than normal, "Midoriya, Uraraka and Iida are still missing, I believe they're likely together."

Aizawa internally cringed at that, the idea of those three being alone and possibly having to face a member of the league; Uraraka was less troubling and maybe Iida could be trusted to keep Midoriya in line but Aizawa wasn't sure he could trust Iida to run away after that Stain incident- especially if he was dealing with Stain devotees. He was about to ask Todoroki to go and fetch them when the mall intercom sounded.

"Attention all shoppers: a villain has been spotted on the premises. We ask you all to quickly but safely evacuate the building without panicking or use of your quirks; children must be attended to and the staff will be with you to help with any injury or stress caused."

"There," Aizawa looked back at Toga, who was standing there smiling, "now you can't use your signal."

"But that was my signal," a cold chill ran down his spine as she said those words, it dawned on him that he had been tricked, "thank you EraserHead!"

A blast of blue fire came from the nearby coffee shop, where the villain known as Dabi pulled off his trench coat disguise and aimed to kill. The fire was stopped by an ice wall pulled up by Todoroki, who seemed to struggle to keep his wall from melting. "Thank you Todoroki," Aizawa acknowledged him, "alright students, time for some impromptu fieldwork I guess; help the civilians evacuate then do so yourselves, if you get hurt, leave, you do not need to fight, please leave that to the pros. Other heros are on their way but I can handle it for now."

His class lept into action as he wrapped the small villain in his scarf, stopping her from moving, "you're staying with me, young lady, where the hell are your parents?"

"They cut me off," she giggled, "thought I was a lost cause." As much as this girl was a villain, to hear that someone's parents would do that, though not surprising, was very upsetting; this girl was school age, she still had her entire life ahead of her, yet she was already branded a villain. Aizawa wondered if there was a way a blood quirk could be useful for a hero…

That was besides the point, though, as he turned his eyes to Dabi, glaring daggers at the man as his scarf reached out another tendril to grab him. "Why are you here? What do you want?"

"Believe it or not, EraserHead," he started, swatting the scarf away with a hand, "we don't want to bother you, we didn't even know you'd be here. We just wanted to rob this place."

"I don't believe you." Aizawa glared at him, not sure whether or not he was telling the truth, it was an awfully odd coincidence afterall, and it wouldn't be the first time the league went after a student.

"Don't then, I'm not bothered with whether you believe me or not, I just want to get this done and go home. I'm sure we can both agree on that."

There was no way in hell that Aizawa was going to let this villain out of his sight, no matter what happened, he did want to keep his distance, however, as he didn’t want Dabi to free the girl. So he turned to the side, keeping himself between the two villains without letting his gaze leave the young man at all.

-

Villains, if there was anything that made Tenya Iida's blood boil just as much as the oil in his engine, it would be villains. Especially the league of villains, those mangey Stain worshippers pushed him close to the edge by their mere existence. So when he heard the announcement over the intercoms and saw the leader of the league press his hand to a support beam, he saw red.

"Midoriya!" He yelled to his small friend, "did you see where Todoroki went? He could help stop the ceiling from collapsing."

"Oh! Ah, no, I didn't see which way he went!" Poor Midoriya seemed to be panicking slightly, and Tenya had to admit he was also very worried. This didn't turn out to be the fun shopping trip that the class had been looking forward to. Iida hadn't wanted to go as much, but he adored his classmates' excitement so he was just as ready for the trip as they were- but he wasn't ready for this.

Uraraka was already touching bits of rubble as it began to fall, "I can hold some of it up while you go get him! Hurry Deku!"

"Why do I have to go? Iida's faster!" He had to admit, Midoriya was right; he was faster. Unfortunately, speed wasn't the only thing they had to account for.

"You're the smallest of the two of us, you will be able to get through even if part of the ceiling collapses on the escalators. I, on the other hand, would likely become trapped."

Midoriya paused for a moment, staring up at him in silence. Tenya couldn't help but wonder what was going on behind those shining green eyes of his, he hoped to one day be privy to such thoughts. After a mere second of silence, Midoriya ran off towards the escalator, aiming to find Todoroki or someone else who could help.

Iida's attention turned back to Uraraka, who was struggling to keep the ceiling from falling as that ashen villain laughed and mocked her, calling her all sorts of things. A glance to the side told him that there were still many shoppers stuck on this level, so he raised his hands up, climbing up onto a bench. "Everyone! Please use the escalator and stairs on the left side to get to a higher floor! Don't shove one another and try to remain calm whilst moving as quickly as you can, my classmate and myself will do our best to keep this villain at bay, and there are other UA students present who will do the same until the pro heros arrive! Hurry please and be safe!"

The crowd seemed alright with obeying the orders of a child, heading up the route furthest from the villain. Although Tenya did hear some mumbling about UA's general unsafeness striking once again and he felt a pang of pain for the paperwork this would cause poor Mr Aizawa. He pushed that aside, however, when he heard the villain laughing.

"Aren't you that boy whose brother was left crippled by Stain? To be defeated by such a villain, your brother must have been quite the failure, mustn't he?" The villain's voice was hoarse and raspy, but his words were slow and he made sure that his words were obvious. His lips were incredibly chapped and he had a severed hand hiding his face, much like the other hands on his shoulders and arms. The words the villain spoke made Tenya's blood boil, but not only that, his engine started up of his own accord, heating up slowly on standby mode. He glared at the villain, revving his engines in warning, he didn't want to resort to violence again, but this man was testing his nerve with words like those ones. The villain just smiled, "oh, your parents must have been so disappointed, imagine how they'll feel when they hear you've fallen to a villain as well."

The villain's laughter filled the air as his fingers twitched, but all Tenya could hear was his own engine, roaring in his ears as his legs began to smoke, burning through his pants. He glared at the villain, bowing his frame slightly as he brought his hands up, ready to charge this fiend. "Ha… what are you doing now?" The villain didn't know much about Iida, he likely assumed that the boy was preparing to run away but Iida had too much pride to let such a villain say things about his elder brother.

"Reciprio burst! !"

Rushing forward, he heard Uraraka cry out, "Iida! No!" It was too late by that point, as there was no point Tenya had time to register her words, let alone brake. He crashed into the villain, plowing through into the wall behind said villain. He heard the wall crack against the impact, as well as the crunch from one or two of the villain's bones. That sound made him feel nauseous, he didn't want to hurt people, he hated the idea of causing harm but sometimes his anger got the better of him, and he'd rather this villain hurt than all those civilians.

Hands tried to grab at him, the villain was trying to hurt him, but Iida wasn't going to let that happen, he took the man by the wrists, holding him against the wall as they both slid to the floor, breathing heavily. The villain hissed up at him, the hand having slipped from his face, "you're disgusting, such a wonderful hero aren't you? Causing such blatant damage, even though your friends have warned you not to." Tenya didn't have to look up to see that he was right, the impact from the crash had broken even more of the wall and ceiling than had been broken before and there was a large chunk of wall threatening to fall on them.

He didn't have time to think about the villain's words, he was filled with too much fear and adrenaline. His anger had subsided by now and it took all he had not to panic, he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do at this point. Glancing back, he saw Uraraka looking like she was about to be sick from overusing her quirk. "Uraraka!" His own voice sounded a little hoarse at this point, due to his dry it had gotten, his yell had startled her and she looked over at him with worry on her expression, "float me!"

"I can't!" She cried out in response, looking close to tears, "I'm already lifting too much!"

It was at that moment that Todoroki turned up, shooting a wall of ice to help hold up the ceiling. Midoriya followed close behind him, "what's happening?" He cried out, seeing the scene before him.

"Iida can't move without the villain touching him!" Uraraka decided to explain for him, "I can't float him because I'm alre-" she had to choke down puke before continuing, "I'm already carrying too much."

"I can't do much about that," Todoroki admitted, looking concerned but really not sounding it, "but I can try and keep the ceiling up so you carry less?"

"Please..?"

More ice shot up and to the ceiling, trapping some of the falling chunks above the walls and sheets of ice. Tenya could barely see it though, he couldn't keep his eyes off of the villain struggling beneath him. This was the head of the league of villains he believed, and it was very freaky to look down at the guy that had tried to hurt his classmates, the guy who had kidnapped Bakugo and the guy that was currently trying to grab his wrists. Tenya had never feared for his life quite as much as he did in that moment, all he could concentrate on was keeping the villain down and not letting his hands slip, though they were soaked through with sweat.

Drip, drip, drip. Water was dripping down onto him, his breath hitched as a droplet slid down his cheek. "What's happening?" He demanded to know, he was scared, and the only way to keep his voice from shaking was to speak it like an order.

"My ice is melting, it must be the heat from the fires upstairs!" Todoroki had to yell over the screams and explosions that were happening above them but his words were clear to Tenya. The rocks above him were going to fall… that villain's words were a self fulfilling prophecy.

"We have to get out of here!" Midoriya was panicking, you could hear it in his voice, "what do we do?!"

"I'll grab Iida!" A glance behind him let Tenya see Uraraka's hand reaching out to touch him, to make him float, to help him to safety…

then the ceiling caved in.

[tobiomlk]

39 for kageyama if you can ....... please :')

𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿. kageyama tobio

𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗽𝘁. #39 “don’t cry.”

𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲. hurt / comfort !!! tobio is no good with tears and i love him

Kageyama knows it’s bad when Suga-senpai confronts him about it.

“So,” he ambushes him during lunch time, around the vending machine (Of course he waits around the vending machine, Kageyama’s favoured spot to get his daily dose of milk). “What happened?”

Kageyama frowns. “About what?”

“You know what I mean.” However, Sugawara smiles, in that nurturing way of his that always makes Kageyama feel a little lighter. And a little troubled as well, because he can’t believe how utterly transparent he could be at times.

Kageyama chooses to direct his glowering towards the vending machine, gaze flickering between a carton of milk or yogurt, a predicament he struggled with each day— but which was considerably easier to deal with, next to the one he currently had at hand, that’s it. He growls when he notices the guilt is dawning upon him, again.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sugawa asks, gently as ever, and Kageyama wants to say no, because a part of him does not wants to talk about it. But the other part, the vulnerable, insecure one, seems to be taking over him more often than not these days, and so he decides there’s no harm in speaking to a familiar face.

Far too violently, Kageyama presses both buttons simultaneously and lets the vending machine do the decision for him. “We had a fight,” he says, quietly. 

“So I heard,” Sugawara recognizes, but Kageyama isn’t really phased about it. Suga is, like, everyone’s go-to when it came for a comforting presence. He’s reliable, a good listener, and just as great at offering advice. He’s the type of person with lots of strengths that Kageyama himself lacks, and Kageyama can’t help but envy him, just a tiny bit. “It was that bad?” he probes, and Kageyama purses his lips in a flat line.

To put it truthfully, it wasn’t supposed to be that bad. To put it very frankly, it was incredibly and thoroughly moronic of both of you to have gotten so worked up over such a silly argument. Because that’s what it was; a silly argument, a minor discussion that the two of you blowed out of proportion and allowed to scalate the way it did. Stupid, sensitive teenagers.

“Have you tried talking to them?” Sugarawa asks.

“Yes,” Kageyama replies, but he doesn’t seem precisely happy. “but they don’t wanna talk to me.”

“The cold shoulder, huh?” Sugawara sighs, very much like a father would do. “Well, they can be quite petty, too.”

Kageyama nods in silence, lacking for better words. It frustrates him to no end, to be on such terms with you, to have you completely overlooking his existence. It frustrates him. And he doesn’t even gets to apologize or raise the flag of truce because you won’t even look his way. The mere thought is enough to have him slamming his head into the wall and scream at the top of his lungs.

“What are you planning to do, then?” 

Kageyama stops himself from doing so, though. “What can I do? They’re gonna ignore me anyways.”

“But you don’t want to let things go on like this, do you?”

Kageyama’s frowns deepens (if that’s even possible), but before his brain’s broken wires can sort out a way out of this fucking mess, his focus is taken away by a tiny little drop in his right cheek— followed by another one, and other one—

“Well, no one told me that it would be raining today,” Sugawara says as he looks up, gray clouds gathering above them. “C’mon, let’s get going before we get soaked.”

Kageyama agrees, although half-heartedly. For whatever reason, the light drizzle failing upon them seems to be reminding him of something, but he can’t exactly put his finger as to what it is. He always brings his umbrella, he couldn’t possibly have forgotten it—

Oh.

“Oh, fuck it.”

Powerless, you stand at the entrance of the school as you take in how the harmless rain at the beginning of the day had evolved into a massive downpour. Most of the students proceed to head off under the shelter of their respective umbrellas; shelter you can’t afford because, mind you, you rarely cared enough to bring an umbrella of your own. 

Tobio always shared his with me, after all…

No. Don’t think about Tobio. Don’t think about Tobio and his pouty face and how he always puts up a fight before letting you get away with whatever you want, the space under his umbrella included. Don’t you think about it. You’re supposed to be mad at him, and rightfully so. He was mean (and so were you) and said mean things (and so did you) and you weren’t going to let it slide just like that. You had a pride to keep. Yes. You had one. 

(But what about him?) No, this isn’t about him. This isn’t about him. (He’s probably hurt, too) And that’s on him. He started it all (let’s be real, you kinda were at fault as well) and he’s gotta live with it. (But he tried? To apologize? Several times?) NO. You don’t wanna hear it. You’re mad, reasonably mad, and it’s perfectly warranted. You could be mad for the rest of your life, if you wanted to (but you didn’t). End of the discussion.

The rain comes down steadily. It doesn’t seem like it’s going to stop any time soon. Fuck it. You’re not letting the rain keep you stuck with your inner conflict any longer. You bend forward to make sure your shoes are strongly tied and place your backpack over your head, making the perfect shield. You’re Unstoppable now. No rain is getting into your way.

Ready, steady...

“What are you doing, dumbass?”

Go— Ok, no go.

You’re torn between offering him a snarky reply, scowling at him or simply icing him out, but once you lock eyes with Tobio all you want to do is (redacted). Oh, would you look at that, you brain has already repressed that memory!

“None of your concern,” you end up saying, immediately averting his gaze. Tobio can’t even feel glad about you finally breaking your vow of silence towards him.

“Is that so,” he replies, and you hate how defeated he sounds. How can you be mad at him if he doesn’t make it easy for you?

“Are you heading home?” he tries once again, and you’re definitely not endeared by it.

“Well, I was going to before someone stopped me.” 

“It’s raining,” he points out.

“It certainly is,” you agree.

An uncomfortable silence follows. It’s one you aren’t used to at all, especially around Tobio. It felt so wrong.

You’re oh-so interested into the tip of your shoes that it startles you a little when a familiar umbrella suddenly appears in your field of vision. You didn’t even feel Kageyama coming closer, but there he was; standing a few steps away from you, handing his very own blue-ish umbrella. It takes you a second to take in the whole situation.

“Here,” he says, not budging an inch from his position. There are so many things you could question, but you can’t even find your voice to do so. Kageyama scoffs. “Don’t give me that look. You never bring one yourself, do you?”

And then it hits you. Violently, like a sudden epiphany, even when it’s something you’ve known for a long time now.

He cares.

Seeing you aren’t trying to accept the offer, Tobio nudges the umbrella in your direction, vehemently. Nothing. He knits his brows together. He knows you’re stubborn, but so is he, and he isn’t taking a no for answer— Wait.

“... Are you crying?” 

It’s crazy how all it takes for you to crack are three words, because suddenly you’re choking on your own tears, so it’s kinda pointless to try to keep appearances now. And Kageyama dies a little, because oh my god you’re crying.

“Hey… Hey!” he flails, voice admittedly cracking. “Why are you crying? It’s— It’s something I did?”

But since you’re in no condition to speak up, his questions remain unanswered. He has never been at such a loss for words as he stares at you, sobbing and whimpering and scrubbing at your face just to let more tears stream down your cheeks, pretty much like a kid would do, which only makes it all the more heart-wrenching. All the more unbearable to witness.

Kageyama unconsciously searches in his pockets for a handkerchief or a tissue or anything that would make you stop crying, really, only to realize he doesn’t even has one of those to offer up. But there’s something in the way you cry your heart out that shakes him to the very core, that disarms him and calls for desperate measures. So, he does something he usually wouldn’t.

You flinch noticeably when a hand hesitantly brushes against your cheek. The touch is awkward, yet undeniably gentle, and you momentarily stop your crying to blink up at him through the tears. It’s blurry, but you can still make out his deep blue eyes. The way he freezes as soon as he’s caught, like he’s just broken some sort of unspoken rule by initiating physical contact and is waiting for divine retribution or something. His lips pursing in that signature pout of his. You take in every part of him, gratefully.

“You hate me?” You don’t even realize how uncalled for your question sounds until it’s out, but what is done is done, and Kageyama seems so genuinely bewildered— It’s almost laughable.

“How could I possibly hate you?”

And that’s all you need to put aside every bit of your stubborn pride.

“I don’t wanna fight anymore,” you state, finally.

Kageyama needs an actual second to register your words. “Ok,”

“I hate fighting.”

“Me too,” he admits, far too quickly to be insincere, far too unfiltered for your liking.

“I don’t wanna be mad at you,” You’re probably just running your mouth at this point, but you just can’t bring yourself to stop. “and I don’t want you to be mad at me, either.”

“I’m not mad at you.” he says, and it’s as comforting as it is nerve-wrecking. “And you don’t have to be mad, if you don’t want to.”

Sniffle. A tiny, selfish tear attempts to slip away, but Tobio wipes it before she gets too far. “So don’t cry…”

But crying does not obeys anyone’s command, so you keep sniffing and snivelling for a while until you’re finally done with it, and Tobio stays. He’d stay forever, if you’d let him.

Eventually, the rain ceases.

[alirhi]

part 2

Yep. My muse decided to come back around for a little while on that BuckyNat AU lol. if this keeps happening I'm gonna need a title for this thing... Any ideas?

Anyway, here:

(currently untitled) BuckyNat stepcest AU part 2 Warnings: still fairly mild, but sexually suggestive, some language. Nothing too major. Still would prefer anyone under 18 just stay away from my writing and my blog in general.

It hadn't happened instantly. For a while, they tried to act like normal siblings; Bucky picked on her, lightly, always careful not to hurt her feelings or cross any boundaries, and Natasha, the bratty younger sister, always one-upped his teasing. Their parents were almost always underfoot, falling all over themselves as they tried to help Bucky adjust to civilian life while also arguing constantly with Nat. They were so proud of their army veteran son and bent over backwards to make sure he had everything he could possibly need. They didn't understand their wayward daughter at all; how could she be so selfish?! Didn't she see what Bucky's military service had done to him? Why would she put herself through anything even remotely similar? On and on the contradictions went; everything they praised in their son, they tore their daughter down for.

They were suffocating. Desperate just for a night of peace, Bucky and Natasha decided enough was enough. They needed their overbearing parents out of the damn house! So, the night before Nat's first day at the police academy, they sent their parents out on a romantic date night they'd planned and prepaid for, just to make sure they'd feel too guilty to say 'no'.

"Are you sure-"

"I mean, really, kids, this is-"

"Ohmygod just go!" He laughed, trying to cover the fact that he was at the end of his rope, and pointed to the door. "It's all set up. The tickets are waiting for you at the theater, the restaurant is expecting you, for god's sake just live your own lives for one night, please! We're adults. It is actually perfectly safe to leave your grown offspring alone for a few hours! Go!"

His mother winced. "We're smothering you."

Unwilling to lie to her, Bucky nodded. "I love you so much, mom, but... Yes. Absolutely. One hundred percent. You're driving me crazy. And honestly? One more word from either of you about Nat's career path, and I will lose it. You need to stop using me as a weapon to guilt her into changing her mind. I joined the army at eighteen and you didn't say a word. She's just getting a job."

She opened her mouth to speak, but Bucky held up a hand to stop her. He knew his mom's 'about to argue' face all too well. "Nope. Not tonight. You've got a date to get to. Now, with the utmost love and respect to you both..." He gestured to the door, which his grinning stepsister was holding open. "Get the hell out of this house. Now."

Everyone laughed. As their parents finally, finally obeyed and left, Natasha shut the door behind them and Bucky flopped bonelessly onto the couch. "Sweet Jesus! Have they been like this the whole time?"

Snickering, Nat sprawled on top of him and hugged him tight, nodding. "Pretty much. My neurotic dad found himself a neurotic bride."

"I'm suddenly grateful I missed the wedding. Getting shot at in the desert legit sounds more appealing than dealing with them all hyped up on wedding stress."

"It wasn't pretty. I was actually jealous of you."

He sighed, raising his left arm from where it had been resting across her back. She lifted her head, saw that he was staring at his hand, and twisted to follow his gaze. "At least you're not a freak with a robot arm."

"It's kinda cool, though." Not caring that it was weird, Nat rolled over onto her back and laced her fingers with his metal ones. "All futuristic and stuff... And how is it so warm?"

"The components inside that make it move generate heat," Bucky explained with a chuckle, watching her trace all the seams from his fingertips to his elbow. "It even has a circulatory system, in a weird way; there's 'veins' of coolant running through the whole thing, to keep the electronics from overheating."

She let out a little 'huh', impressed. "You really know a lot about this thing, huh?"

"I would hope so," he teased. She thought he was going to point out that, artificial or not, it was a part of his body, but what he actually said next shocked her: "I helped design it."

"Wait, what?" Twisting again, she gaped at him. "Seriously?" When he grinned and nodded, she rolled back over to face him properly and grinned right back. "Rock on, sexy nerd boy! And here I thought you were all brawn."

Bucky blushed, not quite able to look her in the eye. "You think I'm sexy?"

"Um. I'm not blind, so yes." She laughed, poking him when he only got redder. "Come on! Like you don't know! Between that face and that soft, sweet voice and you're smart? I bet it rains panties everywhere you go, you beautiful bastard. Especially now that you've got the totally hot Terminator arm and the extra genius points when you tell people you made the damn thing!"

With an awkward little cough, her red-faced stepbrother shrugged. "Not... Not really so much. And I didn't make it, just helped. I designed the cooling system. No big deal."

"No big deal? Are you on crack?" Laughing, she sat up and stared down at him, not yet fully aware of the fact that was occupying all of Bucky's attention: she was straddling his crotch. "I guarantee we could walk out that door right now and I could get you laid in five seconds flat."

"Why go out there when the prettiest girl in the world is right here?"

The way she was sitting and what she was sitting on finally dawned on her as the coy, vaguely predatory glint returned to those heart-stopping blue eyes, and this time it was Natasha who turned bright red. "I... I'm your sister."

"Stepsister," he corrected her, smirking. "And if we'd grown up together, that'd be gross, but we've known each other a week, Nat. You're not my sister. You're my neurotic stepdad's freakishly hot adopted daughter."

"Yeah... Legally, that still makes me your sister. Stepsister, whatever."

Eyes locked on hers with an intensity that made her shiver, Bucky told her frankly, "Tell me you're not into me and I'll never bring it up again." The smirk returned and he added, "I won't even call you out on your obvious flirting for the past ten minutes."

"I wasn't flir-" She stopped, not remotely motivated to even finish the sentence, and instead growled, "Shut up and kiss me, Barnes."

"Not here." Getting a firm grip on her thighs to hold her in place, he sat up and then stood, carrying her toward the stairs. "I don't wanna risk them seeing us making out first thing when they come back."

"They just left!"

"Oh, honey," Bucky purred in her ear as he pressed her up against the door to her bedroom. "This isn't gonna be quick."

[unwiltingblossom]

15x19 is just....just hilariously bad. It’s a hot mess of garbage and lost potential.

Let’s just say there’s one and only one way to salvage this story, and it’s that the entire story is just another Swan Song, and this haphazard ending was written by Chuck to give the boys a sense of closure and freedom that’s impossible for them to ever have from the moment they realized who Chuck was.

It’s literally that bad. it can only be excused by Chuck being a lazy hack in-universe to pander to Dean and Sam. Rushing the end of Castiel’s arc in like two minutes, with zero emotional payoff unless you’re deeply, deeply invested in Destiel and desperate for any crumb of it. Luci reappearing for five minutes and acting totally out of character before dying basically instantly right in front of Jack to conveniently charge him up, then Chuck killing Michael for literally no reason whatsoever (Michael did exactly what he wrote him to do) right in front of Jack, Chuck deciding just not to kill Jack because...........................................because, and also deciding to beat, but not kill, the Winchesters, and the most anticlimactic defeat of Chuck possible.

What was the point of him combining with Amara? Nothing, there’s no payoff, it’s just a way to write her out. For no reason in particular she vibes with Jack even though Jack betrayed and tried to murder her while Chuck did nothing against her. She has an entire arc about being an inseparable pair with Chuck, brother and sister from the dawn of time that no one else can understand, a bond that even the imprisonment couldn’t break, and then she’s like ‘ah yes, the ally of the person who betrayed and tried to kill me - who tried to do the same - the son of the angel who betrayed me and tried to seal me away, I like this guy and will go be with him and “harmonize” instead of staying with the brother that I love, or protecting him from this.’

What has changed between pre-season 11 (or really pre-season 14) and now? Has their god figure changed tactics at all? Literally no. Not even a little. Every part of Jack’s limp wristed speech just added up to ‘absentee dad who doesn’t come and help people because he doesn’t want to be a helicopter dad’. The current writers just balled up their fists and shook them at the sky angry about  a Chuck who literally just didn’t exist, and hurled insults at him for doing things that their new replacement is also planning on doing.

Dean and Sam aren’t even off the hamster wheel, they’re just now on Jack’s! Which is better, because they’re on the good side of their world’s god--wait, they were that already before season 15, oops. Chuck was literally personally indebted to them! Amara was in love with Dean! Nothing has changed!

But even if that’s the ending they wanted for some demented reason, the execution is awful, possibly the worst! Not only did Chuck and Amara’s abilities and personality become inconsistent with previous seasons, they became inconsistent with a few episodes before.

In the end what was Chuck’s personality?

Whatever you were about to think was wrong unless your answer was “Nothing, he didn’t have a personality, he reacted only as the plot required him to at the time with no rhyme, reason, or internal consistency.”

One moment Chuck is railing at the Winchesters for ‘not obeying’, the next he’s punishing someone for obeying him or saying that the only thing that interests him is how the Winchesters surprise him. One moment he refuses the white flag for literally no reason, the next one he’s demanding they give up. One moment he needs Amara to Great Reset and has completely lost interest in the Winchesters, the next he’s given up on the hard reset and only cares about the Winchesters again. One moment he revives his most rebellious son because he knows that son is obsessively devoted to him, the next he’s killing his most loyal son for reluctantly rebelling (exactly according to a previous plan). One moment he says ‘now Jack dies’ the next he goes out of his way to just not kill Jack for no reason. Does he want a fitting death for the Winchesters or not? He sure doesn’t know the answer to that!

Chuck was not a person, not even an entity. He was a formless, personality-devoid plot object pushed around the map to give the Winchesters something to react to and try to ‘defeat’. Billy was far more the arc villain - even Empty - than Chuck, and her ending was utterly anticlimactic and unsatisfying.

He acted exactly as necessary to get the very specific ending they picked, and nothing more. Every time up until the final conflict whenever he saw Jack he’d immediately kill Jack unless Jack was literally just dying in front of him. Every time he was irritated with someone and wanted them gone through the season, he would wave his hand and they’d vanish to ‘somewhere else’, implied to be very far away. Suddenly this one time, he instead sent Jack a very short distance away, so as to ensure he’d be close enough to absorb Michael’s power when Chuck SMITED him, not killed him in some normal way.

Shall we look at the very specific chain of insane events that had to happen to make this result?

- Chuck erases all of living existence except Michael, the Winchesters, Castiel, and Jack - the last of which he has zero interest in and very much wants dead.

- Chuck, instead of going to the bunker himself because he knows full well there’s literally nothing, nothing, that can kill him with Amara’s power (and also instead of just instantly resetting like he wanted to do with Amara), revives Satan and sends him to the bunker to make a new Death so that she can read Death’s book.

- The combined cleverness of him and the longest lived villain in the series due to his tenacity and cleverness don’t decide to peacefully take the new Death away for ‘security’ and kill her where the Winchesters (and Michael) can’t see, and instead instantly murder her in front of everyone before she can say how the end happens

- Chuck, despite making a point TWO EPISODES AGO about how he’s literally omniscient, and so though he can’t read the book that doesn’t mean it can actually be used against him, suddenly forgets that only Death can read the book. All of the time in the universe and he’s never learned this???? Even the Winchesters knew!

- Chuck evidently infused him with the power to insta-kill Death....somehow, but this power is not on display at any other point, especially not the crucial next moment:

- The most tenacious and sneaky villain on the show then slowly makes his way around the bunker with a fellow archangel who wants to kill him present, then lingers and offers to let a son he hates (and Chuck dislikes) that he believes is currently powerless to come with him. He then is unprepared for the very same trick that Gabriel tried to use on him 10 season before and failed back then with the phrase ‘I taught you all the tricks you know’, and gets immediately ganked by Michael with no fight at all

- Chuck LITERALLY WAS THE ONE TO GIVE THE WINCHESTERS THAT ARCHANGEL BLADE AND WROTE IT SO THAT THEY WERE THE ONES WHO KILLED HIM WITH IT THE LAST TIME. HE COULD NOT HAVE NOT KNOWN THEY HAD IT!!!!

- Dean and Sam then discuss their plan to trick the omniscient Chuck between each other and Jack. Chuck somehow doesn’t know this, even though it was established in the past that the warding doesn’t actually work against Chuck and Amara and he has literally nowhere else to be looking in the multiverse except at them

- Jack absorbs the power of an archangel, making him the third most powerful being in the universe currently, as all other archangels other than Michael are dead and Death is dead, and there is NO OTHER POWER ANYWHERE WHATSOEVER to hide him in, yet is undetected by Michael or Chuckmara

- Chuck appears when they attempt to do some BS to kill him, even though he would know full well that just wouldn’t work, and decides in that one specific moment, even though he doesn’t care one whit about Jack, not to go ahead and just delete Jack since he’s gonna do that in a minute anyway, he also doesn’t send Jack ‘away’ like he has with literally everyone else, nor does he control Jack and turn Jack on the boys. Nope. Just slap him vaguely to the side

- Rather than deal with Michael after the Winchesters, Chuck decides he hates his most loving and loyal son who has never once done anything wrong against him, and sought to do his will even when he was gone, even when Michael was stuck in the cage unjustly. He goes ahead and murders Michael for something he wrote as a trap for the Winchesters and doesn’t even wait to deal with Jack and the Winchesters first to do it

- CHUCK. SHURLEY. UNDERESTIMATED THE WINCHESTERS. THE ONE WHO WROTE THEM TO BE THE WAY THEY ARE. THE ONE WHO WROTE “AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO DOESN’T UNDERESTIMATE THE WINCHESTERS?!” FOR CROWLEY TO SAY.

- Chuck didn’t notice Jack absorbing the power of Michael LITERALLY RIGHT NEXT TO HIM, making Jack nearly Chuck’s power by absorbing the two most powerful archangels and literally leaving him THE ONLY FLAME OF POWER IN ALL OF EXISTENCE BESIDES CHUCK. STANDING RIGHT. NEXT. TO. HIM.

- Seriously, the energy of Michael didn’t dissipate, it sucked right into Jack, still in his peripheral vision. Chuck the omniscient!

- Chuck then decides, unlike every other time he faced the Winchesters or anything he wanted dead, no he won’t smite or erase the Winchesters or make them face some poetic fate, he’ll punch them down. But not once and obliterate them, oh no. Over and over so he can “leak god power” that he then doesn’t notice is being drained into Jack

- He literally does not notice a being as powerful or more powerful than him standing behind him. OMNISCIENT CHUCK.

- Rather than take the power back, flee, or do anything with his power or eons of experience (like transfer his consciousness to Jack along with the power), he stands there and immediately is drained

THIS is the path that had to happen, with no deviations, for the Winchesters not to just die.

And on top of that garbage plotline of perfect coincidences we’re expected to believe wasn’t written to happen in-universe, the execution is the saddest and most pathetic wet fart of a finale ever.

There’s been 15 seasons, and conveniently we can compare three different ‘true’ endings in the process. Let’s do that, shall we?

Ending 1 - Swan Song. Build up: 5 seasons

The other endings didn’t get the benefit of five seasons of build up, so we won’t factor in the first 2 or 3 seasons just to be fair, and only count the beginning of the apocalypse arc.

Primary villain: Satan, with the backdrop of demons and the corrupted faction of angels. Their personalities are well defined and compelling. Their behavior makes sense and are consistent, and draw you in to be invested in what happens, especially the eventual heelface turn of Castiel.

Stakes: Humanity, but far more importantly, the supporting cast whom you grew to know and love over the years, even including Castiel.

Over the apocalypse arc, we see the boys struggle against impossible odds and what appears to be fate, raging against the dying of the light because they cannot accept that the future can really hold the end of everything. They despair, they grow, Dean - a staunch atheist - prays to god for the first time ever. Slowly but surely they lose ground, with every attempted victory only resulting in more failure. Ellen and Jo who survived an early season fake out and became beloved characters end up fighting and dying in a long, drawn out sacrifice scene that matters, leaving the people behind shattered. Bobby is crippled. Sam and Dean both give up and almost give in.

In the end, the final confrontation still happens, Castiel finally makes a stand for the sake of humanity and free will and he dies for it. Only the love that Dean and Sam have for each other, the lifetime as brothers and their fierce bond of family, finally saves the day. And it only happens at the cost of sacrificing Sam and Adam’s lives, forcing Dean to live for them.

The final battle takes all episode, it’s dramatic and it’s emotional both good and bad.

Ending 2 - Alpha and Omega. Build up: 3 seasons

The arc with Amara once again was a long build up of the Winchesters constantly trying to make things better and only making things worse, but where Sam was the vessel and thus had the personal connection to the villain in the first arc, Dean was the vessel exploring the darkness and thus had the personal connection to Amara in this arc.

Primary villain - Amara, the bitter and angry sister of Chuck who doesn’t understand human morality but has a personal connection to Dean.

Stakes: Existence itself, but also far more importantly, the supporting cast built up from the last checkpoint.

The crushing hopelessness of fighting a being with ultimate power filled the arc, and Dean’s attempt to reason with Amara failed not because she was insane, but because her understanding of existence was simply different and incompatible. Donatello their prophet has his soul devoured by Amara and Metatron is killed in a diversion, but overall there’s not as much sacrifice because it wouldn’t have done any good anyway. However, it has its Ellen and Jo moment in the form of the hopelessness of the Croatoan episode. The city converted, the Winchesters helpless, Sam infected and slowly turning, while Chuck has given up and plans to die with the world. 

And honestly, that moment when Chuck begins to sing, when the amulet after so many years finally begins to glow and the clouds part, everything isn’t fixed yet but somehow it’s all alright because “Dad is finally here” is such a beautiful moment.

Many before have commented on it, but Chuck’s song and the moment he heals everyone is iconic and beautiful, as is the moment when the play sings ‘Wayward Son’ while Chuck watches in the bleachers with a smile. Things also get desperate, as Chuck nearly dies even after they get everything together as allies - even including the last arc villain - they put together something that will only maybe work so that at the very least, existence can continue.

Once again, the boys and everyone get together to fight the inevitable and impossible simply because they believe humanity deserves to continue to exist, and it’s the love of family - this time between Chuck and Amara, who truly, no matter the eons of rivalry and resentment and bitterness, don’t want to see each other hurt - that puts aside the end. The inevitable fade is prevented because of love and family (and isn’t that the point?) and even Chuck as a father redeems himself, taking the anger from Dean, Sam, and his own son and finally makes peace with them as well.

In the same way Chuck brought back Castiel stronger as a gift, Amara brings back Mary younger as a gift, and just as in season 5, they leave with the promise that Dean and Sam can handle things from here. Chuck even says "The Earth will be fine without me. It’s got you and Sam.” before he leaves.

The final episode isn’t a battle, but the solution takes all episode, and the ending is somewhat bittersweet, though more positive emotional than negative.

‘Ending’ 3 - Inherit the Earth. Build up: one season

They didn’t have much choice about this, because Jensen sprang ‘I quit’ on them, and they evidently didn’t want Jack to be the final villain, so the arc they were in the middle of had to be terminated (and the Michael arc ended at an awkward place so they couldn’t have just ended it at the end of s14 instead)

Still, the season of buildup....just isn’t. Most episodes have nothing to do with the inevitable impending doom, and rather than hopelessness, the Winchesters mostly live in a delusion that despite utterly failing to defeat Amara, somehow they can beat Chuck with less power. This conflict is fueled by sheer rage on both sides, as Dean has up and decided he hates that someone is controlling his life and thinks he gets a say, and is willing to endanger the entire world for his grudge against Chuck - even though this was something resolved back in s11 (the resolution with Satan was also completely undone by these writers instantly but that’s another matter)

Primary villain: Chuck, with an aside of Billie and The Empty - unfortunately this Chuck has no connection to the previous Chuck (or even himself episode to episode), Billie has always been extremely bland and doesn’t really accomplish anything through the season, and the Empty is totally unexplored and wholly exists to say “BE QUIET” and provide fanservice because it’s using Meg’s actress to do so. It has no personality beyond wanting to be left alone and getting vindictive if it’s not. It also can’t impact anything because it’s barred from Earth and nothing significant in the plot happens elsewhere this season.

Stakes: Humanity, and also some side characters you don’t really know or care about

Let’s talk about those, because it’s the biggest failing in the execution of this whole plot and why the ending has no oomph and doesn’t matter even if Chuck had a coherent personality and the ending had made sense.

Bobby is not Our Bobby, and despite bringing him back, the writers utterly failed to explore him or bring him into things, even in this final arc. There’s been no chance to bond with this Bobby. Even his ‘romance’ with Mary was offscreen and he had little more than grunting to say about her death.  We’ve also had our chains thoroughly jerked around by Bobby since season 6. Emotionally we’re dead to Bobby, and the writers seem to have assumed this by token returning him and then shipping him on a bus immediately (or maybe the writers suck, because they do this to Mary most of the time too and there’s no reason for people to be bored of her)

Charlie is not Our Charlie, and we’ve already seen her die (pointlessly). Once again, the writers utterly failed to explore her, even more than Bobby, and no one can point out anything that makes her any different from the original except that she has no connection to the boys. She’s also been shipped off and removed multiple times, so viewers are well acquainted with her being gone. She does nothing in the final plot to make people remember her or be invested.

Does Garth even die on screen??? Have we even seen him since the antiMichael arc? Oh right, he’s in the joke episode where he gives Dean fillings. You know who doesn’t even die on screen? Jody. She also has no role in the season. She doesn’t even appear in reality, only alternate versions of reality! Instead, Donna appears! Just long enough so she can die on screen painlessly in a plot twist about Billie. Presumably Donatello dies, but, y’know, it’s offscreen.

More importantly, none of these people who die are involved in actually helping to fight Chuck. They help the Winchesters a little in their cameos, but they’re not involved in a desperate fight for survival, putting it all on the line even though they know it’s hopeless, because humanity deserves to exist and no matter how impossible, they have to fight.

Three people of importance die or ‘die’.

Amara, who as mentioned is just written out of the show for no conceivable reason

Rowena, is the only person with an impactful sacrifice done to fight Chuck, no matter how hopeless it is. Unfortunately, it’s somewhat rushed, and Sam is over it pretty quick....because Rowena becomes Queen of Hell, completely undermining her death and really just giving the Winchesters an upgrade, because she’s even more reliable than Crowley in there (they proceed to never call on her)

And then there’s Castiel.

His death is rushed and hot garbage, as mentioned. He’s not dying to fight Chuck, or for something he believes in. It’s not a long and emotional or heartbreaking scene. It’s a useless and stupid one that only happens because Dean is an idiot, with the fakest suspense of Billie just open palm smacking on a door for a stupidly extended amount of time, just so they could fulfill an ‘oopsie’ plot hook they’d planned for far in the future with the Empty.

And the worst part? After undermining Castiel being one of the brothers and everything he’s ever done with ‘it’s not that I loved humanity and did what I believed was right, even in the face of adversity and those around me telling me it was wrong, it’s that I loved you and confessing this even though it’s 100% unrequited and we’re surrounded by doom and I know things are hopeless I’m completely happy, at peace, and have forgotten Empty’s promise (oops, forgot about that qualification, didn’t you?)’

After all that, Dean, Sam, and Jack aren’t even really broken up about it. Dean is sad for like five seconds and then they move on back to angry at chuck mode. Jack lost his actual dad, Sam and Dean lost their brother - forever this time - and they’re like ‘eh, we moved on from losing mom again and losing dad again, this is nothing’.

There’s no impact to this sacrifice whatsoever. Especially because in the very next episode we see that if you have Chuck’s power you can just yoink out someone from the Empty, and that very episode they already said that the Empty can’t go where Chuck doesn’t want him. That is to say: Jack can just rescue him now and there’s nothing the Empty can do about it.

And as for the conclusion?

What saves the day? Is it love? Does Amara’s appeal to Chuck as his sister work? Do the Winchesters swallow their pride and go to Chuck to plead with him to see reason and remember his love for his creation? Does the love Michael have for his father reach him? Do the love Dean, Sam, or Jack have for each other matter, overcoming the impossible to choose love, freedom, and family like always?

Nope.

They win because Chuck is angry and hateful and full of hubris, so he makes a billion mistakes in a row, allowing himself to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. And is there a lesson about love in the end, something about freedom or family or forgiveness?

Nope.

They leave Chuck groveling as a human (like that’s different from how he’s been for eons, happily so), Jack fixed everything (except Castiel and all the angels and heaven and all the monsters and serial killers and cannibals)  and then gives a speech about how he is everything and is in everything but not Dean and Sam’s car because the only way to be good at his job is to go do the thing Chuck was doing and Dean raged at him about.

And it happens in a few seconds.

Completely anticlimactic. There’s no climax. There’s no build up. There’s no satisfaction or emotional payoff. There’s no closure that makes you say ‘yes, this could be the end and I would be completely satisfied’ except that they didn’t include the last second sequel hooks that were in s5 and 11 because they knew there’d be more seasons.

Also looping back to the logistical side of things again

There is no ‘godforce’, there’s no ‘grace but it’s divine’

Chuck and Amara are power

You can’t just ‘drain’ them of it, you can’t steal their power and leave a husk, because there’s no husk. They’re not inhabiting someone like angels or demons do. They are that power. Why do they have that power? Because they do, Because they are, they have that power in their world.

If you could somehow ‘steal’ the power you’d be stealing the ‘essence’. Just like with Amara moving to Jack, Chuck would move to Jack, and suddenly it wouldn’t be Jack anymore, because a human mind and soul can’t overcome him (see: he writes them)

Also, consider the sheer staggering amount of NERF!!!!!!!

Chuck + Amara, that’s Chuck doubled in power

is now canonically the power of “One human soul + two powerful archangels + a few punches worth of power”. That means by their reckoning, Chuck alone is only a punch or two stronger than Michael. 

think about that compared to what Death said to Castiel with all of purgatory in him.

And this

This is why I say

The only way to correct this episode is to reveal in the end of this next wrap up episode that it was all written by Chuck, for Dean and Sam. The only fix to this is to make it so the bad writing is just typical Chuck being a ham-fisted writer who is ultimately just doing what’s best for humanity and especially his two favorites: giving them closure, someone to let out their rage and hatred on, and true ‘free will’, by once again removing himself from the equation and letting them live their lives without him.

[sugarfreecapsicle]

study buddy

bucky barnes x reader

Prompts: college!au (1.5k constellation writing challenge by @sunmoonandbucky); fake dating!au & unplanned bed sharing trope (star’s multi-fandom follower celebration by @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan )

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, bit of pining, lots of awkward interaction, fluff!!!!

Wordcount: 2k-ish

A/N: oh my god, y’all, I can’t believe two of my favorites have challenges going on at the same time. I’m so honored to call them both friends - both are phenomenal writers in their own right and I am always floored by their respective work. I love the both of your oh so dearly and am so happy you’ve reached such important milestones! You deserve every happiness, and I hope this fic can bring you just a little of that.

Gif Credit (x)

Assigned seating did not end in grade school. The nightmare of desk dictatorship held strong in Fury’s classroom - a man of simple rules and unquestioned respect for his time. Your research into your professors via many forums and sites like RateMyProfessor did not alert you to the nightmare of obeying his law to the letter.

“If I were sorry about my decision, I’d apologize, but I’ve always been an honest man. You chose your seat, you chose your partner, and you chose to break up. That’s a personal problem to solve on personal time. Not mine. See you next class.”

Your conversation on the phone with Wanda and Maria definitely didn’t help lift your mood. Wanda, empathetic and full of irrational resolutions like falsifying a restraining order. Maria, ever practical and smug with her I-told-you-so attitude.

“I don’t know what else you expected from Fury of all people,” Maria chuckled before biting into an apple slice. “Even if he thinks Brock is an asshole, he won’t make an exception without something dire on the line.”

“Maybe you can just switch classes? I’m pretty sure there’s an opening in-” “Wanda, I love you, but I can’t switch classes two weeks from finals.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, squeeze your eyes shut in the afternoon sun. “I’ll just...I’ll just handle this as gracefully as I can.”

“Godspeed,” Maria deadpans before dropping the call.

“Y’know, I didn’t want to have to resort to this,” Wanda’s trepidation fueled your oncoming tension migraine, “but maybe it’s time to call in your favor with Bucky.”

Your heart drops somewhere on the pigeon-shit sidewalk.

“Wanda....I think you might be right.”

The saying goes that once you’ve hit rock bottom there’s nowhere to go but upward. If calling in a favor to your freshman year crush turned campus heartbreaker didn’t qualify, you didn’t want to find out where bedrock truly could be.

You shouldn’t be surprised to find a technology major in the library swamped with work on a Tuesday, but when that student is James Buchannan Barnes, it’s worthy of flipping the world ass over teakettle. Dashing as ever, stormy eyes, chestnut hair combed just so. Your backpack thuds on the floor beneath the co-op table, and his eyes find you.

“Hey, stranger,” he murmurs with an impossibly charming smile that lights his entire face. “Where have you been since August?”

Fighting a smile around Bucky is futile, so you let a grin appear. “Unfortunately dating Brock and sitting next to him in Fury’s class.”

His smile pulls into a tight wince as you take your seat across from him and retrieve your laptop from your bag.

“I don’t envy you.” Bucky waves and nods briefly at another student passing by behind you, and you turn to notice it’s a shapely redhead you recall from last semester’s art history class. “He won’t budge without legal documentation at best.”

Your fingers twist and curl together in nonsensical patterns in your lap. “Well, I was hoping to get Brock off my case, actually.”

Bucky doesn’t respond more than raised eyebrows and startled blinking. 

“Would...could you be my fake boyfriend long enough to convince Brock we aren’t getting back together?” It comes out all rushed and nervous, syllables running together like a skittering mouse across the kitchen floor. Your heart hammers against your chest, determined to break free of your body every second Bucky stalls his reply. You can’t read him - he’s still leaned back in dumbfounded silence. 

At long last he leans in, hands steeple between the two of you, calculating gleam in his eye. “If you’ll help me figure out how to pass this English Lit final, I’ll actually date you.” 

You both laugh quietly, minding the nearby staff eyeing your space at the table. Pink tinges your cheeks dangerously beyond mere flattery. 

“Let’s just agree to fake dating for now, and we’ll see if you can still stand to share space with me after a few weeks.”

“Deal.” Bucky extends his hand, you grasp it and shake to your agreement. Your fingers reluctantly move to let go, but Bucky holds firm and pulls the back of your hand to his smirking lips. “Whatever you need, darlin’.”

Days later you’re still tingling from his public affection in the library. Could you have been imagining the color shift in his eyes when he peered over your hand or was it purely fantasy? Lack of caffeine, mental fixation from stress - more likely than any truth to how deeply in character he seemed to be already.

Bucky escorts you to your classes with his fingers threading yours, a hand at the small of your back, an arm flung around your shoulders. He’s in your ear, whispering jokes and delicious plans for the rest of your time together, kissing your forehead or your cheek when you reach the door. Keeping your arrangement from Wanda and Maria could only be explained by the stress of impending finals, and you’d managed to avoid inevitable party and holiday invitations. If nothing else, this pretending made the idea of being near Brock again less intimidating.

Fury Friday arrived sooner than you’d felt it should, and as set in precedent, Bucky strolls next to you with his hand in yours, beaming and chatting about how he’d managed to bring his scores up enough in Statistics to earn a pass on his final and thereby free up his weekend. Dread skirted in your lungs, a distant siren’s call to your sense of reason as the reality of sitting next to Brock for two hours pressed upon you. 

“Are you going to tell me what’s on your mind or are you gonna keep me guessing?”

He’s too good at this, and Bucky has to know it. “Sorry, I...am not looking forward to this.”

“I can’t think of anyone that looks forward to a Fury class to be fair,” he laughs breathily and puts a soothing hand to your waist. A kiss lingers on your forehead, and Bucky’s spicy cologne takes over your senses in a tight embrace. “Especially with Rumlow as your seatmate.”

His whispered acknowledgment makes your whole body shiver, and he responds with a few brushes over your arms and back to stir away the obvious chilled gust of wind that’s painted your cheeks pink again.

“Knock ‘em dead, killer,” he teases with a single knuckle against your chin. Bucky’s nose brushes just barely against yours, and then he’s dashing down the hallway with a wave over his shoulder. It dawns on you as you take your seat - your neighbor pleasantly absent - that Bucky could be sacrificing too much for a fake relationship, for your sake. Brock could be all bark and no bite, but a small part of you felt he could be a breath away from snapping. Others are milling about the room, so you pull your phone out and send Bucky a text. The little heart next to his name stings somewhere deep in your chest.

You’re not missing classes just to walk me to and from, right?

Your laptop is open and ready to go, humming to life while you bend beneath the elongated desks to make sure you could plug into an outlet if need be. The buzz of a reply sends you hurtling into the composite tabletop, a loud thud followed by tittering giggles around the filling room.

Brock is glaring down at you and your phone screen, mouth in a thin line, eyebrows knitted together. You don’t say a word to him and try to keep his prying eyes from your screen.

Not missing, exactly, but cutting it close. Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.

“Didn’t take you long to hop on someone else’s dick, did it?”

His voice churns in your stomach, but you don’t acknowledge him. Had this been any other class but Fury’s you could put in earbuds and block him out. Brock’s eyes are on you, or at least the cold sweat chilling the back of your neck makes you think as much, and he’s seething, boring holes into your form. For two hours. For an entire Fury lecture.

Your shoe catches one of the rear legs of his chair, but you can’t bother to turn around and apologize - not like the seat budged under the star athlete. Bucky grins as you exit through the wide double doors, moves to wrap an arm around you, and you pull him by his jacket to your lips. You’re lost in his cologne, the feel if his mouth on yours, his body heat against the biting December cold. There’s a hum, something of a moan quiet enough to feel and dream of hearing - and you can’t be sure if it came from you or Bucky. With a dizzied wobble, you’re separated and Bucky’s eyes are still closed, arms cocooning you against his form.

“Hey,” he chuckles, voice deep and husky, the grin tugging at the right corner of his mouth.

“Hi,” you’re just as breathy and more than a little wanting. “Ready for the weekend?”

______________________________________

Friday night passes without a mention of the kiss.

The entirety of Saturday passes, and no mention of the kiss.

And it’s all you can think about. Forget studying for finals, forget meal prepping for the guaranteed necessity of pre-made lunches and dinners. That kiss.

You’d caught him off guard, but he didn’t hesitate to respond hungrily. Bucky tasted of honeyed tea and cinnamon chewing gum, carried the warmth of summer sun beneath his jacket. You hadn’t considered prior to the rash decision to just fucking kiss him that your senses would swim in his aftershave, his sheer proximity, the comfort of him. For you, Bucky had never been so tangible.  

Truthfully, Bucky had never been tangible for anyone - notorious campus-wide for gracefully bowing out of invitations for dates, one night stands even. People of course talked, spread rumors that he had to be dating a professor in secret, that he had a long distance relationship with a supermodel overseas. 

Until that kiss two days ago.

Bucky arranged for time to cram for his English Lit final with you tonight in his apartment, more for the convenience of avoiding scorned women at every corner of your dorm than anything else. He did have more space, privacy and faster internet than the supplied campus Wi-Fi. 

Is it appropriate to bring wine to a study session or is that strictly for dinner parties? Maybe some appetizers? Seven o’clock on a Sunday night typically meant binging as many football games as anyone could consume, especially in a college town. 

You’re buzzed up to this apartment, cream puffs in hand, and freeze when Steve opens the door to a living room full of people in various coordination of navy and ivory. The tall blonde ushers you in and sweeps your dessert out of your hands before you can locate your study buddy.

“Buck’s in his room,” Steve offers with some mischief. “Says he needs to pass this final, so he’s passing on the game night.”

It’s easy enough to figure out which room with a shut door is Bucky’s when Sam walks out of the bathroom and immediately checks the score on his phone (the space around the smaller television is too busy to see). You knock, probably a little too lightly at first, but the second set of taps nearly clock Bucky’s throat.

He’s beaming, cheeks flushed, smile wide - like a smitten kid. His electric touch pulls you into his bedroom already scattered with his scrawlings and textbooks. The door barely provides enough sound protection from the party for you to feel comfortable at attempting to concentrate.

“I really thought Steve had an away game this weekend, but I hadn’t thought about having a bye week for finals -” Bucky stops, feet strategically between loose paper and dog-eared texts. And god, he’s looking at you like that again and you can’t breathe. 

Suddenly you understand the gravity of your feelings, and your mouth goes dry.

This isn’t fake for you. Not anymore.

“Really, I’m glad you still wanted to help me out.” Bucky’s sincere, permanently grinning as he’s rearranging his chaotic floorspace to make room for you. You swallow hard as you eye the sliver of skin between his sweater and his lounge pants, the well-loved hoodie pooling around his middle as he bends from his hips. When he’s upright and inviting you to settle in, you decide that professionalism has to outweigh your own personal crisis - think like Fury.

Hours later, the two of your are in a shambles - Bucky insisted you change into a pair of his sweats and a tee shirt in the event of an all nighter, you’d made a run for fast food, and your eyes can hardly stay open long enough to fact-check Bucky’s recitation. 

“I think maybe we should call it a night,” he yawns, interrupting his monologue. You nod mutely and move to get up when Bucky catches your arm. “Uh, I mean, you could...you could stay.”

You shouldn’t, though, for reasons Bucky doesn’t know - but he has an excellent argument: you’re in no shape to get yourself home and with the party still going strong outside his bedroom there’s no way he can drive you home. 

Bucky helps you get to your feet and smooths his hands over your shoulders. “Scout honor, no funny business. They’ll all crash on top of each other in the living room and Steve’s room. You’d at least have a little more space in here. I’ll take the floor -” 

“Absolutely not, Bucky Barnes.” Your tone even surprises you; the Fury switch quickly dissipates. “I mean, I can’t in good conscience let you do that, it’s your room. We can...we can just share, if you don’t mind -”

“Not at all.” Maybe it’s your drowsiness but he seems eager. “Just washed the sheets anyway, and the blanket’s something Mom and Gran quilted for me as a kid.”

Soft cotton and jersey envelop your aching muscles, and a betraying moan of contentment escapes you when Bucky curls into bed next to you. He’s warm, a furnace beneath the covers, haven from the biting cold. 

His stubble, still unshaven from Friday, borders on scruff and tickles your forehead. Hands ease over your back, tentative, hesitant. You can’t deny him and certainly can’t deny yourself this moment. 

“Darlin’?”

He’s whisper soft, cotton candy words prickling against your skin. You hum and his hands still against your shirt.

“Wasn’t kidding about actually dating you, y’know. If you want to take up the offer-”

Your fingers are on his lips, you crane your body to get a better look at his beautiful, tired face. 

“Ask me again in the morning, Buck. After coffee. So I know this isn’t delirium.”

He sighs and presses a tired smile into your forehead. “Whatever you need, darlin’.”

[uzumaki-rebellion]

“Wet Sugar” [Part 25 of 30]

Summary: Yani forces Erik to realize some things...

NSFW. Mature Audience. Smut.

"I bet she could never make you cry 'Cause the scars on your heart are still mine Tell me that she couldn't get this sting 'She can almost be the worst of me' Too bad she's just eating off your dreams Let me know when you're ready to plea Maybe you just need to send for me

Send for me Send for me Send for me (woo) Send for me…"

Rihanna – "Woo"

She allowed him to stay the night with her in the apartment.

With Erik's arms wrapped around her, Yani lightly touched the scars on his chest and the silence in her bedroom wrapped them in a cocoon of denial. Tracing the contours of the keloids with her fingertips, she was aware that each one meant something, and her gut instinct told her it was something bad. Newer ones that he had returned with had healed up, and there wasn't much space left on his front or back to add that much more. Unless he planned on putting new ones down below…

Erik's lips kept brushing against her forehead, kissing her there all through the night. Neither one of them slept well, and when dawn arrived, Yani decided to skip her classes.

She held him all morning, even when he dozed off in a fitful bit of sleep. His heartbeat thumped in her ear and she tried to take in all of his body heat. She had to pee but was afraid to move, not wanting to break the spell of just holding him close. Keeping him with her. Her bladder won out and she slipped out of the room to relieve herself.

She knew he was awake once more when she felt his right hand rubbing on her right butt cheek. He glanced at his watch.

"You shouldn't skip your classes, Yani."

"I can catch up from a classmate…be still…"

She pushed him back down onto her bed when he tried to pull his shirt back on.

"Go to school—"

"Please…just lay down."

She rested her head back on his chest and wiped her eyes with her wrist, hoping no tears dropped on his skin. Erik rubbed her back.

"Don't get behind on schoolwork because of me. I have five days left. Klaue and the others are booked to leave in two. I'm closing down shop for him. We'll have time together. A whole weekend."

He tilted her chin up with his hand.

"I want you to bring Sweet Pea and come to the compound. Just the three of us. When Our Lady's Manor is vacated, I'll send for you. We'll go to Kendall's show, spend a whole day together at the cove, I'll cook you some more gumbo…"

She nodded her head then placed it back on his chest. Her eyes were blurry from the water threatening to fall again from her lids and Erik wiped them away. Her lips kissed the center of his chest and she crawled on top of him and stared at his face. His eyes were soft-looking and she touched his lips. He lifted her up and kissed her, held her neck and lower back and allowed his mouth to kiss away the pain she felt. She pushed back on the future and clung desperately to every second he touched her.

Erik rolled her over onto her back and licked down the side of her neck. Her skin tingled then burned for him. Turning her head to the side, his mouth latched onto the back of her neck. He pressed gentle kisses there and she turned all the way over, allowing him to kiss his way down her spine until his tongue dipped into the tiny indentations on her lower back.

"Killmonger…"

Her sighs urged him on and he nipped at her ass cheeks with his teeth and then dragged his tongue down her left thigh until he reached her ankles. He did the same to her right ass cheek and leg.

She glanced back at him.

"What are yuh doin' ?"

She watched him kiss back up her side until she felt the hairs of his beard tickle her neck again.

"Tasting you all over," he said.

She turned over and he suckled her left collar bone.

"What do I taste like?"

"Whatchu think? Sugar."

"Yeah?"

"Mmmhmm, especially down here…"

His tongue swirled on her flesh as it passed between her breasts and down to her belly button. She widened her thighs when he reached her clit.

"So sweet…" he sighed as the warmth of his breath made her shiver.

Her eyes rolled back when the hot wetness of his thick tongue slathered her inner labia with saliva and hums from his throat.

"You get so wet for me…so fast girl…"

His fingers slid up and played with her nipples as he took care of business down below.

"Killmonger—"

"Pussy jumpin'…"

Yani felt the pulsing in her center controlled by his voice. It was no different than when he used to call her on the phone and make her play with herself while he had to sit and listen to Klaue talk all day. She tried to imagine him sitting in a meeting with Klaue, an earbud stuck in his ear as he heard her playing in her pussy. Such a nasty man. She gazed down at her folds and saw her body obeying him and only him.

He pinched her nipples hard.

"Cum in my mouth."

"Ooh…"

His full lips smothered her vulva and she released on command, her body arching up from the bed as she grabbed for his hair. He licked up everything she gave and when she looked down at him, his lips and beard glistened.

"Open that pussy up for me."

Slick fingers peeled back her drenched folds and Erik lifted up to his knees. He stroked his erection and she watched his face contort in ecstasy.

"Got me so hard…'bout to make a mess…"

Yani felt the twitching in her pussy again. Erik jammed his left fist on the bed against her waist as he shifted forward and aimed the tip of his dick near her opening. A copious amount of clear fluid dribbled out from his slit. She knew what was next.

"Fuck…look what you makin' me do bitch—"

"Hmmmph…"

Erik's body jerked hard.

"…big mess…"

"…get your pussy…"

"….bitch…"

"…yours…"

"Yani! Fuck!"

Erik's ejaculate soaked the opening of her pussy and covered her mound in a heavy cream that dripped a copious amount onto the sheet.

"Turn over," he demanded.

She did and Erik straddled her thighs, placing his length between her ass cheeks. He shifted his body forward and his chest pressed into her back while he humped her. She loved feeling his full weight on her.

His left hand circled around her throat while his beard scratched against the right side of her face.

"Open your legs."

The harsh whisper in her ear made her gasp. Spreading her thighs, Yani panted into the sheets as Erik adjusted his erection with his right hand. Entering her slowly and going deep, Erik brought fresh tears to her eyes while squeezing her throat. The slight pressure he gave her neck made her insides clench. Not too hard…not too soft…just enough to make her woozy.

"Don't move…dassit…dassit girl. You ain't gotta do nothing but take this dick. Hear me?"

Yani gasped when the deep strokes he gave her went slower.

"Fuck…listen to that pussy…"

Erik's tongue kissed the back of her neck and his lips stayed there a he rocked into her. Each lust-laden stroke was drawn out as he made sure his balls slammed against her clit and rested there just long enough to tease her swollen bud. Wet squelching noises punctuated each stroke and Yani screamed into her pillow.

"Oh, shit…oh shit…Yani…gripping my dick like that…don't stop…keep doing that…oh shit."

His fingers tightened around her neck even more and she grabbed the metal rods of her headboard with both hands.

"…ass got me fucked up…shit…"

Erik pulled out and rested his dick between her cheeks again.

"…fuck I'm cumming…"

Hot spurts coated her back and she rested her head on her pillow as he rubbed her behind, squeezing her cheeks and still stroking his dick up and down her backside. Heavy exhales left his mouth until flopped down next to her. Her eyes turned to look between his legs. He was finally flaccid.

Erik stroked her back and played with his cum, rubbing into her skin. He loved seeing her covered in his essence. Any chance he got, he made sure to smear it all over her body. Marking her.

He checked his watch again. A heaviness settled around him once more. He kissed her with slow wet satisfaction until his watch alarm went off. She closed her eyes and her lips pouted heavily.

"Gotta dip, baby…hey, don't make that face."

Pushing her forehead into her pillow, Yani waved her hand at him.

"Go on, man."

"Gimme another kiss."

She leaned over and licked his lips before giving him what he wanted.

"Make sure you go to class this afternoon. Send me a picture that you are there."

"I don't have to go if I don't want—"

SLAP!

Erik's hand stung as it smacked her right ass cheek.

"I'm not playing. Give baby girl a kiss for me later."

Yani reached down and rubbed her butt.

"Fine."

He left her room discreetly and Yani padded to the bathroom nude. It was too late to act like Nannette didn't hear them when she returned from dropping off her daughter earlier.

Showering for a long time, she tried to give any lingering thoughts about him leaving to the hot water Gods as she cleaned herself thoroughly. Throwing on her favorite robe, she sauntered into the living room.

"No school today?" Nannette asked.

"I'm going this afternoon."

"Busy?"

The smirk on Nannette's face made Yani snicker. She sat down next to her roommate on the couch.

"He won't stay over again. That was just a one-time thing. He's leaving the island for good."

Nannette's eyes looked concerned.

"What happened?"

"His job."

"You two…?"

"I have school. He has his career. It can't work…not right now."

"So there's a chance—"

"Let's go to the movies tonight. I can have Anika watch the girls and you and I can have dinner and a movie after my classes today. We deserve some fun. My treat."

The words came out perky, but Nannette saw Yani's obvious lip tremble and she reached over and patted her thigh.

"That sounds like fun. We do deserve a girl's night together."

"It's a date."

Yani jumped up from the couch before she broke down all the way.

###

The compound security system was Erik's forte.

He knew every inch of the place because of Yani and Leona.

Once the others left, he would recalibrate everything under his control. He wanted Yani and Sydette to have paradise once more. He would give it to them with a high degree of privacy.

Time was now spent being under Klaue's beck and call. They jettisoned mercs they would no longer use, and Erik learned a lot about Klaue's inner circle. Had the man took a different path in life, he would've made an effective neutral diplomat. He was also loyal to no one but himself…and Erik.

Crazy.

This man that Erik would kill once he was on his way to Wakanda had a soft spot for his unknown secret enemy. He entrusted Erik with security codes to his private stash/safe houses around the world. Important decisions were bounced off of Erik first before Klaue brought it to the other men. There was a high level of respect that Klaue had for him that he was not afraid to show in front of the others.

Erik often wondered: Did he have the same relationship with his father before he turned on him?

He could easily see why his Baba used Klaue. The man had connections to people and places that shouldn't be possible. This filthy uncouth little man could talk his way around the fucking world. Could reach out and take an audience with friend and foe of any country.

Erik knew his own father had an arrogance and pride of association with people, so it must've been difficult for him to be in Klaue's presence for any length of time. N'Jobu Udaku didn't suffer fools, and from what Erik could decipher from his father's journals, Klaue was meant to be disposed of after they took vibranium out of the country. Something went awry, something made Klaue turn against his father and bomb a bunch of Wakandans to cover his tracks. Erik took great care in covering his own tracks, acquiescing to Klaue when it was beneficial to him and his agenda to keep the man focused. What did his father do or say that let Klaue know he was in danger?

"Let's call it a day, mate," Klaue said, rubbing his eyes as he shut down a digital 3D map of Busan, South Korea. It was four in the morning and Klaue had them up for over twenty hours.

Erik suggested that any exchange of goods should happen in Busan if Klaue could swing it. Klaue had a friend of a friend with connections to a place that had no problem allowing illicit deals to occur in the open. Klaue liked the idea. It wasn't Europe or Africa.

Erik and Klaue heard the security system announce Linda's presence. She walked in wearing clothes she had left in the previous day. A cat with a canary in its mouth look was plastered on her face. Erik knew that look well. She had been dicked down properly outside of the compound.

"Good morning, Ms. Chambers," Klaue teased.

"Good night," she said blowing them both kisses and traipsing toward her room.

Erik walked out onto the balcony, his eyes seeking the comfort of the Caribbean Sea.

Find a sizeable chunk of vibranium. Get it to Ross and the C.I.A. Let Klaue get his currency and then take him out once they entered East African territory.

He rubbed the side of his hip. He had enough smooth skin there to place about five to six more body counts.

Erik made arrangements to visit all of his close remaining family members. That meant trips to Oakland, D.C., Martha's Vineyard, and Sao Paulo. A final tour before Wakanda and vengeance…

No. Not vengeance.

Justice.

Erik made plans in his head to study Busan more. Coordinate charting a private plane to get in and out of South Korea quickly. The C.I.A. would be on high alert with an exchange of vibranium on the line. Several contingency plans would have to be made if their cover was blown. A four-person team could do a lot by being efficient, but they'd have to know the lay of the land intimately. Erik's Korean was rusty, but his childhood friend Walter could help out with that. An extended stay in Oakland and visit's to Walter's grandmother would have him up to speed in no time. His ear for languages was uncanny, and Walter's grandmother was crazy about him. She'd be ecstatic to speak in her native tongue with him. He'd have to do some self-study to capture the dialects near Busan for nuance and slang.

"How is Yani?"

Erik was startled to hear Klaue ask about her. The man stood and watched the sea with him.

"I hear things, Killmonger."

"Like what?"

Erik's face turned to stone as he watched Klaue's face.

"Don't get hostile, mate. I know you have feelings for her. That whole severance package ruse gave you away. I'm going to have a barbecue tomorrow night for the crew. A farewell to the island gathering. I'll invite her. Think of it as a present for you. Another reward for work well done here."

The fuck?

Talking about Yani like she was some slave girl he could pass around as he saw fit? Erik's left fist clenched and he counted down from fifty to zero in his head hoping he wouldn't be impulsive and reach for the Glock strapped to his thigh. The itch to blast the man where he stood was strong.

"Do what you want."

"It's what you want. Hell, she can stay the night if you want."

"Why?"

Klaue shrugged.

"Why not?"

It was tempting. Having her next to him there and not having to sneak off. Having her in their bed again.

He turned to look at the sea again. His eyes were wistful. The yearning to stay so strong in his bones.

All he had to do was step away…

###

He's not happy to have her around the compound.

Yani eats from a paper plate while sitting on a deck chair near the pool. Klaue mans the barbecue grill there and the rest of the mercs eat, talk and drink. Leona sits next to Yani with her own plate.

Shipley controls the music and loud 90's rap plays. Erik eats from his plate as he pretends to conversate with Limbano. Linda drinks beer and laughs hard at whatever Neal and the other mercs are talking about.

Erik tries his best not to stare at Yani, but he can't help himself. Life comes at him faster now, and he knows these are the last days he will be near her and it stresses him.

"Here, have some more shrimp," Klaue says, piling two wood skewers on his plate.

Yani's eyes catch his and she smiles at him. He accepts the love he sees there but doesn't smile back. He doesn't want the others to see how he really feels about her.

Cee Cee walks down to the pool area carrying more beer and a full bottle of rum and Shipley takes the rum and heads to the minibar.

"Killmonger!"

Limbano waves at him with Linda.

"We're going down to the gun range. Trying out the new Glocks."

Erik leaves his plate on a pool deck table and follows them. Passing by Yani, her eyes looked worried.

"Yani, come with?" Linda asked.

Erik stares at Linda and then back at Yani.

"You always watch us down there. Come see it up close," Linda cajoled.

"No thank you, I'm just going to relax—"

"Go on down. I need to speak with your Aunt privately," Klaue said.

Yani's eyes flicked over to her Aunt and cousin before they rest on Erik's face again. Linda strolled over and grabbed Yani's hand.

"I'll show you how to shoot," Linda said.

"I know how to," Yani answered.

Linda stopped and looked her over.

"Really?"

Yani nodded.

"This should be fun then," Linda said looking at Erik when she said it.

Yani followed them down to the range and Erik felt his body get tense.

Everyone put on protective eyewear and earplugs. Erik watched Shipley unlock a gun crate full of the new Glocks Klaue brought to the island.

The mercs took turns shooting and Erik cradled a Glock in his hand waiting his turn.

"These are better than the Kabul ones," Erik told Limbano.

"New manufacturer."

"You want next?" Linda asked Yani who stood behind everyone.

Erik knew she was still nervous around guns, and it didn't help there were so many weapons being waved around. Linda was also acting a little too sweet with Yani, treating her like a real guest. Erik didn't trust her.

"No. You can go," Yani said.

Erik saw Neal looking Yani over. She wore some plain jeans and a t-shirt, but Neal's eyes danced over her body in an obvious way.

Linda took her place and fired off an impressive round into her target. The others commented on her accuracy and she cheesed really hard in front of Erik as the accolades made her head swell.

"Your turn," Linda said to Yani.

Erik handed Yani the weapon she would fire and went over the precautions with her again. He could see Linda smirking as she slipped her weapon into her holster.

Yani took her position and Erik could feel the others watching with amusement in their eyes. There were a few snickers when Yani took deep breaths from nervousness.

"If it's too much for you, you don't have to shoot…" Linda said.

Yani looked back at her.

"It's not too much," she said.

Erik held his breath, but he didn't need to. Yani popped off some accurate shots into her target and it wiped the smile right off of Linda's face.

"Damn, she's almost as good as you, Shipley," Limbano teased.

"Lucky shot—"

Yani shot up the targets of the others. Moving slowly across the range her accuracy got better and when she turned to look at them while changing the magazine with precision, no one said anything.

"Not bad, huh?" Yani said.

The men laughed. Linda didn't.

"Had us fooled," Linda said.

Yani handed the Glock back to Erik.

"How did you learn to shoot like that?" Linda asked.

Yani's eyes darted to Erik and Linda's face soured.

"Had a good teacher," Yani said. Her arm slinked around Erik's and he felt all the eyes of the mercs on them. Bad move.

Yani reached up and cradled Erik's face before kissing his lips.

"There it is," Shipley said.

"Ribs are ready!" Cee Cee called to them all from above the gun range. The others moved to finish eating, and Linda was the last to stroll back up after putting away her weapon. Erik stayed behind with Yani.

"Why?" he asked.

"I don't care anymore," Yani said squeezing his arm, "fuck her too."

"Getting bold, girl."

"I'm staying the night too," she said.

"Nah. We not doing that—"

"Klaue said I could stay. I'm staying. And we fucking too."

Yani stepped away from him.

"Wait a minute—"

"I want some ribs. I want Klaue to serve it to me."

"We can go to a hotel."

"No. I want to be in our bed. I want you to make love to me and I want that bitch to hear us."

What the fuck was happening?

"Where is this coming from?"

"I'm stealing every moment I can with you, and I don't care if they make fun of us for being together."

"I'd rather go to a hotel."

"I'm going to give you some good pussy in our bed."

Erik reached out to grab her hand and pulled her close.

"Talking all nasty. Girl whatchu—"

Her hands pulled his head down to her and her mouth smothered his.

"Yani, shit…"

He tried pulling back from her, his eyes sweeping up to where the mercs had dispersed. He saw Linda looking down at them.

Yani turned to look and saw Linda herself.

"Mind yuh business," Yani called up.

Linda walked away and Yani laughed at her.

"She wahn mi dick, but she can't have it."

Yani groped between his legs and Erik couldn't believe how brazen she was. It was turning him on.

"You tryna get into it now?" he teased rubbing her ass with his hands.

"We can do it right here. I don't care."

"You wildin', Ma. I like it though."

"I love you, Killmonger."

Her arms wrapped around his neck and he lifted her up.

"I'll always love you. Know that," he said.

She nodded and he kissed her. Soft at first and then he couldn't help himself. His tongue rolled out and she joined hers with his. Slow wide-open mouth licks that had their heads twisting side to side every few seconds. Yani's lips went to his neck and Erik groaned when he felt her teeth bite him and then suck hard on the skin. Her head pulled back from him and her eyes were hungry.

"I wahn suck yuh dick."

The purring in her throat made Erik moan out loud. He dropped her to her feet and adjusted his dick in his pants. Looking around he dragged her to a spot he knew that cameras wouldn't see them.

Yani dropped to her knees and pulled up her shirt so he could see her breasts. Her fingers undid her bra and when her tits were free, Erik unfastened his pants and let them drop to his knees. Yani cupped her breasts with her hands and Erik pinched her nipples.

"Stick out your tongue," he demanded.

She barely had her mouth open before he was stuffing his length down her throat.

"This what you want?"

Yani choked on his dick and her watery eyes were determined to keep his thickness in her mouth. He packed her throat tight and she fondled his balls.

"What if Linda comes back down here? You want her to see you like this?"

Yani groaned on his dick and Erik felt his balls throb and jump.

Her wet tongue ran down his length on both sides before she rested that sweet mouth on the spongey head.

"Titties all out…bitch…you want me to cum on your face?"

A loud popping sound occurred when she released his dick from her mouth. Saliva ran down her chin. "Cum on my face…" she whispered. Her breathy voice had him in a daze.

"That's what you deserve," he said grabbing hold of his erection and pumping his fist around it.

His eyes shot up to check for anyone watching, and he moved closer to her so his dick was right next to her face.

"You deserve all this," he said, "look at me…Yani…look at me."

Her big eyes pleading for his release made his cum hard on her face. He milked his dick until her face dripped with hot ejaculate. His jizz dropped onto her breasts and she smeared it all over her nipples the way he liked her to.

"Mi wahn more, Daddy," she hissed at him.

"Fuck, girl."

Erik fixed his pants and reached down pulling her to her feet. He dragged her down to Klaue's main house, her tits still out in the open as they slipped past security cams. He had her fully naked and bent over his bed, his dick plunging in and out of her while he choked her the fuck out.

"Getting fucking bold like that…you want this dick bad. You 'gon get it, bitch."

Yani threw that sugar-sweet pussy back on him and he stuck his thumb in her ass while choking her harder.

"Pussy 'gon be sore when I get done," he shouted.

He shoved her head down onto the bed and Yani arched her back so that her ass clapped on him.

"Fuck!" he shouted when he felt his nuts tighten, "turn over!"

He pulled out and Yani scrambled onto her back. He sprayed semen all over her chest and stomach, his yelling loud enough to surprise himself.

He dragged his eyes all over her body while she squeezed her tits for him.

"Fuck me again," she commanded.

"Damn…Yani…let a nigga recuperate."

She laughed and closed her legs. Sitting up she reached out and stroked the keloids on his stomach.

"Mi gwine wear yuh out, man," she said.

He closed his eyes savoring the tone of her voice.

She was his. This sweet island girl with the baby that made him fall in love with this life.

Erik sat next to her on the bed.

"Yani…what if…what if I decide—"

"Killmonger, you better get these ribs before they disappear."

Shipley's voice was perverse and loud over the intercom system.

"We should eat. Get nourished before we go at it again," Yani said jumping off the bed.

Erik watched her run into his bathroom to shower and he sat on his bed thinking of what he was about to tell her. His mind was filled with doubts and jumbled thoughts, but he wanted to talk to her about staying. Giving up the life. But in that split second of Shipley disrupting his words, Erik decided not to say anything. He was delirious with the sex and his mouth was only going to say something in the heat of the moment that he couldn't back up once he really thought it through once his hormones cooled off.

Yani walked out with a towel wrapped around her.

"I'll wait for you to clean up," she said plopping back on the bed.

Erik plodded over to the shower.

"What were you saying before Shipley called you?"

"Um, nothing important. Just…should I dress up for Kendall's thing?"

"If you want to."

"We should. Let's show out. Wear that white dress again—"

"I have something in mind I think you'll like better."

"Showing ass?"

"Maybe."

He heard her laugh and it was the most precious thing to him at that moment.

###

Yani went to grab a bottled water from the middle house when Linda confronted her.

"What were you yelling at me down at the gun range?"

Linda was taller than Yani and tried to use her height to intimidate her. Yani didn't back down. She held the water in her hand and glared at the woman.

"I told yuh to mind yuh business."

"Just cuz he fucks you doesn't mean you're special to him."

"Yuh talkin' from experience?" Yani asked.

"Killmonger and I have a relationship you would never understand—"

"Relationship? Tuh. He fucked you one time—"

"Is that what he told you? To spare your little feelings? You are so naïve. Doesn't matter. He's leaving with me and you won't see him again once we bounce off this tiresome island. Enjoy what you can get."

The smirk on Yani's face faltered.

Linda looked her up and down.

"You're lying. He's not sleeping with you."

"Believe what you want. Like I said, get what you can get."

Yani refused to leave the room. That was probably what Linda wanted her to do. Go running off into the night and leaving Erik behind for her to pester.

"I'm getting a lot—"

"Thots usually do—"

Yani laughed with bitterness.

"What do you get out of doing this? Alla we can see you're pretty, can have anyone yuh want. Who am I to yuh, gyal? Compettition? Mi the first woman tuh block yuh? If him want yuh pum pum, him be in yuh bed, not mine—"

Linda pushed up on her and poked her finger in Yani's face.

"You are trash—"

"Him no wahn yuh. Let him go."

Yani's hand slapped Linda's finger away and Linda knocked the water bottle out of Yani's hand.

"For real? Yuh wahn do this in Klaue's house, bitch?"

Yani stepped back, her fists balled up and ready to knock Linda into Kingdom come. The woman's face was twisted up in an ugly scowl.

"Why are yuh so hateful…?"

Yani took in all of Linda's energy and then it struck her.

She was in love with Killmonger too.

It wasn't petty jealousy or catty girl bullshit. This woman before her had feelings for the man she was in love with too.

But Killmonger loved Yani. And Linda couldn't deal with that.

Yani unclenched her fists.

"I'm sorry he doesn't love you."

"What?!"

"Yuh hate me because of that—"

"Shut the fuck up—"

"I'd be mad at mi too if that man didn't love mi the way he does—"

Yani felt the slap sting her face and her first reaction to jump the woman was thwarted fast when Klaue walked in. Yani grabbed a hold of Linda's shirt and Klaue jumped between them blocking them from one another.

"Stop it!" Klaue yelled, but his face showed amusement.

"Make her leave!' Linda yelled.

Neal walked in and grabbed Yani's hand when she reached down to throw the bottled water in Linda's face.

"Let go of me!" Yani said shaking him off of her.

"What are you two fighting about?" Neal asked, "Is this over Killmonger? Linda, for real?"

Neal laughed out loud.

"Killmonger! Yo man, you got your bitches in here fighting each other!"

Linda rolled her eyes and stepped away from Klaue. Her face was turning pink.

"She's about to get her ass beat," Yani yelled.

"By who? You?!" Linda shouted back.

Yani sucked her teeth and threw the bottle. It hit Linda in the face and she lunged for her. Klaue pushed Linda back.

"Calm yourself, Chambers," Klaue warned.

Erik walked in with Leona and Cee Cee behind him. His eyes went to Yani's immediately.

"Nigga you are the cause of this ruckus," Neale cackled.

Linda stormed out past him and Yani looked around in embarrassment when her Aunt and cousin gave her a look of shame.

"I'm sorry," Yani said to Erik, "she started it and I was 'bout tuh finish it."

"Let's just go outside, eat a little, drink a little. Relax and enjoy this last time together," Klaue said.

"I'm going home," Yani said.

She picked up the bottle she threw and place it on the kitchen counter.

"Thank you for inviting me Mr. Klaue. Have safe travels," Yani said brushing past her Aunt and cousin.

Erik bounded after her.

"What happened?" he asked.

They saw Linda stomping down toward Klaue's main house. Erik followed Yani up to the front of the compound. She stopped in front of her car.

"She's in love with you."

Erik's eyes blinked.

"You didn't know?"

Yani wrapped her arms around her stomach.

"How long have you worked with her? Over a year? You didn't notice anything?"

"She don't love me—"

"Yes. She does. She hates me because you don't love her…or maybe…maybe you do in a way. God, Killmonger…"

"It don't matter."

"It does. You're about to go off and do God knows what with Klaue and she's going to be by your side. In love with you. Willing to do anything for you. I feel sorry for her. I was about to fight that bitch over you. We look so stupid in front of these men."

"I can't help how she feels, Yani."

"That's why I'm leaving. I don't like her, but I'm not going to stay around here trying to hurt someone unintentionally. I wanted to fuck you in that bed just so she could hear us tonight—"

"You still can."

Erik smiled at her and Yani laughed when she really didn't want to. It was all so messy. And sad. If Erik didn't love her, Yani knew she would be miserable and just as hurt as Linda was.

"You don't have to leave."

"I need to. I don't want to be around her. I might fight her if she looks at me wrong again. She needs her ass beat, but her real problem is with you. Not me."

Yani studied Erik's face.

"You don't feel anything for her?"

"She's just a colleague. We fucked—"

"Once?"

"A couple of times over a twelve-hour period. That was it. We get along. Nothing more. Not since you."

"What about when we…separated?"

"We not sleeping together. Can we squash this speculation?"

Erik looked around the area.

"Let's go to a hotel," he said.

Yani stepped close to him and touched his chest.

"No matter what happens with us Killmonger, you need to work out shit with her."

"Why you pushing it, Ma?"

"I looked at her face. I know that look. She's in deep. I don't want her tuh hurt you—"

"Hurt me?"

"She's just like you. A killer."

Erik's face grew tight.

"It's what you all are. It's what's all over your chest and back. Your arms. I don't want you to leave me and have me worrying that she will do something to you. She'll do it too, just to get back at me. I know it."

"Yani…don't say that, don't be worrying about shit like that—"

He tried to hug her.

"You don't give me a choice!"

She threw her hands up.

"Tahir tried to warn me. Even you tried to warn me. But it's the truth. Yuh the bad man on the hill. And I love you. And so does another woman. A bad woman."

"Give me a minute. Lemme grab a change of clothes and we can spend the night away from here together. We can talk—"

"Nothing to talk about. Not us—"

"Yani…I want to be with you tonight. Right now."

Yani gave a big sigh and leaned against her car.

"Go get your stuff, man," she said.

Erik kissed her forehead and jogged away from her. Her cell vibrated and she texted Leona that she was leaving with Erik.

Waiting for him, the time ticked away and she walked back into the compound. The others were still eating and drinking and listening to music and her Aunt watched her make her way down to the main house.

Yani heard them talking before she saw them on the balcony.

Erik was perched next to Linda on the lounger that she and Erik loved when they were alone together. His voice was soft and Linda was close enough to him for their shoulders to touch. It looked serious and intimate.

Yani made her way back up to her car and her Aunt was waiting for her.

"What is going on?" Leona asked.

"Killmonger has to deal with Linda. She has feelings for him and it's just…messy."

"How do you feel about her loving him?"

"I don't like it. But…how could she not? I mean. I love him Auntie. I love him so much and he's leaving me. She'll be with him and I'll never see him again. So I'll always wonder about them being together—"

Her chest heaved and Yani threw her hands over her face.

"Oh, Yani. I wish you could find the right one for once."

"But I did. I just can't keep him. That's not my fault."

Leona hugged her and the smell of her Aunt's lavender lotion and hair grease soothed her. The familiar smells of family.

"I love him too much, Auntie."

"I know. I see it. He loves you too. It's so obvious."

"Hey," Erik said.

Yani pulled back from her Aunt and wiped her eyes.

"You were talking to her?" Yani asked.

Erik's eyes flicked away from looking at Yani directly.

"Yeah."

Leona patted Yani's back.

"Goodnight, Erik," Leona said.

Leona's eyes watched them both.

"Be good to each other," she said walking away from them.

"How did she take it?"

He shrugged.

"Killmonger—"

"I don't want to talk about her. Let's go. I just wanna be with you right now."

He tossed his small duffle bag into her car.

"I'll drive," he said.

She handed him her keys.

He chose a hotel on the other side of the island and she called her parents to tell them she would pick up Sydette in the morning.

Their lovemaking was slow.

Gentle.

Erik's hands touched her everywhere and in every way possible. His lips painted kisses on her skin from her forehead to her toes. He was deliberate. Methodical in a sexy way. His cell rang and when they both looked at his phone on the nightstand, they saw Linda's avatar glowing.

Yani shoved his phone onto the floor and straddled his hips.

She wore him out as she promised.

Chapter 26 Here

###

Author’s Note: “Wet Sugar” will end in two chapters. Shooting for 30 chapters to close this series out. Just know that a lot of what happens here will come back in the Black Boys Bloom Thorns First Series vol 3 &4.

Tag List:

@fd-writes​ @soufcakmistress  @cherrystainedlipsbaby @tclaybon  @thadelightfulone

@allhailqueennel @bartierbakarimobisson @cpwtwot @shookmcgookqueen @yoyolovesbucky

@raysunshine78 @the-illllest @terrablaze514  @l-auteuse @amirra88 @jimizwidow @janelledarling

@chaneajoyyy @sweetestdream92 @purple-apricots @blackpinup22 @hennessystevens-udaku

@scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @bugngiz @stariamrry  @honeytoffee @meilintheempressofdreams

@tyees @eye-raq @writerbee-ffs @chocolatedream30

[saventhhaven]

Only You - Chapter 14

Title: Time Out

Summary: When a man who left the reader six years ago suddenly reappears on her doorstep, she does everything she can to stop herself from falling in love with him all over again. Little does she know that his seemingly brief return will open an entirely new chapter for both of them.

Only You Masterlist

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Tags: grieving!reader, fluff, sweet!Dean, small talk

Word Count: 3,430

(Gif not mine)

When you jerked awake the next morning, you were especially disoriented. It wasn't until you felt Dean's warmth beside you that you even remembered where you were. And it wasn't until you gave your brain a moment to catch up that you remembered that your mother was no longer alive. The thought left an aching hole in your chest, and you sighed, moving into a sitting position. Fresh tears stung your eyes, but you blinked them away, determined not to start the day crying. What time was it, anyway? The pale, watery dawn seeping through the window told you that you had slept through the night, which was surprising, but as for the amount of sleep you had gotten, you were still at a loss. It seemed almost silly to want so badly to keep track of such a trivial thing, but since everything else was falling apart, you were trying to line up the little things every chance you had. It would certainly help if you had any clue what time you had actually fallen asleep last night, but, of course, no such luck. Based on how you were feeling, it couldn't have been more than five hours, but that was still more than you had been expecting to get in the first place.

Subconsciously, you shook your head as you tried to gather the rest of your bearings. What now? You didn't have the slightest idea. Hiding out in this house with the Winchesters for the rest of your life wasn't an option, but yet again, you found yourself without a plan. You were beginning to wonder when that would stop happening. You felt clueless, and you hated that. The only thing you did know was that you had to do something about Isobel Gray. She had already hurt enough people and ruined enough lives. You would be damned if you let it happen to anyone else.

The blankets rustled quietly behind you as Dean began to stir, and you quickly forced your rising emotions down. He sat up, wrapping his arms around your torso, and you allowed your eyes to flutter close.

"Morning, sweetheart," he whispered before pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "How are you feeling?" His gentle touch was more than welcome, and you leaned into it, taking comfort in him.

"Better. Not much," you admitted, "but better." That was all you could ask for, really. A light pressure had settled in your forehead just between your eyebrows as a parting gift from last night's stress.

"You look better," Dean nodded. Snorting, you glanced at him over your shoulder. You knew damn well that you still looked like shit.

"You're just trying to get on my good side." He fixed you with those bright green eyes, a sure sign that he was about to say something witty and charming.

"Babe, I'm already on your good side." Well, he wasn't wrong. You didn't miss the way his face lit up when you chuckled. In fact, you had your suspicions that that had been his goal the whole time.

"How is it that you're still able to make me laugh even when everything has gone to shit?" Dean smiled as he chucked you under the chin.

"It's a gift."

"It really is," you agreed. You knew he was joking, but having him with you helped immensely. Even since he had woken up only moments ago, you already felt better. Dean was the calm through the chaos, and he always made you feel like you could keep fighting, even if you were on your last leg. Turning in his arms, you rested your forehead against his. "I love you." He pressed his lips against yours with a tenderness that damn near had you melting into a puddle.

"I love you too." With a small sigh, you pulled yourself from his arms to reach for your phone, which said it was just after 6:00. In any other situation, you would have seriously considered going back to sleep. At this point, though, you were already wired.

"So, what are we doing today?" Dean carded a hand through his bedhead as the sunrise reflected in his eyes. In this lighting, you could see the handful of freckles sprinkled over his cheeks. When he caught you staring, one corner of his lips quirked up into a half-smile. God, he was fucking gorgeous.

"Well," he started, "I was thinking we could clean up first." You looked down at yourself, noticing that you were still covered with soot and some dried blood. Getting clean had been unthinkable last night with how exhausted you all were.

"I'm dying to wash up," you put in. Dean nodded.

"Me too," he said. "And then we can pop into town and grab some grub, maybe look for a new lead?"

"Perfect," you mused. "The sooner this is over, the better." Dean let out a reluctant groan as he pushed off the blanket and stood, wincing slightly as he did. Immediately, the doctor side of you took over. "How are your stitches feeling?"

"Sore," Dean answered. "Nothing I can't handle, though."

"I can help you wash up," you offered. "You shouldn't be getting those wet." He smirked at you.

"You sure you're not just trying to get me naked?" You had to fight the urge to roll your eyes.

"Oh, please. If I wanted you naked, I would only have to ask."

"True," Dean remarked, "but if anything, I think I should be the one helping you. I can manage getting cleaned up on my own, but that hot water ain't gonna feel nice on your burns." Looking down at your hands, which were still bandaged, you couldn't help but sigh. He was right. There were still plenty of things you could do with your hands despite the burns, but dealing with hot water, soap, and shampoo didn't exactly sound pleasant. Plus, if he was offering...

"I wouldn't say no to some help," you caved. Dean picked up both yours and his duffel bags with ease, gesturing for you to go ahead of him.

"Lead the way." As you made your way down the hallway, you chuckled.

"I'm starting to think maybe you're just trying to see me naked," you teased. You heard Dean snort softly behind you.

"Sweetheart, I'm always trying to see you naked." Casting a glance of mock disgust over your shoulder at him, you were met with a shit-eating grin.

"Dream on." When you turned into the bathroom, you were stricken by how different it looked in daylight. The wallpaper was peeling away from the baseboards, and the tile was chipped in different places. "You go first," you insisted. "I can wait." Dean lifted an eyebrow.

"You sure?" You nodded. "I don't mind." He rinsed away the film of dirt and dust along the rim and bottom of the bathtub before filling it about a third of the way full with hot water. "Dean?" you asked as he stripped down.

"Hm?"

"Can I ask you a question?" The man climbed into the tub, careful to make sure that the water level was low enough not to touch the covering of his stitches.

"Shoot," he encouraged. Chewing on your lower lip nervously, you swallowed. Even though the two of you had put your problems to rest, you still had questions.

"I'm not asking out of jealousy or anything like that," you assured as you sat on the rim of the tub at his side. "I'm just curious." Dean paused, bar of soap in hand, and looked over at you with a slight frown.

"I'm gettin' kinda nervous here, sweetheart." You swallowed again.

"During those six years, how many other women were you... with?" He let out a breath through closed lips, allowing his cheeks to puff up.

"Ah, jeez, Y/N. I don't know," he sighed. Dean went quiet for a moment, and the only sound was the movement of water as he ran the bar of soap over his skin. "Seven?" he finally said. "Six? No, seven." Dean shook his head before he spoke again. "After I left, I was a mess. I thought I was never gonna see you again, so I was using sex as a distraction. First couple of months after Sam and I got that damn demon, I slept around for a while," he revealed. "Had four girls in different states that I sort of kept on standby. I know that doesn't sound very gentlemanly of me, but it was a mutual agreement. Whenever I was in town, we'd see each other, spend the night together, and I was gone the next morning." That had pretty much been the answer you were expecting.

"How long did that last?" Dean shrugged.

"Little over two years.”

"Wow." He nodded.

"Yeah, it was a good run. Not necessarily one of my best decisions in life, but you know." The two of you returned to your comfortable silence for a few more minutes, and you thought maybe that was the end of it. "After that, there was this woman named Lisa," he started again, surprising you. "She and I spent a good amount of time together, but... I don't know. It just didn't feel right." Still wet, Dean reached over to take your hand, but you didn't mind. He smiled sweetly at you. "Nothing felt right if it wasn't you." You felt your heart do a small flop in your chest, and you couldn't help but blush. That was exactly how you had felt all that time. It was good to know he had always felt the same. "After that, the last two were just one-night stands that I hadn't been expecting. How about you?" he asked as he stood, toweling off. "Any sexual encounters I should know about?" You had to laugh a bit. The way he said it made your sex life when he was gone far more interesting than it actually was.

"Just one," you replied. Dean looked over at you in surprise.

"Really?" he questioned. "A gorgeous woman like you?"

"His name was Matt," you continued. "He was very sweet, actually." As Dean reached for clean clothes, you stopped him. "Hold on," you ordered. "Let me take a look at those stitches first." He obeyed, holding still as he let you peel away the gauze. They seemed to be holding up quite nicely, and his skin wasn't red, swollen, or hot to the touch, all good signs. "They're not infected," you announced. "But I still want to keep an eye on them, okay?" Dean gave you a lazy salute as he drained the water from the tub before filling it again, fuller this time.

"Yes, ma'am. Bath's ready for you." You gave him a grateful smile as he bandaged himself back up with fresh gauze. Usually, you weren't a bath person, but right now, you didn't have much choice. Besides, anything was better than sitting around smelling like smoke for the rest of the day. "So, what happened with Matt?" Dean inquired. You pulled off your clothes and slid into the tub, sighing in relief as the hot water soaked into your skin.

"I think it was three years after you left that Matt and I met," you remembered. "He was in my graduating class, and I had heard at some point that he had a thing for me. Eventually, he asked me out, and I said yes. We dated for a while after that." You leaned your head back to soak your hair into the water, Dean kneeling behind you at the back of the tub.

"How long?"

"A year and a half." He let out a low whistle as he began to massage shampoo into your scalp. It had been a long time since you had thought of Matt. In fact, you couldn't remember the last time he had crossed your mind. "He wanted me to marry him." You felt Dean freeze behind you. "I couldn't, of course," you continued. "I thought I loved him the way he loved me. I really did. But when it came down to it-"

"You didn't," Dean finished.

"No," you said quietly. Turning to face him, you gave a watery smile. "I come with a bit more baggage than I used to." Dean shook his head, regret written all over his face.

"I think you can blame me for that, sweetheart." You silenced him with a look as you pressed your palm against his cheek.

"I don’t blame you," you reassured. "You were protecting me, I was just too blind to see it." Dean gave a humorless laugh.

"Y/N, you weren't blind. You only saw what I let you see." You were both quiet for a while after that, lost in your own thoughts. Being here with him after so long made you realize that life had almost passed you by. You had both grown and changed so much over the past six years, but somehow, you were still a perfect fit for each other.

"Dean?" He helped you rinse the shampoo from your hair.

"Sweetheart?" Recalling how poorly you had treated him upon his return, you had to push away your shame.

"I know I didn't give you the warmest welcome at first," you said tentatively, "but I'm really glad you're back." Dean placed his index finger under your chin, angling your face back so he could kiss you.

"I'm just glad you didn't let me bleed out on your doorstep." You burst into surprised laughter, making him grin. "Oh, come on, you know you thought about it."

"Wha- I did not!"

As you had been expecting, getting cleaned up made you feel a lot better. Finally, you didn't smell like smoke anymore, and you weren't caked with blood or soot. It had been nice to sit in a hot bath, and even better to take care of something simple. Dean's hand rested on the small of your back as the two of you quietly made your way downstairs, trying not to wake Sam. The tall man was already awake, though, typing away on his laptop. He raised his eyebrows as you approached.

"You're up early," he remarked. You shrugged, taking a look around the house. Much like the upstairs bathroom, it didn't look so hot in daylight.

"Couldn't get back to sleep. How are your lungs today?" Sam gave you a grateful smile.

"They're okay. Thanks, Y/N." A small wave of relief went through you. That was one less thing to worry about. You bobbed your head in the direction of his phone in his hand. "Watcha up to?" Sam let out a sigh and scratched the back of his head.

"Nothing useful, unfortunately," he replied. "Just looking through the stuff that we already know in case we missed anything." While you appreciated his effort, you suspected it was futile. You already knew her real name and the address of her home. What else was there to find? Besides, even if he did find anything, none of you were exactly ready to track her down and go in guns blazing. As much as you wanted to get this over with, you still needed a minute or two to catch your breath. Dean grunted his acknowledgment.

"No luck?" Wordlessly, Sam shook his head, earning a sigh from his older brother, but you weren't the least bit surprised.

"Research was a lot more efficient with a laptop, but..." He left his sentence open-ended, and you nodded. All three of you had left your laptops in the house, so they were long gone.

"Well," Dean started again, "Y/N and I were thinking about heading out to grab some grub. You comin' with, or what?" At the mention of food, he looked up from his screen eagerly. Dinner hadn't been your top priority last night, and you had to say, you were feeling pretty hungry yourself.

"Yeah." He stood and shoved his phone in his back pocket. "Just let me wash up and change, and I'll be ready." When Sam went upstairs, you were stricken by how quiet everything was. It was unsettling. Having worked in a hospital for so long, you used to crave the moments of silence like this. Now, you couldn't stand them. Dean touched your arm, and it was only then that you realized he had been watching you.

"You okay?" You nodded, feeling a bit embarrassed.

"I'm good. Sorry," you said softly. "I just keep getting lost in my head is all." It wasn't like you to space out so often. Usually, you were very grounded, and for the most part, didn't let your thoughts get the better of you. The only exception to that statement was the man standing at your side. But the two of you knew that already.

"You don't need to apologize for that," Dean demurred. "I know you've got a lot on your mind. You let me know if you want to get some of it off your chest, okay?" You tried to give him your most convincing smile, but you could tell that it didn't quite reach your eyes.

"Thanks. I've been trying to keep it together, but it isn't as easy as that."

"Hey, you don't have to explain it to me." Dean sat, patting the spot on the floor next to him, gesturing for you to join him. With a small snort, you slid down the wall, sitting.

"I've tried to turn it off, believe me, I have. But no matter what I do, I just can't seem to-" The words died on your lips as you went cross-legged, causing something in your front pocket to poke you in the thigh.

"Y/N?" Dean's voice sounded far away as he said your name.

Even before your fingers wrapped around it, you knew what it was. A few months ago, you had lost the key to your mom's house. You thought you had checked all of your jean pockets when you had been looking for it, but apparently not. Your throat went dry as you pulled the object from your pocket. You didn't want to look at it. Looking at it made everything real. For a few moments, you could only stare down at your closed fist. Finally, you let out a shaky breath, opening it to yourself. There, in the palm of your hand, was your key to your mother's house. Memories began to flood through your brain, no matter how hard you tried to pushed them away. Hot tears trailed down your face as you squeezed your eyes shut, clutching the key to your chest. You swallowed hard to get past the lump in your throat.

"My mom is dead." The weight of the four words rested heavily on your heart, and the already-stifling silence became suffocating. It was real. It wasn't something you could push away anymore, no matter how much you wanted to. It had been your plan to grieve after the witch was dead. Grief didn't wait. You opened your mouth to speak again, but only a choked sob came out instead. Dean pulled you into him, rubbing your back soothingly as you cried into his shirt. "I have no family." Taking you by the shoulders, Dean looked you in the eyes with equal parts concern and sternness.

"Sweetheart, that's just not true," he said. He swiped a thumb over your cheekbone to chase away a tear. "I know you're hurting, but don't you for one second think you're alone in this. Sam and I may not be blood, but we're your family now." You sniffed heavily as he looked you in the eye. "And we're not goin' anywhere, okay? We're right here with you. Until the end." His words made you tear up again, and you found yourself squeezing the key in your hand even tighter.

"How do you do it?" you asked quietly. "How do you survive this?"

"You fight," Dean answered. "You let yourself heal, and you do every damn thing you can to make sure that you live another day." You nodded tearfully. "Hey." He chucked you gently under the chin. "You and I both know that's what your mom would want for you, right?" You blinked away a fresh round of tears. Your mom would definitely want that for you. She would be heartbroken if you just gave up because she was gone. From this day on, every battle you fought would be for her. Every blow you dodged, every punch you threw was for her. Determination replaced your grief as you nodded again.

"Right."

Thank you for reading! <3

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Chapter 15 - Eye of the Hurricane

My Everythings:

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Only You:

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[obeyme-and-you]

Lucifer Son of the Morning Star

Italics is Gabriel

Bold is Kimimela

Normal is Verses

Lucifer Son of the Morning Star

Uh, who exactly are ya?

*Spoilers for chapters 16 and onwards, especially after chapter 20. Minor spoilers for the Lamp and Baddies events and the Search For Self Devilgram.*

There’s a few key pieces of information that is important to note before diving into information about Lucifer, both biblically and Obey Me wise.

( https://bible.org/article/lucifer-devil-isaiah-1412-kjv-argument-against-modern-translations explains this more in depth, but for the TL;DR points these points are all from this website. It also explains that “Morning Star” is not synonymous with evil, it’s a descriptor)

The KJV of the bible, is a translation, of a translation. The Old Testament was originally written in Hebrew, while The New Testament was written in Greek. Those were both translated into Latin by a scholar, and then that translation was translated into English, aka the KJV Bible. The translators knew Latin better than Greek and Hebrew, so when they didn’t know a word in Hebrew or Greek, they did their best with translating the Latin word. The word lucifer was similar to this but not quite. 

Lucifer was not originally the name of The Devil/Satan/whoever, but a word that roughly meant “Morning Star”. The translators who were translating it into English, didn’t translate the word, and through the many years, it eventually became what people assume the name of the fallen angel was before his fall.

There’s only one verse in the KJV that uses the name Lucifer, there are other passages that do use “Morning Star” and other variations of this.

Lucifer did not originally mean The Devil, and is not synonymous with evil, so because of this, there are verses that use “Morning Star” while referencing Jesus.

So what does this mean and why is this important?

Lucifer Morningstar means Morningstar Morningstar and therefore should be bullied for it

It’s important to note because there are instances of “Morning Star” not actually talking about The Devil, there will only be 2-3 verses used that use the term when explaining Lucifer from Obey Me. The NASB version never uses the word lucifer, and only uses variations of “morning star” throughout the texts. And one last thing to note, typically (but not always, it’s dependent on some factors) The Devil/Satan/Lucifer/etc. are talked about as one figure, but for the sake of Obey Me, they will be thought as completely different entities. (One passage (the king of Tyre) that will be used is not universally accepted as a story about Lucifer, but will still be used because there are plenty of people who use it when talking about Lucifer and The Fall)

(Who are we talking about again?)

                                                                                  Okay let’s try this again  

                                               (Again they say) 

                         Lucifer Son of the Morning Star

                                                  Who are ya?

                    (You want a real answer or a sarcastic one?)

There are two important passages needed to understand Lucifer as a character, and some possible foreshadowing further into the story of Obey Me. The book of Isaiah (specifically chapter 14) and Ezekiel 28 (The King of Tyre).

Isaiah 14

 “When the LORD will have compassion on Jacob and again choose Israel, and settle them in their own land, then strangers will join them and attach themselves to the house of Jacob.

The peoples will take them along and bring them to their place, and the house of Israel will possess them as an inheritance in the land of the LORD as male servants and female servants; and they will take their captors captive and rule over their oppressors. 

And it will be in the day when the LORD gives you rest from your pain and turmoil and harsh service which you have been enslaved,

that you will take up this taunt against the king of Babylon, and say, “How the oppressor has ceased, And how fury has ceased!

“The LORD has broken the staff of the wicked, the scepter of rulers

Which used to strike the peoples in fury with unceasing strokes, Which subdued the nations in anger with unrestrained persecution.

“The whole earth is at resent and is quiet; they break forth into shouts of joy.

“Even the cypress trees rejoice over you, and the cedars of Lebanon, saying, ‘Since you were laid low, no tree cutter comes against us.’

“Sheol from beneath is excited over you to meet you when you come; It arouses for you the spirits of the dead, all the leaders of the earth; It raises all the kings of the nations from their thrones.

“They will all respond and say to you, ‘Even you have been made weak as we, You have become like us.

‘Your pomp and the music of your harps Have been brought down to Sheol; Maggots are spread out as your bed beneath you And worms are your covering.’

“How you have fallen from heaven, O star of the morning, son of the dawn! You have cut down to the earth, You who have weakened the nations!

“But you said in your heart, ‘I will ascend to heaven; I will raise my throne above the stars of God, And I will sit on the mount of assembly In the recesses of the north.

“I will ascend above the heights of the clouds; I will make myself the Most High.’

“Nevertheless you will be thrust down to Sheol, To the recesses of the pit.

“Those who see you will gaze at you, they will ponder over you saying, ‘Is this the man who made the earth tremble, Who shook kingdoms,

Who made the world like a wilderness And overthrew its cities, Who did not allow his prisoners to go home?’

“All the kings of the nations lie in glory, Each in his own tomb.

“But you have been cast out of your tomb Like a rejected branch, Clothed with the slain who are pierced with a sword, Who go down to the stones of the pit Like a trampled corpse.

“You will not be united with them in burial, Because you have ruined your country, You have slain your people. May the offspring of evildoers not be mentioned forever.

“Prepare for his sons a place of slaughter Because of the inquiry of their fathers. They may not rise and take possession of the earth And fill the face of the world with cities.”

“I will rise up against them,” declares the LORD of hosts, “and will cut off from Babylon name and survivors, offspring and posterity,” declares the LORD.

“I will make also make it a possession for the hedgehog and swamps of water, and I will sweep it with the broom of destruction,” declares the LORD of hosts.”

I included this chapter because I do believe it is very important, but I do not have an entire explanation for this chapter and how it pertains to Obey Me. It should be noted though, verse 12 (“How you have fallen from heaven, O star of the morning, son of the dawn! You have cut down to the earth, You who have weakened the nations!”)   is the only verse in KJV that mentions the word Lucifer.

“How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning! how art thou cut down to the ground, which didst weaken the nations!”

There is some information that can be taken from this chapter and applied to Obey Me’s story, but until future information within the story is released it won’t be a verse by verse explanation. Once more is learned within the story, this will be further broken down if it turns out to be important information, but it will be mostly unexplained and theorized until said information is presented.

Verses 1-11 could be used for something that has yet to happen within the story of Obey Me, because it involves MC.  (Flash backs maybe? Maybe there is Devilgrams we need to read?)

“1) When the LORD will have compassion on Jacob and again choose Israel, and settle them in their own land, then strangers will join them and attach themselves to the house of Jacob.”

When the exchange program became in effect, strangers did come into each of the realms. MC, Solomon, Simeon, and Luke all came to the Devildom as exchange students, but the demons did know who Solomon, Simeon, and Luke were before the program began. Solomon was famous for having 72 demon pacts and being a very powerful warlock, and Simeon and Luke were angels that the brothers already knew personally. MC on the other hand is considered a stranger in their eyes because they never knew them.

“2)  The peoples will take them along and bring them to their place, and the house of Israel will possess them as an inheritance in the land of the LORD as male servants and female servants; and they will take their captors captive and rule over their oppressors.” 

The demons brought MC to live with them as a roommate at the House of Lamentation, and each of the demons there do have their own way of saying they “own” MC. Mammon is most notable in this aspect, by his consistent insistence to MC and his brothers that he was MC’s “first” and therefore has more power and privilege when it comes to anything involving MC. Lucifer tells MC after they make a pact with them “As of this moment, (MC), you are mine.” (chapter 20-14) But all of the brothers have shown jealousy or possessiveness when involving MC.  (Beels Devilgram ‘Queen of jealousy’ shows a possessive side to a boy i thought was pretty laid back for the most part) MC, even though not technically a servant, has been tasked to help the brothers many times by the brothers, and is charged with helping cook and such at the House of Lamentation. While, neither the brothers or MC can truly be considered captors or oppressors in a literal sense, the brothers are MC’s “captors” in the sense that MC didn’t really have a choice in living there and MC does end up having power over them through the pacts. It will more than likely have to deal with something in the future, specifically with Diavolo if this passage was in fact used as inspiration for Obey Me. (<_< Spoiler chapter unknown)

V 3-9 sounds like foreshadowing for something we have yet to get foreshadowing for within the game. (galaxy brain)

"10) They will all respond and say to you, ‘Even you have been made weak as we, You have become like us."

This has happened once to Lucifer when he and Satan switched bodies. Lucifer, in Satan's body, was unable to punish Mammon because he was in a body weaker to Mammon's. Mammon ridiculed him and constantly made fun of him for it, while Satan told him that now he's stronger so Lucifer has to listen to him. This is possible foreshadowing that all the demon brothers will have this happen to them in some form or another later into the story. (Beel and Asmo also swapped in a side story)

"12) How you have fallen from heaven, O star of the morning, son of the dawn! You have cut down to the earth, You who have weakened the nations!"

This is in reference to The Fall. The civil war between the angels would have weakened the Celestial Realm, and could have affected both the Earthly Realm and the Devildom if they were stuck in the crossfires/participated. It would have weakened the link (politically) between all the realms, because of the resentment towards humans, and the fact that angels fell into the Devildom. (The fact that Lilith was mortally injured in the process as well)

“13) But you said in your heart, ‘I will ascend to heaven; I will raise my throne above the stars of God, And I will sit on the mount of assembly In the recesses of the north.

14) “I will ascend above the heights of the clouds; I will make myself the Most High.’”

Biblically, one of the big reasons why Lucifer rebelled against God and the other angels, is because he wanted to, essentially, dethrone God. Lucifer was full of pride and wrath and wanted to be on top. We have yet to learn all the events that transpired for the demon brothers to rebel and fall from heaven, but it’s safe to assume that one possibility is he thought he would be a better leader, or at least wanted the power that came with being God. Even though a non-canon side story, we can look at the Lamp event and see some insight into Lucifer’s personality. In the event, Diavolo is an oracle and says that whoever marries the MC is the person who will rule the world. Lucifer is very adamant about marrying MC because he wishes to rule everything, and when Satan comes up with a plan that all the brothers will marry MC, he agrees to it, saying that he doesn’t need to marry MC in order to rule the world.   (I’m sure we got told more when Satan was giving us a history lesson but noooooo)

“15) “Nevertheless you will be thrust down to Sheol, To the recesses of the pit.”

When he lost the civil war, he was cast out of the Celestial Realm, down into the Devildom. (Sheol is not technically hell but a place spirits go when they die but like a transition point)

“16) “Those who see you will gaze at you, they will ponder over you saying, ‘Is this the man who made the earth tremble, Who shook kingdoms,

17) Who made the world like a wilderness And overthrew its cities, Who did not allow his prisoners to go home?’”

When Simeon comes down to the Devildom and sees Lucifer for the first time since the Celestial War, he seems surprised by his appearance and both him and Diavolo talk about Lucifer and his beauty, and how he hasn’t changed much while Lucifer asks them to stop.

“18) “All the kings of the nations lie in glory, Each in his own tomb.

19) “But you have been cast out of your tomb Like a rejected branch, Clothed with the slain who are pierced with a sword, Who go down to the stones of the pit Like a trampled corpse.

20) “You will not be united with them in burial, Because you have ruined your country, You have slain your people. May the offspring of evildoers not be mentioned forever.

21)“Prepare for his sons a place of slaughter Because of the inquiry of their fathers. They may not rise and take possession of the earth And fill the face of the world with cities.”

We do know that angels can die, because Lilith was going to die until Diavolo made his deal with Lucifer, and the fact that there are tombs in the Devildom (which is where the grimoire is located) it can be assumed that demons can die too. Lucifer attacked his country (the Celestial Realm) (or at the very least a fighting retreat) and caused a civil war which could have partially ruined the Celestial Realm, at least for a short period of time. Knowing that angels can die, it is very possible that Lucifer killed angels that fought against him. “May the offspring of evildoers not be mentioned forever.” could be either about the demon brothers, because they are the “offspring” of their former angel selves, or it could be about MC because MC is the offspring of Lilith (a few thousand years down the line) and in the eyes of God, and the Celestial Realm, evil because she interfered with the life of a human, something considered very bad. Verse 21 could be foreshadowing further down the line.Another thing to mention, “You will not be united with them in burial” could be in reference to Lilith, because they didn’t get to be with her in the end.

22) “I will rise up against them,” declares the LORD of hosts, “and will cut off from Babylon name and survivors, offspring and posterity,” declares the LORD.

23) “I will make also make it a possession for the hedgehog and swamps of water, and I will sweep it with the broom of destruction,” declares the LORD of hosts.”

These verses are possible foreshadowing.

“I will rise up against them,” declares the LORD of hosts, “and will cut off from Babylon name and survivors, offspring and posterity,” declares the LORD.” This could be specifically against MC, because if the Celestial Realm learns about Lucifer and Diavolo’s deal, and that Lilith was reincarnated as a human, and that MC is offspring of her, could cause a war. There’s a possibility that MC will be put to death for Lilith’s crimes.  (Spoilers? Glad we didn’t meet Michael)

“I will make also make it a possession for the hedgehog and swamps of water, and I will sweep it with the broom of destruction,” declares the LORD of hosts.” If a war were to break out between The Celestial Realm and The Devildom, God may order the complete destruction of the Devildom.

Ezekiel 28 is debated on whether the passage is talking about Lucifer or not but it is used to talk about him and The Fall even though not everyone agrees on it. In the case of Obey Me, it would mostly be about him but it will talk minimally about others.

Part 2 HERE: Lucifer Son of the Morning Part 2

[villinhess]

Telephone

AO3

Modernlorian Series Part 1 | 2

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Phone sex, slight angst

a/n: OOPS I kind of turned the subplot to these fics as a way to process my own break-up with my ex SO SORRY ABOUT THAT.

The end also turned out a little angstier than I meant for it too. Idk if you could tell but I had trouble half-way through with this one. I had a lot of ideas but my fingers just did not want to type the story out so I ended up just kind of fudging through those plot points so I can finish this. I don't think it was ever going to come out anyways but oh well.

Really I just wanted to get this done because I was READY TO WORK ON THE NEXT INSTALLMENT which I promise its gonna be juicy juicy juicy.

Loosely a sequel to Neighbors, but you don't have to read that one to read this one. I did sprinkle in some references to that fic throughout this one so that might make you slightly confused

--

“Hey,” says the voice through the phone and dear god it was the silkiest voice you’ve ever heard and for a split second you forgot why you even called. “I’ve been waiting you.”

And you couldn’t help it, the girlish giggle that left your lips bordered on manic. “I bet you tell all the girls that.” There was a puff of noise against your ear but you didn’t have much time to notice or question it before his deep gravelly voice took your attention.

“I can tell you anything you want to hear.” And you bit your lip, cheeks heating up as it dawned on you exactly what was happening right now. Exactly what this type of thing was for.

“I--I’ve never done this before.” You start pacing your living room, the door of your bedroom firmly closed because for some reason the thought of doing this in there just felt wrong. Like you weren’t supposed to bring this kind of thing in there. Not where he could hear you. Not when you were sure he heard you late in the night as you strained to hear his muffled grunts, reaching your fingers between your legs in time with him. That was a different place for different needs.

Maybe that was a sign of just how lonely you were. This was definitely a sign of how lonely you were, actually.

“Do you want me to tell you how lovely your voice sounds?” His voice became a caress, and you closed your eyes and almost allowed yourself to believe him. “I want you to be a good girl for me and tell me exactly what you want.”

You inhaled, trying to gather your thoughts as you let out a shaky breath. “How much do you want me?” You let yourself sink into the cushions, back stretched out as you propped your feet up onto the coffee table, and you wondered if he could hear the quick tap tap tap of anxious energy against the wood.

“How wet are you right now?” And you frowned, looking down in your lap and wondered how you were supposed to respond. Were you supposed to lie? Would it ruin the fantasy? “Tell me the truth.”

“I’m not,” you say it softly, shyly, like you were doing something wrong, and for a second you weren’t sure if he heard you. You didn’t realize how tight your body was clenched until you heard his soft chuckle through the phone and you relaxed into the couch.

“Good girl,” he says. “For telling me the truth.” You pick at the blanket and bite your lip. Good girl. Gods that phrase did things to you, and it was like he knew it.  “You aren’t. Yet. But you will be. Because I want you to be. Because I want you to take that soft hand of yours and bring it down to that sweet pussy of yours. I want you to touch your clit for me, sweet girl, because I can’t do it for you. But I want to. I want to feel you get wet. I want it so bad I can taste your sweet pussy already.”

You didn’t hold back your groan this time, throwing your head back against the back of the couch and you swear even he could hear the deep throb of your pussy as you clenched down on nothing. “Wow, you are good at this.”

“Are you doing it?” he asks, and he’s breathing a little heavier now and you wonder if he’s palming himself through his pants, if he’s just as turned on by this conversation as you are or if this was just like any other call.

But it was like you couldn’t help but obey him this time, like that voice of his was putting a spell on you as you reached your hand down the front of your shorts and rubbing a finger down your slit. You respond back with a shaky voice, propping the phone on your shoulder, pressed against your cheek. “Yes.”

He groans, a deep baritone that vibrates through you and it goes straight down your body. “Tell me how you feel.”

“Good,” you say, rubbing circles into your clit and you feel zings of pleasure until you dip just the tip of your finger into your wetness and slip it back out. The slow slide of your slick finger as you drag it up your clit was heavenly. “I-I like it when you rub my clit. It makes me so fucking wet. Soft, first, please” you say, panting through your words, “but then it feels good when you press hard. Rub it until I’m screaming.”

He groans louder and you press your finger down harder. You’re dripping wet at this point and you wonder if he can hear how easily your finger slides against your skin, the soft squelch with each pass of your finger. “I want to hear you scream. I need to hear you scream.” And you obey, because he was here in your ear telling you to. Because he wanted it. Because you wanted to believe that he needed it.

Your orgasm comes quick and nosily, and you feel yourself drenched in your cum but you lay boneless on the couch as you hear each other’s deep ragged breaths. He doesn’t hang up and you are content to stay on the phone like this for just a second longer. "Thank you," you say breathlessly into the phone.

You let the shame settle in long after you hang up, the glow of your orgasm wearing off as you stare at the ceiling from the same place on the couch. You closed your eyes and let out a shuddering breath as you thought about why you were even here.

--

I’m casually talking to someone right now. Thought I’d let you know.

You threw your phone and turned away as it bounced against the cushions of the couch, slid onto the floor with a small thump. You resisted the urge to pick it back up again in favor of pacing back and forth the length of your living room.

It was cluttered, clothes and wrappers strewn about the floor, and usually the mess just tickled the back of your mind, but as your legs tangled themselves into the throw blanket hanging off the cushions, it was just the last straw. You told yourself you were going to clean it on your day off but instead here you were hovering over your phone again as you wracked your mind on how to respond.

...casually talking to someone….

What did that even mean? Casually? Talking? As if he wouldn’t have told you if it didn’t mean something. It had to mean something because why would he tell you about something casual?

And that was it. That you were really over. Because if he found someone else, if he wanted someone else, then you couldn’t stand to touch him knowing that you weren’t enough. He told you because it meant something.

Fuck him! Your friends blew up your phone the moment you told them. There is always better dick! And you cracked a smile, laughing at how many times you’ve said that same exact thing. It was a mantra at this point, shouted at each other like it was the spell to make all the pain go away.

But maybe this was what you needed, really, to move on. To know that it was over, for good this time.

It didn’t stop you from moping, unkempt hair piled high on your head, the same clothes you’ve worn for the past two days. You only left your apartment for food and work at this point, and as you step over the crumpled wrappers over the floor, the low ache in back from laying in the same position for the last how many hours it’s been. You’ve lost count at this point.

Your stomach felt empty, and you felt the growl low in your belly, but the thought of food made you nauseous. A snack, maybe, something sweet that will soothe your soul because at this point everything is going to upset your stomach.

It’d just be a quick moment, popping into the coffee shop down the street so you didn’t have to change. Coffee and a donut maybe. You’d take it to go, take it home, and you can settle back down in the comfortable hole that you’ve dug yourself in.

You heard him before you saw him, his distinctive loud laughter that you’d never be able to forget. You didn’t turn around, couldn’t, as you stayed rooted in the spot. Would he see you if you just leave? It felt like your back was on fire, the tension and ache in your back growing the louder he got.

God why were you so stupid? How could you not see this coming? You both came here together all the time, why wouldn’t he be here? You allowed yourself a quick peek over your shoulder, trying to curtain yourself behind your hair as if that would be enough to hide yourself.

He wasn’t turned to you, but gods, he was still just as beautiful as you remembered. He was always larger than life, the whole room tilted into his direction. You were too focused on him to see her at first, but honestly, you weren’t sure how. She demanded the same type of attention, her laugh loud and uninhibited and you had to bite down the jealousy that welled up deep in your throat.

Was it her? Did he bring her here knowing that you could possibly be here? You stepped up to the counter before they could call your name, and his laughter spiraled your head as you tried to step away.

Why didn’t you at least put on clean clothes before you left? He’d probably smell you before he saw you. There was no way around him to the exit, so you stepped away, coffee and donut in hand, into the hallway by the bathrooms.

You could still hear him just as loud here as you could out there, but he was out of sight and there was no way that he could see you either. Luck was not on your side, especially not today, and she followed behind you, even as you tucked yourself away in the corner.

And fuck, she was beautiful in a way that you could never be. Confident like you never were. You buried your face into your coffee, tried not to stare at her as she passed by you. She didn’t even spare you a passing glance, and you forced yourself to stare at the bulletin instead.

And that’s where you saw it, conspicuous, plain, but it stood out amongst the flashes of color and bolded letters.

Why spend your nights alone? First Session Free.

--

“Hey, I’ve been waiting for you.” It was late, super late, and in a building where you can usually hear every creak and movement in the apartments around you, there was only silence. You couldn’t sleep, head sunk into the pillow, staring at the ceiling in the dim light of night. you just ached with useless thoughts, your fingers twitching to pick up your phone and call he-who-shall-not-be-named.

But you couldn’t, not anymore. Not this time. So you picked up your phone and dialed a different number instead. Your eyes had burned so deeply into the poster for so long that that number was seared into your brain, and maybe you could seal it over memories you would rather forget.

"I, uh, didn't catch your name last time." You twirled a lock of hair, tried not to flush at what was probably the lamest opening line you could have come up with.

The sound of his deep chuckle eased the tension in your back. “People call me Mando.”

“Cause you the man though ?” It left your mouth before you could stop yourself and before he could even respond you immediately hung up with a squeak. You buried your face into your comforter and let out a small shriek.

You were never calling him again.

--

“Hey,” he says, the same silky smooth voice filling your ears, “I’ve been waiting for you.” It only took you four days before the humiliation faded away just enough that the loneliness ached inside you. Four nights of listening to your neighbor, touching yourself at thoughts of faceless men, trying to drive away the one who you’d rather forget.

He talks less the more you call him, but he'll still whisper dirty things into your ear when you want them. Sometimes neither of you bother with phone sex and he just listens to you talk. You told the funny stories of your coworkers just to see if you can hear him laugh and every once in a while he'd give a low chuckle.

It’s kind of hot. You said. That I don’t know what you look like. You could be anyone, but your voice, oh god your voice. I’d recognize it anywhere. You can make me do anything with that voice of yours.

He listened to you cry about your ex, wondering why you aren't good enough and his voice will rumble with a low growl. He's stupid. You're- he pauses hesitantly and you wait with bated breath. -- remarkable. And you blush harder than you did when he admitted that he wanted to slam you against the wall and stick his tongue down your ass.  

So you settle into your couch, eyes staring at the phone settled into your hand, a glass of wine in the other. You closed your eyes, took a deep sigh, and gulped down the glass.

You’ve talked every night, and you haven’t looked at your bank yet, but you knew that it probably wasn’t good.

“Hey,” he says, and it’s short, straight to the point, but the rest of his words tumble out like a caress against your ear. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“If you could do anything, anything at all, what would it be?” You refilled your glass, the bottle almost heavy in your hands, and you take the first sip before he even replies.

“With you?” The wine is bitter but crisp against your tongue, and behind the glass you want to whisper yes, but you couldn’t form the words around your lips.

“No,” you say instead. “No limit. If you could do anything, what would it be?”

“Look outside,” he says and you frown for just a second but you untangle your legs from underneath you and stumble off of your couch. In one hand you cradle your glass as you pull back your curtains, the dim light of the parking lot shines into your eye and for a moment you wonder if this would be like the movies. If you’d see him waiting for you underneath the street lamp with a bouquet of flowers in his arms.

But you just see the lot full of cars, trees rustling in the wind, and the quiet murmurs of the apartments around you. “What am I looking at?”

“Look up,” he says, and you do, looking into the clear night sky, the stars twinkling in the distance, and the full moon hung low in the sky. “Just you and me under the stars.”

“Exhibition kink, huh?” you laughed and you tipped the glass back to take another sip.

“You’d be beautiful under the moonlight.” You sighed, head tilted back and you closed your eyes and imagined his lips ghosting across your neck. “That noise,” he said,” what did you just think about?”

“You,” you sigh, “kissing my neck. Am I naked? I think we should be.” He laughed his low rumbling laugh and it sent tingles up your spine.

���We are,” he says, and you imagine his hands wrapped around your neck, forcing your eyes up against the sky. Your arms ache to hold him, trembling at your sides, but he would shush you, tell you to stay right where you are. He can touch you, but you can’t touch him. “You’re quiet. Means you're thinking something.”

“I thought this was supposed to be your fantasy?” You take another swing of your glass, gulping down the rest of it before placing it down on the windowsill. The wine loosens your tongue just enough that it didn’t even matter at this point. “You’re holding me down, hands around my neck, I can’t see anything but the stars above us.”

He groans, a gravel sound that spurs you on even more. “Don’t look,” he growls, and fuck, that was just enough to keep you going.

“I won’t,” you moan, and you hold your own hand against your throat, feel the pressure holding you down, and you wished that you had a free hand to move downwards. “Please, I’ll do anything you want.”

“Touch yourself,” he says, and you let out a gasp of breath the moment you release your own throat, the fingers crawling under your shorts. “I want to hear how good it feels.”

You gasp the moment you feel how slick you already are and you feel his breath hitch over the phone, the static roaring over the receiver. It makes his voice deeper, more primal almost, and you can’t help but sink a finger inside.

“Keep your eyes on the stars,” he says, and you have to force your eyes open, the lights of the parking lot and the moon blurring together as you try your hardest to do what you are told. “There’s no one here but us, I want to hear you moan. I want to hear how wet you are.”

You slip another finger in and you didn’t even have to try to moan louder, the pitch of your voice climbing higher and higher as he whispered into your ear. “You’re so beautiful,” he says, and you want to believe that it was true. That this was real. “Stop thinking, I just want you to feel my fingers inside you.”

You felt tears form at the corner of your eyes and you had to hold back the sniffle. “I’m sorry,” you say, pulling your finger out from inside of you, sliding down to your knees as you tried not to cry.

“Why are you sorry?” he asks, and you could almost imagine the frown on his face, creasing between his brows.

“This is going to be the last time,” you say, and he’s quiet for a second, and you leaned against the wall, pulling your knees in to hug yourself. You were small, underneath the windowsill, hiding yourself away from the dim light that streamed through the open window.

“Did I--”

“No,” you say, hiding another sniffle. “No. I just. I can’t keep doing this.” He makes a quiet hmm in your ear, and you close your eyes, try to capture his voice, but he was never a man to do anything that you didn’t want.

“Can I at least answer your question?” You bite your lip, and you know that he can’t see you, but you couldn’t help the slight nod of the head.

He doesn’t speak though, even as the seconds tick by, the silence spilling out between the two of you. He waits until you slip out a hoarse croak. “Yes.”

“I want to meet you,” he says, “Out there.” You swallow down the lump in your throat, clutch your knees closer together.  “I’ve imagined your voice right here, in my ear, and I turn around and it’s you.”

“You don’t know what I look like,” you say and even to your own ears, your voice is weak. He laughs that quiet reserved laugh that makes your heart flutter.

“I’ll know it’s you,” he says. “And I’ll kiss you, wherever we are. I don’t care. I’ll kiss you if you let me.” You stand up on shaky legs, the words stolen from your throat as you step towards your couch. He was always a patient man with you. He’ll wait for you to respond. You pick up the bottle of wine this time, forgoing the glass as you press your lips against the mouth to swallow.

“You’re just saying that for a paycheck.” He sighs, long and deep and you have to swallow another.

“I haven’t charged you a penny,” he says, and you almost drop the bottle, but instead drop your body onto the couch with a quiet thump before you can choke out a response.

“Why not?”

“Will you?” he asked, and you try to imagine his face, try to see the want reflected in his words, but you can’t bring yourself to imagine it. It was just the quiet expanse of your room. “Will you let me?”

“Yes,” you lie because it didn’t matter what you said this time. Not if this was the last time.

“It’s a date.”

[secretgardengleaner]

“Work, now? Never, never. I’m on strike.” — Arthur Rimbaud Depersonalization and alienation from our deepest desires is implanted during childhood via school, church, movies, and TV, and soon reaches the point where an individual’s desire is not only a net of contradictions, but also a commodity like all the others. “True life” always seems to be just a bit beyond what a weekly paycheck and credit card can afford, and is thus indefinitely postponed. And each postponement contributes to the reproduction of a social system that practically everyone who is not a multimillionaire or a masochist has come to loathe. That is the problem facing us all: How to break the pattern of work — of week-to-week slavery, that habit of habits, that addiction of addictions; how to detach ourselves from the grip of Self-Defeating Illusions For Sale, Inc., a.k.a, the corporate consumer State. Especially ingrained is that pattern of working for someone else: making someone else’s “goods”, producing the wealth that someone else enjoys, thinking someone else’s thoughts (sometimes actually believing them one’s own), and even dreaming someone else’s dreams — in short, living someone else’s life, for one’s own life, and one’s own dream of life, have long since been lost in the shuffle. The systematic suppression of a person’s real desires — and that is largely what work consists of — is exacerbated by capitalism’s incessant manipulation of artificial desires, “as advertised.” This gives daily life the character of mass neurosis, with increasingly frequent psychotic episodes. To relieve the all-embracing boredom of daily life, society offers an endless array of distractions and stupefactions, most of them “available at a store near you”. The trouble is, these distractions and stupefactions, legal or illegal, soon become part of the boredom, for they satisfy no authentic desire. When the news reports horrible crimes committed by children or teenagers trying to be satanists, or superheroes, or terrorists, or just “bad guys”, we can be sure that these kids lived lives of intolerable dullness, that they were so isolated from their own desires and from the larger society that they didn’t even know how or where to look for something different, or how to rebel in such a way that it might actually make a difference. Instead, they picked up some trashy notions from bible school, Hollywood and TV which promised a few minutes of meaningless “excitement” followed by lots of publicity — also meaningless. Each time something like this happens we hear cries to “monitor” films more closely, and to ban “violence” on TV. Rarely, however, does anyone criticize the Bible or the Christian churches, despite the fact that Christianity — by far the bloodiest of the “world’s great religions” — is far more to be blamed. Similarly, one rarely hears criticism of the armed forces — a gang of professional killers whose influence on children cannot be anything other than baleful. And even less often does one encounter criticism of another intrinsically violent institution: the nuclear family. Indeed, at this late date in human history, this relic of patriarchy is still held up as some sort of ideal. Replacing the extended family as we know it today is an invention of the nineteenth century. Constructed by white bourgeois Europeans to meet the needs of expanding industrialization, it reflects capitalism’s model of the “chain of command”. It continues the sanction of male supremacy as a time-honored tradition dating back to a mandate of God, no less. In the nuclear family, he works at a job, and she works in the home (and increasingly also at a job). As for the children, they are the family’s private property, and remain so for years after they reach biological maturity. Children too learn to work, or at least how to suffer boredom. From the earliest age they are taught to obey orders. School and church teach them the necessity of going to and staying at a particular place for a prolonged period, even when they would rather be anywhere else. All the classic parental admonitions — “Sit still!”, “Do what I tell you!”, “Don’t talk back!”, “Stop behaving like a bunch of wild Indians!” — are part of the education of the well-behaved, uncomplaining wage-slave... The world today is confronted by greater, more earth-shaking, more life-threatening problems than ever before: wars all over, massive pollution, global warming, the return of slavery, white supremacy, oppression of women, ecological disaster, neocolonialism, state terrorism, the prison industry, genocide, cancer, AIDS, the traffic death-toll, xenophobia, pesticides, genetic engineering — the list goes on and on. Ceaselessly bombarded by news reports and sound bites of one catastrophe after another, most people have no idea what to do, and lapse into paralysis. On the ideological front, this widespread passivity, itself a major social problem, is maintained by Andre Breton called miserabilism, the cynical rationalization of misery, suffering and corruption — the dominant ideology of Power in our time. Every hour, moreover, countless billions are spent on propaganda, advertising and other mystifications to sustain the delusion that the crisis-strewn society we live in today is the best and only one possible. What is most important to grasp is that work is at the center of all these problems. It is work that keeps the whole miserabilist system going. Without work, the death-dealing juggernaut that proclaims itself the “free market” would grind to a halt. “Free market” means freedom for Capital, and unfreedom for those who work. Until the problem of work is solved — that is, until work is abolished — all other problems will not only remain, but will keep getting worse...In a world too busy to live, work itself has become toxic, a form of “digging your own grave”. Renewed scarcities and engineered economic crises notwithstanding, society today has the capacity to reduce work to a tiny fraction of what it is now, while continuing to meet all human needs. It is obvious that if people really want paradise on Earth, they can have it — practically overnight. Of course, they will have to overcome the immense and multinational “false consciousness” industry, which works very hard to make sure that very few working people know what they really want... Work kills the spirit, damages the body, insults the mind, keeps everyone confused and demoralized, distracts its victims from all the things that really matter in life...Our struggle calls for labor organizers of a new kind...To bring about the meltdown of miserabilism, we need awakeners of latent desires, fomentors of marvelous humour, stimulators of ardent dreams, provokers of the deepest possible yearning for a life of poetic adventure.

Penelope Rosemont, The Psychopathology of Work in Surrealist Experiences: 1001 Dawns, 221 Midnights

[gaslightgallows]

First lines meme thingie

I got tagged by @teadrinkingwolfgirl! 

Rules: Post the first lines of your last ten fics read or written and then tag others to do the same.

I haven’t read anyone else’s fics in ages (mea culpa) so I’m really doing this to remind myself of what WIPs I’m supposed to be working on. XD

Tagging! @firesign23, @rivendellrose, @cigaretteburnslikefairylights, @pendragyn, @kiwimeringue, @timetravelbypen and anyone else who’d like to play!

The Patience of Angels (Good Omens)

“Right,” shouted Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies and Prince of the First Circle of Hell, “shut up, you lot!”

The rabble quieted down, but not without trouble – Hastur had to set a few unruly demons on fire before Beelzebub could finally make themself heard without screaming. They settled into the chair at the head of the long, long table, with Hastur at one elbow and Dagon at the other, and surveyed the assembled with resigned disgust (which was the most neutral emotion Beelzebub could summon).

Every demon with any scrap of authority was there, every prince and duke and a bunch of other ranks besides, by Satan's own order. Except for Satan himself, of course. He hadn’t been to a board meeting in a year, which wasn’t like him – he usually at least came to the once-a-year all-staff meetings. But the boss was still sulking and licking his wounds after that business in Tadfield. Beelzebub supposed he had the right to sulk; after all, six thousand years of planning had been flushed straight down the toilet, all because of one disobedient brat.

There was something marvelously poetic in that, somewhere, but Lord Beelzebub did not possess a poet’s soul. (Though they had possessed a few poets, over the centuries, but they hadn’t picked up much in the way of insight.)

Sideways (MCU, Stoki)

Loki was not expecting to see Captain Rogers again – vastly preferred not to see him again, in fact, along with the rest of the Avengers – and when he did, the first thing he thought was that wasn’t sure about the new beard.

Thankfully, Captain Rogers couldn’t see him, so he didn’t have to concern himself with the captain’s feelings on the matter.

In theory, the less Loki had to see or hear or be aware of Earth, the better. In practice, he'd learned enough about humans to realize that it was at least prudent to keep tabs on Midgard and its infuriatingly stubborn inhabitants. Unlike Odin (not quite late, not quite lamented, safely and comfortably sequestered away in the most inconvenient corner of the palace dungeons), Loki did not have the ability to see and hear all things within the Nine Realms, so he’d had to take the Gatekeeper into his confidence.

Heimdall was... he wasn’t entirely sure what Heimdall’s opinion on the matter of Loki pretending to be Odin was. He recalled the first time he took the throne—

‘Took.’ It was given to me, justly, by Asgard’s own laws of succession and by order of... the queen.

—when Heimdall obeyed his commands up until the moment Loki relieved him of his duties. He knew better than to make the same mistake twice; Heimdall had guarded the Bifrost for longer than Loki had been alive, and he’d learned a thing or two about the watcher’s loyalties. With the true king alive but incapacitated and Thor having abjured the title, who was there left to be king, save Loki?

And it clearly didn’t matter to Heimdall that Loki was technically supposed to be dead.

Upon the Mountains, Like a Flame: Chapter 10 (MCU)

"Are you truly going to prevent Loki from using his magic to defend himself?"

"I have said that I will. It is the only possible way of ensuring a fair fight, especially if Loki and Sigyn are to face Theoric together. Unless you wish to make it that easy for Loki to defeat him. His power has grown--"

"No," said Frigga, "he hasn't." She sounded tired. "He had help. From whom or who, I know not, but I do know the scope of our son's power."

Odin stopped his disgruntled pacing and turned to face her, and suddenly Frigga felt very cold. "Are you certain? We have never been entirely sure what manner of power to expect from one of his... lineage."

"If Loki had learned by nature how to shield his appearance and his identity from us both, he would have used it – and crowed about it – long before now. As it is, he can transform himself into any number of animals in order to bedevil his brother, but we always know it is him. And before you ask again," she continued, "no, Sigyn did not help him. This manner of magic does not belong to her."

Odin conceded that point, at least. "Sigyn's preference would have been to slip away from Asgard between dawn and morning and never look back. And you would not have been able to find her, I think, any more than I would have. And yet... she stayed."

"For Loki."

"For love of him," Odin sighed, feeling old, as he had when Loki had pleaded for Sigyn's hand in marriage. "They make a frightening pair, those two.

The Art of Weaving (Sequel to “The Art of Spinning”) (MCU)

“He lacks compassion.”

“Lacks...” Thor stopped dead in his tracks. “Father, he spent a month caring for Mother and wouldn’t leave her side even when I wanted him to come to Svartalfheim with me. He helped me free Jane from the Aether and find a way to defeat Malekith that saved the last of the Dark Elves from slaughter, when you and I would have gladly let them all die.”

“And what has been the result of those good deeds? A long-dead race returned to the Nine Realms, upsetting the balance of power even further, and my heir abandoning his birthright to waste the next century in the company of a woman who will be gone in a blink.”

Thor remembered his brother’s parting words, the tight, sorrowful embrace, and the lock of hair Loki had given him. “He gave up his chance for freedom. He accepted responsibility for his crimes, even though we know now that he was being manipulated. What more would you have from him?”

“Nothing. I am grateful to have my youngest son back. But I would have my eldest reclaim his place as well.”

But Thor shook his head, and stepped away from his father’s fond hand. “I can never be the king you want. Loki can. He is like you in ways that I am not.”

Odin went suddenly still. “What do you mean?”

“I lack your ruthlessness.”

L'éternité de la damnation, l'infinité de la jouissance (Crimson Peak)

It had been two years. Two years of independence and travel and writing and of seeing the world. Her life would never be normal again, but at least now it felt charmed instead of cursed. At least during the day.

At night, she still dreamed of red-soaked white nightdresses, and of Lucille Sharpe haunting the crumbling halls of Allerdale. She woke with the taste of blood in her mouth, and visions of Thomas screaming in hell.

She didn’t know if he deserved that. He had done terrible things, but how many had been of his own choosing? He had not been a good man, but he had so desperately wanted to be.

Demon in My View (Good Omens)

Normally, Aziraphale was loath to part with any of the books in his collection – though he was not above going against his own grain for people whom he knew would love and cherish the tomes almost as much as he himself did – but in this case, he was delighted to make an exception.

"No charge. No, I absolutely insist. After all, my dear boy, they were meant to be yours."

Adam thanked him politely, and then asked, "Do you still have that wicked flaming sword?"

Aziraphale winced a touch at the adjective but let it pass. "No, no, I'm afraid not. I was required to give it back."

"That's not fair. It was yours, Crowley said it was. And you did help save the world with it. They should give it back to you."

"Well, perhaps they will, one day."

And His Feet Were Made of Clay (Good Omens)

The bookshop of A.Z. Fell was closed. It was the middle of the day and every shop surrounding it was open for business, but most passersby didn't seem to notice the bookshop, and the ones who did weren't surprised that it was closed. In fact, if you examined the diaries of London citizens going back to eighteen hundred, you would find countless entries complaining about the fact that Mr. Fell and Co. (Aziraphale had added the 'Co.' in the eighteen-forties, when he realized he needed to start pretending to be his own son.) never seemed to be open, and that when they were, the very nice gentleman inside was always curiously reluctant to actually sell you anything.

The thing that Aziraphale had always liked most about his corporation was that it looked human. It lacked basic human needs and drives, but it could simulate and perform those functions with perfect adequacy, and really, that was beside the point, because it looked human. It looked unique, the way humans did. Looked like God the way humans did, and the way angels most emphatically did not. Angels had been created by the Almighty with a variety of ineffable functions in mind, and what they looked like when they weren't cramming all their eyes and wings and wheels into a chunky bipedal casing with odors and fluids reflected those functions.

Humans, as near as Aziraphale had been able to figure out in six thousand years of watching, had no preordained function. God had made them because they were fun and that was enough, and he rather liked that about them. Envied that about then, even. (Envy wasn't something he was supposed to admit to, but he lied to himself about so many other things that he simply couldn't have this one on his conscience.)

Although if they did have a function, he was convinced that they existed for the sole purpose of making more of themselves.

A Pause From Thinking (Star Trek: Deep Space Nine)

“Doctor, I appreciate the courtesy call, but it this is some sort of human mourning ritual, I’m really not interested.”

"I didn't think you'd be interested in mourning. I just thought you might want some company. A loss is a loss, after all." Julian poured out the whiskey and handed Garak a glass. "Here's to terrible fathers."

Lots of Rules and No Mercy (sequel to “I Say, Why Not?”) (Tron) 

It was about a month after Alan was first able to communicate with his security program that Tron made the request—not out of any doubt in his user's abilities, but out of respect for the human he looked to as both creator and guardian angel.

"His name was Ram," said Tron, the words appearing on the screen beneath his angularly-rendered face, his voice coming through the headphones like an echo of Alan's own voice. "We were in the MCP's holding cells together for a while. He was just an actuarial program, but he was good at the games and..." The blocky, pixelated face didn't convey one-tenth of the emotion Alan was sure he could hear in the program's tight, gruff voice. "He was a good friend."

"I'm sorry." Alan felt silly, even after a month, apologizing and offering sympathy for the erasure of a program. He was a software engineer after all—he'd been writing and rewriting and erasing programs since high school. It had never been that big of a deal before. "I'm sorry, Tron."

Tron seemed to gather himself together. "Alan. Can you resurrect him?"

Alan stared at the face on the screen, unsure of what to say. He knew Tron couldn't see him or his expression of dumbfounded shock, but the silence said enough. "Forgive me," Tron murmured, seeming to bow his head in the way that made Alan the most uncomfortable. "It was impertinent of me, I shouldn't have asked—"

"It's not that," Alan blurted out. "It's just—I wouldn't know where to start," he added, trying to ignore the uneasy thrill of his creation's simple faith in him.

The Goblin Emperor’s Garden (The Goblin Emperor)

It became Maia’s habit, following the drama of his first Winternight as emperor of the Elflands, and once his wife-to-be decided that he no longer needed quite so many dancing lessons, to hold small intimate suppers one evening a week in his private dining room in the Alcethmeret. Sometimes he entertained several people, sometimes only a few, but nearly every week, Csethiro Ceredin was at the table.

If it was only the two of them at supper, she sat opposite him, where he had the privilege of listening to her speak until the small hours of the morning on all manner of topics, while he forgot about his meal and tried not to drown in her brilliant blue eyes. If there were others at table, she sat at his right, and though she had other social obligations on such evenings, it was worth it to Maia, to be able to sometimes, quickly and surreptitiously and not always entirely secretly, squeeze her hand under the embroidered tablecloth.

His secretary and all of his nohecharei always noticed, and he suspected that they desperately wanted to tease him about it. His nephew Prince Idra also always seemed to notice, and as he and Maia grew closer, Idra did not hesitate to tease him.

“You should be careful,” Csethiro playfully warned the prince, one night after the rest of the guests had taken their leave and the three of them were alone at table, lingering over dessert. “For someday your uncle will find you a wife, and you will make just such a fool of yourself, and he will be as shameless in laughing at you.”

Idra and Maia both blushed, stamping their utterly dissimilar features with a moment of family resemblance. “If I am so fortunate as to someday have such a wife as to be worth making a fool of myself over,” said Idra, half-bold and half-shy, as only a fourteen-year-old boy could be, “I should thank my uncle profusely for his choice, and not mind the teasing.”

“Well spoken, cousin,” Maia said gratefully.