#i need poetics so so bad it's dire out here

[impossible-rat-babies]

(they/them)

[hoony2k]

Is jake here?

Shakespeare says "tis was written in the stars before they even met"

-You're lost in life and move to Seoul where you find your peace in a boy. Jake's in a band and is looking for a girl he's been obsessed with ever since she appeared in his dream. You're both broken but maybe you can learn to be better through each other.

Pairing: Sim Jaeyun x reader

Genre: scott pilgrim au!, band au!, set in 2000s, he's kinda silly.

Cast: Sunghoon, jay, sumin (stayc)

Warning: reader smokes once :(

Word Count: 2k

Notes: this is for neo127's event! this was genuinely so fun to write, thank you for the fun event! this is actually a deleted scene that I love sm, i wanted to be so poetic but i had to stop my demons cause this is a movie with tom foolery and deep meaning. also i'm kind of stupid and saved this in drafts and not queue.

masterlist

Take 1

There was a ringing in Jake’s mind that alerted him of the dangers awaiting him, but the allure of your presence removed all prior warnings. You came into his life like a dream, filled the hollow void in his soul. None of his past attempts at experiencing euphoria or reaching infinity worked, but with you around entertaining his unfunny jokes, he was consumed by the black hole in one clean swoop.

In other terms, you were the little riff he needed in the song, the extra healing ability granted to his game characters, you were a dream. The warning, the future and the rest was history. It was only you and him in the whole universe. By your side, Jake finally felt like the world wasn’t against him.

Or so he thought.

Seven little exes, not seven little kisses.

Take 2

Jake forced his body to move. “Left right, left right”, he mumbled and mechanically trudged up the stairs, bumping into drunk partygoers without an apology. He caught a glimpse of you the other day and he prayed the next time you saw him he’d be taller and looked way cooler, not desperate or down bad at all. Hopefully, he’d find the courage to approach you in privacy. It had been ages of simply dreaming about you.

Not even the buzz of the party could get your eyes and nonchalant expression out of Jake’s mind. The thirst to reunite left him dry to the bone and in dire need of the washroom due to pure boredom sparked by the party. His drink sploshed in the red up, spilt over the rim and onto the cuff of his new jacket. He winced at the sticky and cold sensation.

At this point, he was willing to manifest you into appearing.

Jake reached the landing and felt Comeau call out to him. “Wanna drink with us?”

He shook his head and slightly pouted. “No, I don’t drink”.

Comeau frowned at him, “What do you mean you don’t drink?”

Jake offered a non-committed shrug and lightly waved his arm around.

“This is just iced coffee”.

His friend’s frown deepened. “What does that mean? I distinctively remember you being drunk-”

“Hey you know everyone, right?”, Jake swiftly brushed off the memory and swayed Comeau by the compliment. “You know this one girl with hair like this?”

His pout was replaced with a determined look and pulled out crumpled paper with a poorly sketched one-lined drawing of what appeared to be a face with no evident features or expressions. There was no possible way to understand the scribble immediately.

His friend rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I know her. That’s Y/N-“

God was real. The universe loved him and perhaps this was good karma for all the okay things he had done in life. His friend continued to ramble trivia about you but it all flew over Jake’s head until he heard I heard she was going to be here tonight and it brought heat back into his veins. All it took were those mere words to become the catalyst of his insanity.

Jake dove into the crowd, and took in the sight of numerous strangers with unfamiliar hairstyles and smiles. He searched for your dyed hair in the crowd and despite unsteady breathing and shaking hands due to anticipation and nervousness, his gaze met your frame leaning on a wall. Hair pink instead of blue and you were alone holding a cup which served as a friend. You appeared bored out of your mind, glancing at the drunk bodies dancing around in bliss. Jake wondered asking you if you wanted a refill.

He slid on the dirty wallpapered wall and inch close to you. As he felt heat radiate off your body, he took it as a sign to halt. Though he tried to be subtle, his desperation to talk to you poured down his body in a giant tidal wave. Jake turned his honey eyes to your figure, it was party concealed under his locks that covered an eye. You stared right at him.

“Do you like pac man?”, the words stumbled out of his lips before he realised.

What? No-no, that’s not-

You gave him a slight nod then shifted your attention back to the crowd. Uncommitted but it did not discourage him.

He shuffled closer to you; the creases of his oversized jacket bumped into the bag strap on your shoulder. You didn't move away.

Jake cheered internally; this was going well.

Jake took it as a sign to continue. He puffed his chest out. “You know the original name for Pac-Man was Puck-Man. Not because he looks like a hockey puck. But it's Paku Paku. Means flap your mouth."

He planned on offering you a detailed history of the game, a topic that the pair of you apparently shared and enjoyed. That was before you placed your full untouched cup on a table and turned to him.

He hadn't realised you moved to look up at him.

"But they thought people would scratch out the "p" and turn it into an "f" like-"

Jake's voice died in his throat and his eyes blinked at the intensity of your gaze. You stared up at him with calm wisdom, hiding all the secrets in the world in your gaze.

He observed how there was a thin sheen of sweat on your hairline despite the cold season of decay. With so many bodies running, dancing and chatting away, the house was bound to get humid.

Jake could barely hear your voice over the thump thump of his heartbeat. The tips of your hair that clung onto the apples of your cheek moved when you spoke.

You took a step closer to him and whatever confidence he had evaporated. Jake fumbled with the end of his jacket and then promptly shoved his hands inside his pockets.

You did not look displeased at the sight, in fact, nothing changed in your eyes but Jake swore he saw a hint of a small smile. However, his fear and nerves got the best of him.

"I'm going to leave you alone forever now-"

"Wanna get out of here?"

Take 3

The sky was dark again. The winter nights crept up quickly, shunning the sun away but Jake liked it.

He liked how the night sky reminded him of you, the simple serene moments spent either in silence or secrecy.

You brought light into his life. It was dark elsewhere.

He saw a shadow of a figure dressed in several jackets a couple of feet away and only when he walked closer did he realise who it was.

"What are you doing here?", he called out to you, referring to the time.

You quirked up an unamused brow.

"Dude, I was waiting for you."

Immediately Jake felt apologetic. And maybe a bit pathetic that he came late (on time) to the hangout (unofficial official date). Or maybe he felt giddy knowing you didn't show your nervous attitude yet cared deeply enough for him to arrive on time.

"I'm sorry. I thought you assumed you were too cool to arrive on time", he confessed. It was easier with you.

He didn't have to lie about where he went like how he did whenever Sunghoon asked him about his whereabouts or skirt around in conversations where Sumin decided to target him (all for reasons that proved he deserved it).

He didn't need to pretend he was someone better, a moralistic ideal version of himself or someone worse, an edgy rockstar who had a strange code of rules to live by.

With you, Jake could be transparent. All his unpolished edges, raw mistakes and life missteps were seen and never judged.

You were like him and he was like you.

Maybe there was a reason he saw you in his dreams long before. Maybe the two of you were interconnected in a cosmic way. He didn't know.

You looked at him up and down before turning and beginning to walk near the middle of the park.

"Well, you were wrong".

Jake quickly walked beside you and fell into the same rhythm. "Do you wanna get a bite? Or watch a movie? We could get pizza before watching something. We could flip through the records I have at home".

You gently shook your head and Jake couldn't help but pout at your dismissal.

"What's wrong?" He asked, too impatient.

You sighed softly; air comes out in puffs of smoke.

You point at nearby empty swings. The chain was rustic and seems strong enough to carry two adults.

"Follow me", you whispered in the late night. There was no one around. The park was deserted, filled with snow to the brim. The swing seats squeaked when you brushed off the sleeping snow from them.

Jake sniffled, shoved his hands in his pockets once more. He didn't mind the silence until it stretched on for more than a minute, maybe...maybe it was less but Jake hated silence.

"This is nice", he shuffled and lightly kicked his feet off the ground. The metal shrieked and he swayed back and forth.

You nodded and mimicked his actions.

"This is nice".

Jake turned to look at you once more. He noticed how often he'd stare at you only to look away when you caught his gaze. There was something that had been on his mind for days. He tip toed towards the topic.

"So, why'd you come to Seoul?"

Immediately you look down at your shoes, then swing yourself higher than before.

"I wanted a change of scenery. Needed a reset and got a job here so I thought, why not?"

It was an honest reply.

The sound of gravel grabbed his attention, the metal squeaked again and you paused the pendulum to fish out an item from your pocket.

He had to squint in the minimal lighting and Jake had to hold in his surprise as you pulled out a cigarette and lit it easily.

A hand covered your lips and the tip of the cigarette, the small flame decorated the end of your nose and chin in a scarlet hue. Jake stared at you in awe, doe eyes widened.

"You smoke?", he couldn't help it. You did wonders at surprising him each time you met.

You inhaled it slowly and turned from Jake's direction to blow the air. Two fingers toyed with the cigarette.

"On special occasions". Your lips stretched a bit and Jake saw how the gloss shone under the moonlight. God, he was doomed from the start.

He didn't mind the bounce in his voice, he tiled his position and brought his swing next to yours until the metal chains halted him. The scent of slight smoke and your citrus perfume filled his senses.

It felt like he was on stage once more, guitar in his hands, flicking away at the strings with inhuman speed. He felt the high he experienced on stage; the surge of emotions that made him giddy. He tapped his foot unconsciously, imitating the vibrations the band would feel when Sumin hit her drums.

"Is this a special occasion?"

Your eyes hadn't stranded him and his lovesick expression finally pulled a laugh out of you. You were satisfied when you moved to Seoul, but the buds in your stomach began to blossom, Jake made you crave for more than satisfactory.

"I don't know. You tell me", you teased him and Jake's smile got wider. His eyes crinkled adorably and you could see the gums of his teeth with how wide he was smiling.

Then, for a split second, something flashed in his eyes, something serious. It paused your arm mid-way from bringing the cigarette to your lips.

Jake averted his gaze, his dark brown bangs covered his face from view, and you could only see the tip of his tall nose and his red ears. Perhaps from the cold, perhaps from you.

He took a deep breath.

"When I'm around you, I kind of feel like I'm on drugs. Not that I do drugs. Unless you do drugs, in which case I do them all the time."

When he finished, Jake turned to you and the poor swing squeaked once more. His face was determined, shoulders no longer hunched like usual but his eyes wavered, swam across your form to see a hint of disgust or discomfort from you.

You laughed in his face.

"Hey!", Jake shouted and it echoed in the night.

Loud laughter bubbled from your lips, you tried to hide your mouth behind your free hand but Jake quickly grabbed it so he could defend himself. Seeing how delighted you were, your entire body buzzing with giggles, Jake felt himself relax and giggle with you. Though he didn't let go of your arm.

He saw the fallen cigarette on the ground, you probably forgot about it when you began to chuckle. He leaned forward and stepped on it.

When he landed his attention on you, you were more composed but the shaking did not stop. It was a futile attempt at covering your glee, Jake was obsessed, he was probably feeling the L-word (love) as well but he wasn't sure.

Though he understood from all the times he couldn't concentrate in practice and Sunghoon or Jay would have to call his name loudly to pull him out of daydreams of you and back to reality, when Sumin stopped questioning his intentions with you and replaced her usual indifferent glares with mild fascination, Jake knew he felt something more than like for you. He felt like he was hypnotised by your melody, your casual demeanour, overflowing confidence and assured attitude. It sucked him in from the night he dreamt of you.

Jake's hand slithered down from the curve of your elbow and slipped into the warmth of your hand. Your laughter had finally ceased, now replaced with a tender look. Jake smiled like he had never done before. You interlocked your fingers together and squeezed him palm.

It would be okay, the future would be more than okay-probably. He'd still have to go to practice, get yelled at by his sister and then get yelled at other bands when Sunghoon irked them on purpose. Maybe he'd have to eventually confront your seven exes. Nothing about you was simple, everything was too intricate, it was like he had entered a game and had to win all rounds before getting crowned "official boyfriend".

But it was more than okay because Jake knew you were worth it-you liked him and he liked you. There were no mind games, this was the simplest love he had experienced. He couldn’t stop thinking of you and you couldn’t stop ringing his landline. By your side, Jake concluded that even if he wasn’t the strongest, he’d figure out a way and fight the world for you.

Thank you for reading. Please do not edit/translate

[teriri-sayes]

Reactions to Deal Maker's Chapter 196

TL;DR - Game console has a fingerprint recognition function, so Cale couldn't play it. Wi tempting Cale and Raon to stay longer. Alberu and Cale talk about Ahn Roh Man. Cale meets GoB and GoH.

Unplayable Game

So the game console wouldn't let Cale play it because there was a fingerprint recognition function. Even creating a new user needed the fingerprint of the previous owner of the game console. Thus, Cale asked Ron to borrow for a while Blood Demon's arms that got cut off before she turned to dust.

There was some details about the game. The player's avatar was a child, though the child's sex was unclear to Cale. The child stood on a meadow and five planets in different colors were in the sky.

One funny part here:

Cale: (Wait, is it okay for me to show myself operating this game console so naturally to Ron? Uhh... it's too late now though...) Cale: *smiles awkwardly at Ron* Ron: *has a strained smile* Cale: (Did he just look at me as if I'm very funny?) Ron: *reverts back to his gentle smile* I will be heading to Chief Eunuch Wi then. Cale: ...Uh, okay.

Now that this arc is nearing its end, are we finally going to have Cale's conversation with the Molans? I'll be cheering for you, Cale! 😂

Wi's Temptations

The chief eunuch pleaded to Cale to stay in the Central Plains longer by offering him lots of stuff. Slacker life? We'll grant that dream for you! Central Plains food tour? No problem! Raon wants sweets? We have the most delicious fruits, though it will only ripen in 6 months.

Cale's reaction to that was to avoid Wi and try to leave the Central Plains as soon as possible. 🤣🤣🤣 He even found Wi scary when Wi attempted to tempt Raon with sweets. But c'mon, Cale. Someone's finally offering you a chance at a slacker life, but you're running away from it?

Then again, given how the murim people were keeping their distance from Cale as if he was someone so amazing they couldn't dare to approach, Cale's reaction was not a surprise. Yes, Cale. Your bad feeling is right. They are your Caleism believers.

However, HD was now following CH around instead of Cale. What? What about my HD x Cale ship? Did I just see it sinking? Nooooo... 😭

Bright Alberu

We had another conversation with our bright sun, and they discussed about Ahn Roh Man. Cale dismissed the possibility of Ahn Roh Man being a hunter, and Alberu said he would contact Ahn Roh Man through the customer service line of Taerang to get more information.

Cale noticed that Alberu was brightly smiling, and when he asked why, Alberu replied that he had just finished talks with other countries about Cale's mine exports. Cale viewed his smile as insidious, but the author poetically described the smile as "fresher than the flowers blooming on a spring day."

Cale wanted Alberu to come with him in his world hopping, but realized that if Alberu did that, it would only be if Zed was involved and it was a dire situation. Ah, I guess we won't have Alberu going to other worlds too. 😞

Cale and the Gods

Cale finally read GoD's message, and immediately refused meeting GoB. But GoD insisted, even suggesting Cale to just have a peek of GoB's face.

However, things didn't work out for Cale because GoD told Cale that the very impatient GoB was actually heading his way! Cale was still in Blood Demon's childhood bedroom, but he suddenly heard the sound of heels and found himself alone in the room.

Just like GoD, Cale froze and found himself unable to move at the presence of GoB. And when GoB spoke, Cale thought that GoB's voice resembled an elegant old lady... YES! My theory was right! GoB's a woman! 🤩 Our dom mommy Goddess of Balance! Or was it grandma because her voice sounded like an old lady?

GoB explained to Cale that his actions were causing imbalance, and the other worlds and gods had to carry the "counteracting weights" to maintain balance. But Cale and his companions were overdoing it, so the others were having a hard time.

She was grateful to Cale for his work against the hunters, but still warned him that despite his good intentions, balance had to be maintained. And cautioned him that some of the imbalance he created might even come back and harm him and his companions who caused the imbalance. This was something that even she could not stop.

Cale was shocked at her words, and she laughed "Fufu" before proposing a solution - become a god. Okay, I seriously laughed hard at this one. 🤣🤣🤣

GoB said that if a god's myth spreads across worlds, the "laws" of those worlds would accept it as reality, and thus create a new balance. She whispered to Cale's ear if he wanted to become a god, and added that rejecting it was a bad idea.

Her voice sounded gentle and soft, but was also oppressive and insistent. Her words had an irresistible charm, but Cale resisted it. Or more like, Cale was busy trying to resist DA from running wild. 😂

However, while GoB was talking to Cale, another god arrived. It was the God of Hope (GoH), whose arrival was signaled by the flickering lights in the room. And DA's response to that was cutely hilarious. 😂

GoB: *tries to recruit Cale into godhood* DA: Don't stop me, Cale! I want to make a god kneel! Cale: (No.) DA: LET ME OUT, CALE! Cale: (Why are the ancient powers so crazy?) GoH: *arrives in the room* DA: Oh, two gods are too much. Okay, bye! Haha! Cale: (This crazy bastard...)

Ending Remarks

I very much enjoyed today's chapter. The gods part was the best. Cale's slacker life dream keeps getting further from him though... 😂Next chapter would be a continuation of Cale's meeting with the gods. Will GoH also recruit Cale to be a god? 🤣🤣🤣

P.S. GoD, you lucky guy. You get to have mommy Goddess of Balance to dominate you? 😳

[try-set-me-on-fire]

wip game: should we talk about the weather 👀

Hehehehehehe big bang fic!!! Hmm I’ll share the pitch I gave to the event artists (hehehe…)

In a world where certain individuals are capable of sharing their own instincts and feelings — and even occasionally physical strength — with their likewise capable partners, Eddie and Buck, and Hen and Chim are what people sometimes call congeneric minds. It comes in handy in a high stakes profession like firefighting to have two people in such synchronization, able to warn each other of danger without ever having to waste time opening their mouths to speak.

Being so in sync with someone doesn’t necessarily mean smooth sailing communication however. Recently back at work after taking time off post-shooting, Eddie worries about Buck and how he’s been dealing with the events of the last year (last several years, really) but doesn’t know how to bring it up when he himself has always kind of encouraged them to move past life changing events with little discussion. While Hen and Chim are getting along just fine, Chimney and Maddie are dancing around each other and their recent breakup, and Hen feels trapped between disappointing her mother or her wife while being roped into backyard wedding planning.

With danger ever present on the job and turmoil seemingly always bubbling outside it, will everyone find the right words before it’s too late?

AKA what if people could be drift compatible in regular life without giant robots, and they’re all disasters at communicating anyway

And here’s a snippet!

Eddie doesn’t get around to talking to Buck till a week later. They’re in Eddie’s house again, but Buck has started to look exhausted everywhere, all the time, nothing special anymore about the way his eyelids droop when he walks in through this specific door. It’s worse than usual today. They had a hell of a long call — a rockslide down on the PCH, outside of their usual range but it was bad enough that the responding station had called for any back up they could possibly get — and Eddie’s wrist and shoulders and whole damn body aches from the hours of grueling work. Buck has to be feeling it, too. Eddie heads right to the bathroom, grabbing the tube of arnica gel that keeps this household running some days.

He doesn’t know how to bring anything up. We need to talk feels as ridiculous as it does dire. That’s a movie script confrontation, as contrived and meaningless as it’s not you, it’s me, or I’m sorry for your loss. Buck is his best friend, and also their fucking hearts beat in rhythm. He can do better.

“My leg hurts sometimes,” is what ends up coming out of his mouth when he gets back to the living room. Your ache is mine. A little poetic, but whatever. It gets the point across. Share it with me, please. We already do, so why are you hiding it?

Buck is sprawled on the floor next to the couch, Eddie isn’t sure why. He looks up at him silently for a few moments, and then rubs at his shoulder. Answer enough. Eddie barely has to look as he tosses him the gel, sure Buck will catch it as Eddie sits on the couch with a sigh. He watches Buck, still prone, hike up his pant leg and start massaging arnica into his calf muscles.

“Are you… doing okay?” It feels stupid to say.

Buck looks at him like it’s stupid to hear, too. His fingers drum a few times over one of the jagged lines still drawn up his shin. “‘M fine, Eds. Just a long day.”

Eddie purses his lips, shaking his head back and forth in a slow roll against the back of the couch. “You know that’s not what I meant.” His hand lifts up to catch the tossed arnica without thinking about it. He looks down at Buck, sprawled out, looking back up at him. “I want to… know that you’re okay. And, Buck, I’m here if you’re not.”

Buck sits up with a sigh that’s more petulant and annoyed than Eddie wishes it was. He rests his chin on his bent knee. “I know. But I’m- I’ll be fine. Stop worrying.”

Eddie snorts at that. “Oh, yeah, that’s something I’m great at.”

Buck’s smile grows so tenderly across his face. “I know.” He twitches his right pointer finger three times and Eddie’s moves involuntarily with he tug. “Come on,” he says, standing up with a groan. “Let’s make the pizza.”

They’d bought the ingredients together — sort of together, Buck on the phone at the grocery store and Eddie and Chris shouting requests down the line — earlier that week, and Chris will be home soon from a friend’s house and likely starving from the hard work of being a twelve year old all day long. He’s old enough that the novelty of making the pizza himself is less appealing than being able to immediately eat it, even if Buck had made sad faces as he’d relayed his instructions to make it in his absence. And this is all a distraction, Eddie knows it is, but Buck is smiling down at him and his finger goes tug, tug, tug, and he lets him get away with it.

[whiskyanndboots]

SNAP Summary- You’d never seen Dean so angry, especially at you and he was a pretty aggressive guy. Companion piece to Not A Fool & Part 2

Pairing- DeanXReader Warnings- 18+ only, swearing, canon divergence, violence.

A/N- This has been sitting in my drafts for many months and I thought I should just let it be, not edited, sorry.

The hunt, in your opinion, hadn’t gone too badly, or rather as badly as it could have. Both of you were breathing and still in one piece so you couldn’t really say it was a total fail.

You thought back to the morning two days ago when you and Dean had driven out of Harvelle’s farm, the sun was out and Dean was smiling wide in the passenger seat making jokes to try and coax you out of your bad mood. You’d stopped for food as soon as you drove into town, Dean had practically waxed poetic about some Baconater burger he’d discovered on his travels, he’d been right too, you’d have dreams about that burger. Then it was straight to business to get the low-down on the deaths from the local cops, the case was a slightly confusing one, the timelines were off somehow, but neither you or Dean could put your finger on it.

You wondered now if Sam had been here instead of you if the surprise ambush would have been avoided.

Dean had kept good on his promise to let you take the reins and up until the point where you were being strangled by one of three serial killing spirits in an abandoned run down house in the woods, it had actually been fun.

It had been a nice reprieve from how things had been before you went to Harvelle’s. Dean had been different, more closed off from you then he had ever been, and you couldn’t for the life of you figure out why.

You and Dean had fallen into friendship quite easily, well after the initial drunken come-on and subsequent rejection on your part. Dean had even taken you out to buy cassette tapes, on one of their visits to Bobby’s, when you told him you were thinking of putting something more modern than a tape player in the Chevelle. He’d been passionately against you screwing ‘her’ up and even more offended when you told him you’d never listened to any Motorhead or Black Sabbath. So off you both went into Sioux Falls to a small old school cassette store where he picked out a bunch of Dean Winchester approved albums while explaining why you needed them, no Led Zeppelin though since the store was out much to Dean’s dismay.

As Sam and Dean were packing up to leave the next day Dean had walked over to you a little sheepishly and handed you a cassette of his favourite Zeppelin album with orders not to break it or there’d be dire consequences. Sam had looked slightly bewildered so you figured this was not a common gesture from Dean.

After that day you realised you may have judged him a little too quickly, yeah Dean was definitely a womanising, whisky loving, charming goofball with a whole lotta baggage, but above all that he was undeniably a very good man.

You had since genuinely looked forward to the sound of the Impala rolling into Singer’s Salvage Yard knowing that you’d get to hang out with Sam and Dean for atleast a night, well if Bobby didn’t banish you on the grounds of ‘serious shit’ they had shown up for. You didn’t mind about that at all since you weren’t interested in getting involved in any demon or angel business at the time.

Alot of good that did now that Lilith was on your ass.

When Dean found out Lilith wanted you he decided to start treating you as if you didn’t have a competent bone in your body. He was harsher with you and you weren’t really in the mood for his bullshit considering you were still having a hard enough time accepting that you couldn’t just tap out when it got too scary now.

So you had enjoyed the shift back to the old Dean for the last 48 hours.

You glanced over at Dean who was driving your car, you didn’t think it wise to argue with how tightly clenched his jaw was, it was a stark contrast to the easy smile you’d seen from him as he sat shotgun on the way here. Dean hadn’t spoken to you since he half carried you out of the burning house. You pulled away the jacket you were pushing against the gash on your shoulder, blood had seeped through the fabric of your long sleeved shirt starting up near your shoulder and ending near your elbow, you could just see the nasty cut through the rip. You didn’t even know what slashed you, once you entered the rundown house in search of bones to burn, in the basement according to a bunch a traumatised teenagers, Dean didn’t even have time to fully open the door to said basement before the ambush began.

You traced your fingers over your throat , it was already tender to touch. The feeling of being strangled was fresh in your mind, the tightening of whatever the spirit had wrapped around your neck from behind pulling hard and lifting you off the ground, gasping for air and desperately trying to get your fingers underneath it to loosen it’s hold. You don’t think you’d ever been so scared in your life, that was the first time you actually thought your number was up.

Movement caught your eye and you turned your head to look at Dean, his eyes were trained on the fingers on your throat, you dropped your hand into your lap and his eyes flicked up to meet yours. You took a deep inhale at the anger in them, you’d never seen Dean so angry, especially at you and he was a pretty aggressive guy. He quickly looked back to the road, but you saw his hand tighten around the steering wheel until his knuckles were white.

You were at a loss for any reason he was so mad at you, you did everything right, yeah you set the entire basement on fire in a panic, but it worked. Your own anger was starting to build inside your chest, you knew what was waiting for you back at the hotel room, you’d be getting a lecture about how this is the reason you shouldn’t be hunting alone. Honestly you will be the first to admit you didn’t want to hunt, you were perfectly happy safe and sound at Singer Salvage answering phones while Bobby was out on hunts and researching lore from Bobby’s infinite shelves of books.

Finally Dean swerved into the motel parking lot pulling the car into a space infront of the room he made you share with him, despite your protest about wanting a double bed. Dean turned off the car with a heavy sigh. He licked his lips like he was gearing up to say something, he moved to face you eyes flicking between your wounds, his face closed off again suddenly and he was out of the car before you could speak.

You followed him silently to the door as he roughly unlocked it and pushed it open, you closed the door behind you awkwardly standing with your back to it still pressing your jacket to your arm.

“How bad is it?” Dean asked flatly as he sat on his bed.

“It’ll need stitches” you replied, your voice hoarse.

“Shower” Dean gestured to the bathroom door as he ran a hand over his face looking anywhere but at you. You didn’t answer as you grabbed your duffel bag and slammed the door behind you.

You balked at your own reflection in the mirror, you’d been through it alright, you looked like hell. You leaned toward the mirror to inspect the bruise that was already a dark purple around your throat and winced. You let out a long sigh and got to work on getting your shirt off, some of the blood had dried so not a pleasant experience.

The cut looked pretty gnarly, it ran from the top of your shoulder stopping about half way down your bicep. After your shower you went through your bag finding the only black tank top you’d packed and a pair of grey sweatpants, you blowdried your hair grateful the smoke smell hadn’t hung around, you tried to focus on the task at hand rather than letting yourself get worked up at the conversation awaiting you behind that door.

You finally had to force yourself to leave the bathroom, Dean was sitting at the small table in the room, he was holding a bottle of whiskey that you knew was much fuller this morning. Dean kicked a chair infront of him forward gesturing for you to sit. “This is gonna hurt like a bitch” Dean said as you sat down.

“I figured” You replied taking the bottle of whiskey from him and taking a swig, your face screwed up at the burn in your throat, but you took another for good measure.

He took the bottle back of you and placed the opening at the top of your gash, you jerked away as the liquid ran down your arm, holy shit it burned.

“Gotta stay still” Dean murmured as he picked up the needle and thread

You quickly pulled your hair aside staring straight ahead trying to make your body relax as Dean used his hand to move your left arm where he needed. You felt the cold tip of the needle press against your skin and braced yourself. Dean hesitated for a moment before breathing deep and pushing it in.

“If you need to stop tell me” This was the least monotone he'd sounded all night.

“Just get it done” You closed your eyes and tried to breathe deep, you’d sit through this in one go from sheer pride at this point.

“How’s the face?” You asked, he’d gotten a nasty hit to the jaw and a bruise was starting to darken across his cheek.

“Fine” Dean answered bluntly.

You breathed out a deep sigh, no conversation then.

The silence was making you nervous, the suspense of waiting for him to say something, anything was getting too much. You dreaded the argument the whole car ride, but now that you were getting the silent treatment you were ready to hash it out

“Done” Dean said throwing the needle on the table. You felt your body relax in relief, it was still throbbing like hell.

You turned your head, the bruise on his face was not fine it was spreading further by the minute, His expression was tense and his movements sharp. He pushed himself out of his chair and walked towards the small kitchenette grabbing his wallet.

“Dean" you stood to walk towards him, resigned to get him out of this shitty mood.

“Hungry?” He answered gruffly.

“Dean” You said again more forcefully.

“I’m goin’ to get pizza” he darted past you for the door.

“You gonna give me an ‘i told you so’ or not?” You ran a hand through your hair, you were getting bored of this already.

“What’s the point of that, huh?” He whipped around so quick you stepped back even though he was five feet away from you, you weren’t expecting him to raise his voice so suddenly. He’d spent the last hour quietly seething, now he was boiling over.

“Well, you obviously have something on your mind, Dean” you dragged your voice out provokingly.

“Damn right I do, everyone’s lost their frickin’ minds sending you out here alone, especially you! You just want me to sit on my ass at Ellen's until I have to come find whatever's left of you in some Podunk back road town?” He crossed the room towards you, his face dark, you could understand why people and monsters feared Dean Winchester, but you’d be damned if you backed down now.

You leaned back against the kitchen counter arms crossed tightly infront of you. Your arm was throbbing harder from the movement and Dean’s asshole mood was really pushing you to the edge of your patience.

“What the fuck is your problem?” harshly left your mouth before you could stop it.

“You know what my damn problem is, if you were on this hunt alone-“

“No” you interrupted loudly “not just today, I mean in general”

Dean gave you an incredulous look that finally set you off.

“Are you really gonna stand there and pretend like nothings going on? I’m not stupid Dean” You tightened the grip on your crossed arms trying very had not to raise your voice.

“(Y/N) i’m- ” Dean rubbed his fingers across his eyes.

“Because you’ve been pretty damn distant lately and call me crazy I thought we were friends” you pushed yourself off the counter closer to Dean.

“We are, that’s why i know you can’t handle this”

“What do you expect me to do, just stand there and scream? ‘cause it sounds like that's exactly what you’re asking me to do!” You were yelling now.

“I'm asking you to stay out of it, lay low and let us deal with it, this isn’t your fight” Dean was yelling back at you, you'd never admit out loud the shivers that went down your spine at the deep timbre of his voice.

“It is my fight, Lilith made sure of that”

“Well if your best is anything like tonight you’re going to get yourself killed!“ He roared.

“Do you think i want this? I wanted to go home, do you know how scared I am?” Your voice broke but, you were too angry to be embarrassed about it “I’m very aware that when she comes for me there’s no stopping her, but i’m atleast gonna go down fighting"

“What do you mean there’s no stopping her?” Dean snapped back stepping closer, his face incredulous and strained.

“It’s Lilith, no one can!” Your voice sounded half hysterical, Dean of all people should know this.

“Just do what i say and she wont get anywhere near you, stop making this so fucking difficult!” Dean’s was was getting more rage filled by the second.

“Oh, so your gonna protect me from Lilith, are you?” You replied raising your eyebrow. Dean’s jaw clenched, he was so close to you now you could feel his breath on your face “how exactly is that gonna play out? because from what i’ve seen every attempt to stop her hasn't worked” You yelled the last part so loud you were surprised at yourself.

“If Lilith wants you she’s gonna have to go through me and she ain’t gettin’ through me” Dean’s bellowing, deep voice echoed across the room. The resolute way he spoke sent shivers down your spine, his expression was wrathful. The full weight of those words hit you so hard you took a deep breath in surprise, it hadn’t occurred to you that Dean was willing to put himself in between you and the most powerful Demon they knew.

“I-“ You opened your mouth to respond, but a strangled, embarrassing, noise left it instead, you couldn’t think of a response with Dean’s determined gaze staring you down. You could feel the heat of his skin on your own, suddenly you felt much too close to Dean and needed to get space between you.

You didn't have time to put the thought into action before Dean shot forward pressing his mouth hard onto yours, his hands grabbing your arms. It only lasted a moment before he was pulling back and letting you go, he looked as surprised as you must of, only you felt yourself following his mouth, heat burning red across your face when you realised what you were doing.

You stopped yourself from following through, startled at your own reaction, but didn’t move back. Dean’s eyes bounced from your lips to your eyes and back again before he once again moved to fill the space between you, mouth pressing over yours.

There was nothing, slow or sweet about it, your lips moved against each other harshly, needy and wet. His hands were on your waist then sliding up your back pulling you closer until you were pressed together, you still felt like you couldn’t get close enough.

Dean pushed you backwards until your back hit the kitchen counter, his mouth left yours pressing opened mouth kisses along your neck, it was all too much, your arm was throbbing with pain, your chest was heaving and small breathy moans and whimpers were leaving your throat as his hands slid underneath your shirt.

You were pulling at his flannel wanting him closer while your other hand ran through his hair, suddenly you were moving upwards as Dean placed you down on the counter, he stared at you for a moment, green eyes wide and full of want before smashing his lips back onto yours, his hands were back caressing a path up your spine while you held his jaw in both of yours.

Your shirt was being roughly pulled off, your arms suddenly over your head as his gaze took in the sight of your breasts, you hadn’t even bothered with a bra after your shower. He swiped his thumb over your hardened nipple making your body jump at the spark that traveled down to your core, his eyes flicked up to yours dark and needy as he kissed you again, softer than before. He moved his lips back to your neck as his one of his hands cupped your breast, he was driving you crazy. You pushed his flannel off his shoulders and yanked at his black t-shirt until he lifted it over his head.

A noise pierced through your clouded head, a phone was ringing. You turned your head to look to the side until you saw your phone lighting up on the kitchen table, before you could put together a cohesive thought Dean’s hand grabbed your chin and pulled your face back to him, tongue diving into your mouth.

His arm circled around your back and lifted you off the counter until you were pressed tightly to his chest, his skin against yours made you gasp as he let out a deep moan into your mouth, your legs tightened around him holding on. Your head was foggy, you don't think you’ve ever wanted anyone more than you wanted Dean right now.

He ducked his head down flattening his tongue across your nipple, you threw your head back and buried your fingers in his hair as he started sucking, too much, too much but still not enough. You’d never been kissed like this, never been touched like this before. He was so strong and broad, his arms full of muscle, he made you feel safe and warm.

“Dean” your voice sounded hoarse and breathless.

He dropped you down to the counter still pulling you close and making sure your skin was touching everywhere.

“Never thought you'd let me do this” He breathed between wet kisses “Never thought you’d want to”

“I do” You gasped desperately reaching for his belt, he let our a noise almost like a growl and grabbed at your sweatpants and underwear pulling both of them down your thighs at once, you were aching for him, you couldn't wait anymore.

Suddenly he was gone.

Dean had moved back and slammed his hand on the counter beside you before stalking across the room to a bedside table, to his phone.

That’s right your phone had been ringing, now Dean’s was.

“Ellen” Dean answered his voice annoyed.

Ofcourse, you hadn't told anyone you were both fine. A long deep breath filled your chest as you slid of the kitchen counter, knees almost buckling. You pulled your sweatpants back up, Dean was watching you closely still talking to Ellen chest bare and belt undone, you swallowed hard wishing he'd hurry up.

You were kicking yourself for not calling Ellen when you got back, she'd be worried sick by now, Bobby and Sam would be convincing themselves it wasn't silly to drive out here, Jo would be climbing the walls just like you would be if she was out here.

Cold, hard dread washed over your body like ice.

Jo.

You had promised Jo nothing was going on with you and Dean, that you didn't see him like that, you had promised it wouldn't be a problem and she had told you it didn't really matter, but you knew it did.

You told her to go for it and she'd shoved you away cheeks going uncharacteristically red and told you Dean didn't see her like that.

You told her he'd be crazy not to and she'd looked hopeful. She'd said "Sometimes I think he might, but there's always something in the way.

"Just....long day" Dean was saying to Ellen.

Dean was watching you, eyes roaming over your naked chest, swollen lips and surely messy hair. You covered your breasts with your arms feeling very vulnerable all of a sudden.

Dean was going to come back over here when he hung up that phone and you knew if he touched you again you weren't going to be able to stop this deep aching from taking over.

You saw the phone fall from Dean's ear almost in slow motion, already stepping back towards you looking purposeful, like he knew exactly what he wanted.

You darted for the bathroom door slamming it closed behind you and almost falling over in your haste, you couldn't do this. Not to Jo, not after you told her you didn't see Dean like that, told her to 'go for it'.

She trusted you.

"(Y/N)" Dean knocked on the door.

"I... I just need a minute" You called back panicked.

"Are you.. you okay?" Dean sounded worried.

"I'm fine" You moved to look at yourself in the mirror.

You looked ravished, your cheeks warmed with colour at the sight of your swollen lips and flushed skin, you covered your breasts ashamed with yourself.

You sat down on the toilet, head in your hands taking deep breaths, How did this happen?

You never thought Dean would want you like this, you couldn't say you hadn't entertained the thought. When you'd met Sam and Dean you'd had plenty, but after Dean had come onto you after one too many beers at Bobby's you'd rejected him and his invitation to be a notch on his bedpost.

If anything you'd thought your only chance with a Winchester was Sam, you got along wonderfully, but even that was a stretch, you never thought you were Sam's type let alone Dean's.

Men like Dean Winchester didn't want girls like you, they ended up with strong women like Jo. You were the girl who stayed on the side lines and did research, you weren't brave, you were terrified half the time.

Your not sure how long you sat there contemplating your betrayal until the sound of the hotel door closing brought you back to reality. You listened for movement for a brief moment before slowly opening the bathroom door. The hotel room was empty, Dean was gone.

You picked up your tank top from the ground, pulling it over your head as you walked to the window, pushing the curtain aside. The Impala was still parked there, no sign of Dean.

You weren't really sure what your next move was here.

It was surely going to be awkward conversations and half hearted embarrassed smiles from now on. Maybe Dean wouldn't even bring it up again, maybe once his head had cleared he'd realised this was a mistake too.

Maybe you wouldn't even have to talk about it at all.

You turned the TV on to distract your wandering mind, it had been probably half an hour before you heard keys in the door. Your body tensed and your heart started racing, but you remained sitting casually on the chair.

Dean walked into the room holding a pizza and a six pack, he stood there awkwardly for a moment like he was unsure if he should come in.

"Great, i'm starving" You smiled up at him willing yourself to be normal.

Dean seemed to relax a bit and moved to join you.

"Hope you feel like plain ol' pepperoni" He said while opening the box and grabbing a piece before thudding back into his chair and cracking a beer.

"What did Ellen want?" You asked while picking up a piece of your own.

"She was just checking in, got worried" Dean answered, the pizza seemed too thick to swallow.

You ate in silence for a while, pretending like everything was fine, just like you wanted. Naturally Dean didn't let things lie.

"Listen (Y/N)" Dean spoke with a sudden confidence as the credits for whatever sitcom was on started rolling on tv.

"Dean, can we not?" You pleaded turning to look at him imploringly.

"I don't really want to do this either, but I think we should clear the air" He answered.

"It's fine Dean" You replied lifting the side of your mouth in a small, reassuring smile.

"You locked yourself in the bathroom" He replied taking a sip of his beer not making eye contact.

"I just, I just didn't want to do something while things were....heated that we'd regret later" You couldn't even look at him while you said it.

"Regret" Dean mumbled looking down at the floor.

You were so bad at this.

"Dean, you're my friend, I hope you are anyway" You frowned, Dean looked up over at you surprised.

"Ofcourse I am" He looked half pained.

"Can we just pretend this didn't happen?" You begged.

He was quiet for too long, staring at you with that wounded look you hated.

"Sure" He took a long swig for his beer before wiping his mouth and standing.

"Going to grab a shower and hit the hay, long day tomorrow" He continued while grabbing his duffle-bag and closing the bathroom door behind him.

That had to be done, it was only ever going to be sex with Dean, you wouldn't risk your friendship with Jo for one night with Dean Winchester.

Being the one on the otherside of a locked bathroom door was oddly lonely.

[mellowswriting]

Sweet but Fierce S/O

**some of these are more blurbs than headcanons... what can I say, it got away from me

Mando: 

The duality is something Mando sees often with you, and he can’t deny that he loves it. You aren’t just sweet and soft with him, an experienced bounty hunter who by definition was the opposite of soft, but you were so good with the Child. You could get him to sleep like you had cast a spell over him, fed and played and talked with him as if you could actually understand his babbling. Soft and sweet wasn’t something Mando saw often in his life and now he can’t get enough of it.

But Mando is familiar with fierce, and seeing the way you protect the Child and his beskar-clad father? It honestly turns him on beyond comprehension. How can the same hands that provide comfort and care so readily also viciously break the bones in the wrist of someone unfortunate enough to have made a grab for the Child? How can the same hands that make warm, delicious food for your little clan (a habit you picked up after balking at Mando’s tendency to survive solely on ration bars) also steadily hold a blaster to the temple of an idiot who tried to remove Mando’s helmet?

As a Mandalorian, he is so used to the world being black and white, either or. Every bit of you is refreshing to him - the considerate gestures, the soothing touches, the biting need to protect those you love. It’s a precious quality. 

It’s also incredibly attractive. Mandalorian culture is based in caring for and protecting children, so seeing you so fiercely loving?? Basically it makes him want to rail you into oblivion, but that’s neither here nor there. 

Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales:

Frankie could use a little sweetness in his life. It’s been a tough time, coming back from all that shit that went down in South America. He was closer than ever with the boys of course, but something was missing. He needed something more. So when Pope introduced you to him at his barbeque, Frankie was beyond interested.

It was a whirlwind, falling in love with you. You changed his life in the best ways; taught him which yoga poses would help with his achy back, filled his house with soft blankets and delicious coffees, listened to him ramble on as he drove. And the way you talked about your work, your career? It’s enamoring. 

Your work is how he gets to see that fierce side. The two of you were out to lunch when your phone rang - it was one of your clients, apparently dealing with some sort of crisis. Frankie couldn’t deny you when you asked him to drive you to her home, especially since he had driven you to the small restaurant. Frankie leans against his car door as you go up to her house. 

Apparently her landlord was illegally trying to evict her. You have no issue getting in his face and telling him with a terrifying kind of calm that you have no issue calling the police and your company’s lawyers. You’ll have him buried in litigation and fines for the next decade if he doesn’t stop being a greedy piece of shit and go about his day elsewhere. If that wasn’t enough to have Frankie wide eyed (and drooling just a bit tbh), you seem to fall right back into your sweet self as you calm your client and reassure her that all will be fine. 

Hell, maybe Frankie could use a little spitfire in his life, too.

Javier Peña:

How? Just. How?

Javier doesn't understand how you've managed to be so sweet when surrounded by the shit you both worked with everyday. Your eyes are so bright and soft, your smiles easy and pure, every gesture full of unwavering kindness. Working in admin meant you saw all of the reports, all of the gruesome pictures of the aftermath of Escobar’s men. So again: how?

Christ, you always offer to get coffees for him and Murphy on those endlessly long days where every lead seems to fizzle out and he wants nothing more than to put his hand through a wall. Your presence is a bright spot in the office, even when the rain clouds hang heavy around his head. 

Javier seeks you out on those bad days. It isn’t intentional - usually, at least. He’ll tell Murphy he needs to go for a walk before he starts throwing things and will find himself at your desk with you looking up at him with those big, soft eyes and asking if you can help at all. If only he had the words to tell you that your presence was helpful in and of itself. 

Eventually Murphy gets onto him about it, tells him to just ask you out already because he’s tired of the longing. So Javi bucks up and makes his way to your desk with a surprising amount of nerves in his stomach. Fuck, how long had it been since he asked someone on an actual date and not just out to drinks as a prelude to fucking?

The sight of Agent Buchanan perched slightly on the edge of your desk gives him pause. The man is obviously laying on the charm and Javi is about to turn on his heel when he notices how uncomfortable you look. Javi’s eyes narrow because seriously? This dude is gonna fuck with the one literal ray of sunshine in the office? Buchanan leans forward and places his hand on your thigh and that’s when Javier is marching forward to break his spine in fucking half…

Before he can even get to you, you slip your fingers under his and give him that soft, sweet smile… and Buchanan’s middle finger is shoved back at a vicious angle. Over his pained sounds, Javier can hear the anger in your voice. “I said no thank you, asshole.”

Holy fuck. If Javier was interested before, he’s downright obsessed now. 

And as always, the honorable mention of Javier’s innocence kink. 

Ezra: 

At first Ezra thinks it's some sort of bluff, the charming and easygoing nature you portrayed. When you came across him in the Green wounded and in dire need of a new filter and probably a meal or two, you just… helped him. His very own partner left him for dead, and here you were, offering him a lifeline without expecting anything in return.

Yeah, no. That’s not something that happens, especially not in the Green.

He isn’t afraid to call you on it, either. This man is straight and to the point in every aspect of his life, might as well do the same in his death instead of getting jerked around. But you just… grinned, all conspiratorial, and whispered, “I’m actually just using you for good karma. This is a selfish act, don’t worry.” 

Huh.

It takes Ezra a moment to be assured that you aren’t playing some kind of long con as you nurse him back to health. You still clean his wounds and force him to take medication to help his lungs recover from the toxic air with confidence and ease despite his untrusting looks. Once he gets over his fears, there’s no getting rid of him. Ezra likes you. He likes the sweetness, the gentle touches. That’s why he offers you his partnership and beams when you accept.

Besides simply liking you, your kindness is a rarity that sparks a deep need in Ezra to keep you safe, protected. The idea of you harvesting on your own with no one to watch your back makes him feel sick to his stomach.

It’s the third day he’s out harvesting with you that he realizes you absolutely do not need his protection. You hear the duo approaching before Ezra does and immediately shove him into the raised, gnarled roots behind a tree - and the shot that would’ve caught him in the chest flies harmlessly past. Before Ezra can tell you to stay put and let him handle it, you’re scrambling out from behind the tree and he can hear the sound of your thrower discharging and a body crumpling to the ground. 

Ezra shoots out to help but you’re trying to wrestle the other man to the ground and Kevva damnit, he can’t get a clear shot with all that writhing about. Just as he goes to jump into the mix, whatever hold you have on the man straightens his arm out behind his back in a harsh, unforgiving line. The man’s thrower slips from his incapacitated hand and the sight of you snatching up midair and firing it right through his helmet has to be the most erotic thing Ezra has ever seen.

You can expect this man to wax poetic about the twofold of your personality for hours. Goes on and on about how he loves seeing the different ways you light up: in passion, in pleasure, in anger. It’s downright titillating. 

Marcus Pike:

Working with you gives leaves Marcus in the perfect position to see both sides. You’re so compassionate with the victims as you guide them through the legal processes but you also look ridiculously hot with a gun in your hand. Or while you pull on your bulletproof vest. Or when you’re strapping a holster to your thigh.

What can he say, Marcus can’t get enough of you either way. 

He loves when you give him that grateful smile when he brings you a coffee. The shoulder rubs you give him when he’s been sitting at his desk for too long leave him hazy with a mix of love and pleasure. The way you open your arms up for him to crawl into bed, still half asleep but still wanting him against you… it was pure heaven. 

Marcus also loves the hard edge in your voice when you’re interrogating a suspect. He loves the fire in your eyes when he wraps a hand around your throat and growls out exactly what he’s going to do to you, that bratty energy radiating off you and filling him with the need to break you down until he gets to see the pretty, begging glimmer of his sweet little thing again. 

Max Phillips:

Max is the kind of man who loves having a pretty, wide eyed thing beneath him, watching their face morph into that surprised pleasure. That’s exactly what he’s gonna get from you, too. He just knows it.

You’re the kind of person everyone loves working with, always offering a smile and kind words throughout the day. You work so hard and so diligently, that work ethic is something that leaves you offering your assistance when you’ve finished up before closing time. Max thrives on those moments where you peek into his office and ask if there’s anything he needs - maybe a coffee or some help with some paperwork. 

One day he decides, fuck it. Throws caution to the wind because hey, this is Max fucking Phillips we’re talking about here. So he waves you in when you pop by, lets you sit in one of the chairs on the other side of his desk, and whispers “You can help by bending that pretty little ass over my desk.”, his hands braced on either armrest. 

The last thing Max expects is a harsh smack across his face. He stumbles back, eyes wide as you stand and glare at him. “Go fuck yourself, Phillips.” 

Okay, yeah. He deserved that. The great thing about him, though? Max also loves the chase. And what could be better than slowly but surely convincing you that the best thing for you is letting him rail you into oblivion? 

Pero Tovar:

Before he sees that fierce side of you, Pero keeps his distance. He’s a sellsword for god’s sake, he feels he has no business around such softness. He’ll hurt you, he’s sure of it. But that doesn’t stop him from looking. Pero often sees you in the market and every time, you take his breath away. You could usually be found aiding an elder in gathering their shopping into their carts or kneeling down to speak with the local children running amok.

As a man who spent his life surrounded by battle and hardship, it was a nice change.

It wasn’t long until he caught your eye, and Pero floundered. He didn’t know what to do with that first small gesture - he just stared at you when you offered him a small bundle of cheeses and meat to aid him on his two month long journey he was about to set off on. Of course he later cursed himself for the stunned silence he offered in response to your well wishes and the small wave you gave before you left him standing like a fool next to his horse. 

Pero would thank you properly when he returned, that was the resolve he came to while away. You deserved to hear the words at the very least. He takes a moment to clean up before he sets out to find you, not wanting you to see him covered in grime, and as always, he spots you within moments of entering the village. Except something is… off. Your face through the shop window lacks it’s usual brightness, your eyebrows pinched together, something akin to fear replacing the brightness your eyes usually held. That’s when Pero realizes there’s a man holding a dagger to the shopkeeper and demanding the man's coin. 

By the time Pero has his own dagger in hand and shoves through the door, the man is already crumpling to the ground from the harsh kick you landed at the back of his knee. Pero watches in  awe as you take advantage of his confusion to snatch the blade from his hand and point it at him with your foot pressed firm to his back. 

Despite just how amazing you look like that, Pero takes over quickly, wanting you out of harm’s way immediately. The assailant is taken care of after a small struggle and when you rush towards him to make sure he isn’t hurt, a fire lights in his belly. As you fret over him, your soft hands searching for any harm to his scarred, calloused skin, Pero knows. He’s found his person, he can feel it in his gut, deep in his bones. 

[hamaon]

audio drama natterings

- i love hearing this voice-acted jin guangyao because there is often NO correlation between his tone of voice, actions, and intentions. he can be saying one thing and doing another and you just need to do the math, with the benefit of hindsight, to figure out what third thing he was actually thinking at the time

there are also many times he is just being genuine, but picking those up probably needs, again, the benefit of hindsight

- su minshan has an amazing voice. whiny nasal baby, i love him

- no comment on the audio drama actor, but there were some clips with interviews with the voice actors from the animation included in the files, and holy shit, lan xichen. a voice to make love to

- yi city is an interesting self-contained tragedy, but it’s slim enough that i doubt that there is any alternate reality where that’s the part of the story that caught my particular attention. but still, if that had happened, most likely i would have hatched into a xiao xingchen fan

- nie deputy meng yao singing a distressed abandoned baby to sleep before continuing to sort out a battlefield, is there anything this man can’t do

i’m losing my mind over this a little to be perfectly honest, there was never any doubt in my mind that “gentle dad” is one of jin guangyao’s most dominant personality traits, but to have it validated so

- meng yao finally, after years and years of abuse and dead ends, decides to take matters into his own hands, hard work isn’t getting him anywhere, and nie fucking mingjue, who lives several realms away, just happens to walk in on him the one time he kills a man for personal gain

what were the ODDS

i’m also trying to figure out the logistics of this:

like. how. i guess no one had quite as much faith in jin guangyao’s abilities as nie mingjue

(also love how in the audio drama meng yao just keeps getting shit from every direction, so it’s absolutely not a question of whether he’s just exaggerating how bad it is for him 24/7)

this is the drop in the relationship. up to this point nie mingjue has been one of the only people who don’t (seem to) care about his background, but this is where his own version of meng yao starts overwriting reality. the moment there’s a crack in the presentation, it’s over for good.

he still appears very considerate (and in his own mind he is definitely being extremely reasonable! for nie mingjue he IS being extremely reasonable!) about meng yao’s incoming punishment and will leave it to the jin, but meng yao’s own estimation of his situation is that he will be executed.

dude relax, he didn’t even hurt you.

it’s an interesting pattern though, jin guangyao’s primary motivation is almost never harming others, and he often goes out of his way to avoid it, too. this is the first time he could have killed nie mingjue easily, made it look like an attack from the wen like he was doing with the jin guy.

fun contrast with the temple, where things are looking dire until you start unpacking what’s actually going on

- one of nie mingjue’s most dominant personality traits is concerning himself with the quality of character of people who are not him

- it is very commendable of nie mingjue to not let corrupt people in charge keep getting away with this shit, and to continue hounding the jin about xue yang. the eternal question, though: why is he taking this up with jin guangyao instead of someone who, you know, is in charge

- lan xichen really, really, really wanting to be sworn brothers, c’mon mingjue-xiong aren’t you ready to be nicer to a-yao, please please please, and now that we’ve all agreed to it and don’t need an auspicious date, we can do it the first thing tomorrow (almost literally what he says)

- lan xichen fucks on the first date and gets married on the second

then stays married to that person for fifty years, perfectly monogamous

(- one of lan xichen’s most dominant personality traits is being the teacher you can actually talk to)

- i like how nie mingjue’s attitude toward jin guangyao varies even when their relationship is at its tensest point, he can be civil and almost light-hearted with him and then soon enough take a swing at him, it’s... uncomfortably realistic, honestly.

- corrupted cleansing, very good here also. rip nie mingjue before your time but it’s just a nice tune. though here the quality is partially improved by the fact that it actually sounds like the original cleansing, just a little off sideways

- the paperman extra, i’m in awe. jin guangyao has noticed lan xichen isn’t feeling too good, distracts nie huaisang (who is getting a lecture) from bothering er-ge and gets him to lavish er-ge’s paintings with praise instead. wow.

- there’s something sadly poetic about lan xichen being stressed mostly because of jin guangyao, who is also the one who notices and immediately starts working on alleviating that discomfort

- things jin guangyao feeds lan xichen: only the best perfectly selected tea for the lan, let’s try it wangji. his favorite fruits, already waiting for him inside. that peppy tone of voice when they meet in the present day for the first time. imagine being the man someone of jin guangyao’s caliber of caregiving gives his full devotion to. zewu-jun luckiest motherfucker in the world. (he deserves it)

- lan xichen getting that laser-focused intimate care his family is completely unable to provide

- the cl- the clothes washing extra. i genuinely think lan xichen is just inexperienced, if it was just lol lan muscle he couldn’t interact with the world without destroying everything around himself. he shows signs of being interested to learn. let him hone his house spouse skills. he deserves it

- i thought i was desensitized to this backstory, but the brothel flashback actually made me cry, what the hell

- scenarios where meng shi who has any choice chooses the same profession make me uncomfortable. this is a woman suffering in sex slavery who was destroyed and killed by it, and she always wanted out. for positive representation, how about sisi instead. or literally anyone else

- it’s almost funny looking at the temple scenes in hindsight, because. the sound direction, the sense of threat. and what is implied to be the source of that threat? the question of what jin guangyao is going to do, how dangerous is that thing he is digging for, what will he use it for

and the answers are: he was running away, it was his mom’s corpse he wanted to take with him because he adored her even when the rest of the world thought she was garbage. also, no one was ever in any danger besides jin guangyao himself and his sect and allies.

i will fight people about this btw, everyone comes out of the temple as unharmed as they were always intended to be. he has ample opportunities to kill every single one of them and he never acts in a way that shows he has the slightest inclination to actually do so. he threatens people into behaving and then tries to leave. and in every adaptation so far when he is leaving he's going to leave the captives behind, untouched.

[starryknight09]

Six feet under

Febuwhump Day 9: buried alive

Read on AO3.

________________________________________________________

“This will teach you to stick your nose in other people’s business.” The boss guy, Marco or Bob or Josh or whatever his name was, said.

Peter rolled his eyes even though they couldn’t see it through his mask.  He tugged again at the cuffs holding his wrists together behind his back, but no dice.  They must be made out of vibranium or something, which meant this guy had spent a pretty penny to catch him.  Peter almost felt flattered.  After all, he’d only spent the last couple weeks busting all the guy’s dealers and cleaning up the drug ring that he’d tried to set up in Queens.

“Put him in.” The boss guy commanded.

The two lackeys holding onto each of his arms pushed him forward until they reached the open coffin dangling by pulleys over a dug out grave.  Well this looked fun.  The men at his sides lifted him up and slammed him into it with a coordination he didn’t think they’d possess.

“Hey!” He protested but the lid snapped shut before he even had a chance to attempt escape.  He pushed against the cover with his feet but it didn’t budge.  Was this thing lined with vibranium too?  That could be problematic.  A second later he felt himself falling before his back slammed into the coffin again, presumably having landed at the bottom of the six foot hole dug out under it.  Ouch.  That had kind of hurt his wrists, which were still trapped behind him by the stupid handcuffs.  

“Hey Karen?” He didn’t know why he whispered.  There was no way the goons could hear him.  But somehow being stuck in a casket made him feel like he owed it some kind of reverence.

“Yes Peter?”

“Uh night vision please.”

His mask switched to the view filter as requested, but it didn’t help.  No secret hidden trap doors made themselves known.  Not that he’d expected them to.  No, now he could just see where the bad guys thought he’d spend his final moments of life.  The thudding of dirt hitting the coffin lid made his heart rate increase.  He was literally getting buried alive right now.  Yep.  This situation was definitely not ideal.  

“You appear to be in an undesirable position.” Karen said, completely understating it.  “Would you like me to call Mr. Stark?”

“Um…” He kicked his feet up against the lid as hard as he could.  Over and over.  After a handful of times, not so much as a splinter appeared.  He knew he probably should be panicking right about now, but he wasn’t because he still had his suit.  The bad guys hadn’t even considered that he’d be able to call for help.  So, all in all, this was just a minor inconvenience.  

“Yeah.” He agreed with a sigh.  “Call him.”

“Hey Pete what’s up?” Tony answered on the second ring and the tension that had been building up in his chest unfurled.  “Madame Secretary was just asking if you were still planning on coming up for the weekend. You are, right?”

“Ok, so don’t freak out.” He started, not quite sure how to explain his dilemma without Tony going postal.

“You saying that is making me freak out.” Tony replied, voice tense.  “What’s going on?”

“Ok so I might be in a bit of a situation.” The rain of dirt thudding above him had slowed.  He wondered if they were using some kind of equipment because shoveling by hand definitely would’ve taken a lot longer.

“Uh huh.  What kind of situation?  Start using your words kid.”

“Ok, first, I just want to let you know that I’m ok.  I’m perfectly fine.  So when I tell you, don’t go flying off the handle.”

“You’re really not making me feel any better.” Tony interrupted.

“I’m, um, kind of stuck.”

“That’s not an explanation.  Start explaining.” Tony said, and Peter could tell he was in the suit now because of the almost imperceptible tinniness of his voice.

“I’m sort of…” He winced before just ripping off the bandaid.  “Buried.”

The heavy silence almost weighted him down more than the pounds of dirt on top of him.

“I’m sorry.  I think I must’ve misheard you.  You’re what now?” Peter could tell he was freaking out.

“I’m buried.  As in underground?  Pushing daisies?  Six feet under?  I don’t know how I can make it any clearer.” Peter explained, trying to keep a lightness to his tone.

“The attitude isn’t cute.” Tony snapped and a few seconds later Peter heard him release a long calming breath.

“Seriously Tony I’m ok.  Just…I can’t get out of this by myself.”

“You promise?  You’re not in any danger of asphyxiating?”

“Um, not imminently.” He answered.  For a chemistry class project last year, he and Ned had figured out the amount of time a human could actually survive buried in a coffin, which had seemed a little morbid at the time, but now was turning out to be quite useful.  He knew he had at least a few hours before things would start to get dire, so he didn’t have to panic, because he had every confidence that Tony would have him out by then.

“You’re really not helping out my stress levels here kid.” Tony complained.

“Sorry.”

“Just hang in there.  I’m tracking your suit.  I’m twenty minutes away.” Tony said, then asked in a panic, “You’re in your suit right?”

“Yeah.”

“Ok good.” He heard Tony take another deep breath.  “So how did you manage to get yourself in this situation?”

“I’ve been working on busting up a drug ring in Queens the past couple weeks and apparently I really really pissed off the head honcho dude.” He explained, trying to roll into a more comfortable position, so not all his weight was on his wrists.  His hands were starting to tingle.

Tony snorted.  “So this guy decided to…bury you?”

“Yeah he even put me in a coffin.  I think maybe he was trying to be poetic?  But I don’t know.  Seems like a waste of money.  Like, aren’t coffins really expensive?”

Silence met his question.

“Um Tony?  Are you still there?  You didn’t fly into a power line or something, did you?” He tried not to sound scared, but if something happened to Tony, he was dead.  Literally.

“I’m here.” Tony said, but he didn’t sound quite right.

“Are you ok?” He asked.  Tony always used to joke about having a weak heart but after he’d barely survived the snap it’d actually become true.

“Am I ok?  You’re the one literally stuck in a coffin underground and you’re asking me if I’m ok?” Tony’s voice got more high pitched.

“Um yeah.”

“I’ll be ok when I get you out.  How does that sound?”

“Ok.” He mumbled, feeling appropriately chastised.  

“Just do me a favor.” Tony requested.  “Keep talking to me.”

Peter smiled.  That he could do.  

“Just no more talk about being buried, underground, or coffins.  All right?” Tony added.

“Sure.  No problem.  So last week at practice, guess what Flash did…”

“You’re making that up.  Morgan did not say that.” Peter laughed.

“Yes she did!  I swear!  If you don’t believe me, ask her.” Tony said.

“Don’t think I won’t.”

“Oh, I know you will.”

Peter made a mental note to do just that.

“I’m here kid.” Tony said, much more solemn than a second earlier.

“Oh thank god.” He said with a desperate exhale.  “Because I have to tell you I’ve been trying really hard not to think about it, but it’s starting to get hard not to think about it.”

“I know.”

“Are any of the goons here?” He asked, curious, because if there were, that would be the last mistake any of them would ever make.  Tony wasn’t someone you wanted to cross.

“Goons?  Who uses that word?”

“I do.  I like it.”

“You sound like some 1960’s mobster, but to answer your question, no, none of them are here.  Looks like they hightailed it out of here after burying you.” Peter could tell he was disappointed.  No doubt Tony wanted to exact his revenge.

“So…what’s the sitch?  How long until you can get me out of here?” He tapped his foot anxiously against the end of the coffin.

“The sitch?  Seriously kid, what kind of movies have you been watching lately?” Tony joked, which must be good news, because if he was capable of joking around then his situation must not be too dire.

“Good ones.”

“I’m afraid I don’t believe you.  I’m going to need a chronological list.”

Peter rolled his eyes but the next second he got distracted by a humming scraping noise.  “Hey!  I hear something.  What is that?”

“I’m digging you out.  Hopefully it won’t take too long.  Just sit tight.”

“Don’t worry.  I’m not going anywhere.” He joked.

“What’d I say about being cute?”

“Um, don’t do it?”

“Oh, so you do hear me when I talk.  You just don’t listen.” Tony said, but there was no bite to it.  Peter could tell he was still stressed, so instead of continuing the banter, he stayed quiet and waited patiently to be freed.

He had no idea how much time had passed but eventually he had the sensation of being lifted and placed back on solid ground.  A couple seconds passed and he heard Tony grunt and swear.

“Um, I think they might’ve used vibranium on the coffin.  I couldn’t kick through it.” He warned, figuring Tony had tried to open the lid and failed.

“Forgot to mention that little detail, huh?”

“Oops.” Peter smiled.  “You didn’t throw your back out did you old man?”

“Here I am saving you and all I’m getting is sass and more sass.” Tony mock complained.

“You can still get me out right?” The nerves hit him again.  Wasn’t vibranium impossible to damage?  Isn’t that why it’d been used to make Cap’s shield.  What if he was still stuck in here and he was going to suffocate and—

“Relax Pete.  I’ll get you out.” Tony reassured him.  “Contrary to popular belief, vibranium’s not indestructible.  You just need a high enough and concentrated enough heat source.  And some time.”

“Like a laser?”

“Exactly like a laser.” Tony said and Peter didn’t think he was imaging the pride in his voice.

“Do you have one on the suit?”

“Of course.”

Thank god.

“Hang in there.  This might take a little time.”

Peter tried to stay patient, but the closer he got to his release, the more difficult it was to wait.  He just wanted out.  At least he could follow Tony’s progress.  The seal around the coffin lid glowed visibly as Tony lasered away at it.  Tony hadn’t been kidding about the time comment.  It had to have been close to forty five minutes before the laser finally made it all the way around.

Before the glow from the last bit of lasering had faded, Tony ripped the cover off.  Peter squinted from the light, but he could make out Ironman standing over him.  The helmet nanobots retracted and Peter gave Tony’s pale face a wide smile.  He didn’t get a chance to say anything before Tony grabbed his upper arms and yanked him up and out of the coffin, pulling the mask off his face the second he’d set him on his feet.  

Peter smiled.  “Oh thank you.  That’s so much better.  Except…ooo ow!”

“What?  What’s wrong?” Tony asked, looking over him frantically for some kind of hidden injury.

“Nothing.  Just I was lying on my hands and they fell asleep and now, oh, ow, the feeling’s coming back and they’re all tingly.  Ow ow ow.”

Tony let out an audible sigh of relief.  “So you’re good?”

“Besides still being handcuffed?” Peter complained at the cuffs still around his wrists.  “Yeah, I’m good.”

Tony rolled his eyes but gripped his shoulders and spun him around.  “Hold on.  I’ll get you free.”

A minute later, his wrists sprang free and he winced, the movement irritating the tingling.  Regaining sensation was slightly overrated.  He glanced down at them, noticing Tony had left the thick cuffs on but had sliced through the chain that connected them.

“There.” Tony declared and twirled him back around.  “You good?”

He nodded.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“In that case…” Tony pulled him into a relieved hug.

Peter hugged him back, squeezing tightly, not needing to worry about controlling his strength since Tony was still in his suit, although hugging the suit wasn’t quite as comforting as hugging the real thing.  He kind of wanted to ask Tony to get out of it, but he didn’t want to act like a scared little kid.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled once the normal appropriate amount of time to hug had come and gone.  Clearly this had bothered Tony more than he’d let on.

Tony kissed the side of his head and finally released him, but Peter could still see the remnants of tension on his face.

“You scared me kid.” Tony admitted.

“I know.  I’m sorry.” He hung his head.

“Let’s just agree this was a one and done.”

“Agreed.” Peter nodded.  “I have no plan to end up in a coffin anytime soon.”

“Good.  You better not.” Tony said like a stern warning but the hint of fear in his eyes belied it.

“Can we go home now?” He asked, exhaustion hitting him hard as the adrenaline faded.

Tony nodded.  “I’ve made the executive decision that we’re moving your weekend visit up by two days.”

Peter let out an amused exhale.  “Ok, but when we get back, can you get these things off me?”  He held his arms up to show the cuffs still dangling around his wrists.

“I don’t know.” Tony said, the nanotech re-forming the mask around his face.  “I think I might leave them on for a day or so as your punishment for getting yourself in this situation and practically scaring me to death.”

“Tony.” He whined in protest.  He didn’t think the man was actually serious, but you could never be too sure.

“Or if you want, we can discuss a more suitable punishment.” Tony said, the Ironman armor making his voice sound more serious and intimidating.  At this point, though, Peter knew Tony wasn’t completely kidding.  Some kind of consequence awaited him.  Probably not the cuffs staying on, but something.

“Hm that coffin’s looking better and better.” He joked, pretending to look at it longingly.

“Not funny.” Tony said sternly in what Morgan had coined his ‘dad voice’ before grabbing him around the waist and blasting off into the air.

“Hey can we stop for ice cream on the way?  I feel like getting buried alive in a coffin is kind of an ice cream situation.” He said, loud enough so Tony would hear him over the wind.

“No.  No ice cream.  God, you and Morgan are the reason I have so many grey hairs.”

“I thought that was from old age.”

“You’re really scoring lots of points today Pete.”

Peter grinned.  “Are you sure we can’t get ice cream?”

“No!”

“So you’re not sure?”

“No.  No ice cream!”

Later that night, after Tony had gotten the cuffs off him, and they’d had some time to emotionally recover, Peter ate his bowl of chocolate cookie dough ice cream while he watched Moana, sandwiched between Morgan and Tony.

[okk--maaan]

Bad Kitchen Dreams

Hi. This is very dumb. But I couldn’t help myself when @ellelaconi​ threw out a Pale Kitchen Nightmares AU. So here you go. Feel free to imagine him in a blonde Matt wig and chef’s coat with a British accent.

WC: ~1.7k (whoops)

CW: you’re a really bad chef, Pale degrading you because you’re such a bad chef, pussy eating, fingering, PIV, brief drug mention, OSHA violations

Pale has traveled all over the country doing this. Helping desperate restaurant owners resurrect their businesses from the ashes. But in his twenty years, he’s never seen a situation as dire as this. As dire as yours.

When he pulls up in his big black car, he can tell the restaurant isn’t open. “Who the fuck ain’t open at one o’clock in the afternoon? Fuckin’ bullshit,” he mutters to himself. And sure enough. When he tries the front door - locked. He bangs on the glass and yells, “Hey! Hello! Anybody in there?!” After like five fuckin’ minutes of this, you finally appear -- wearing a dirty disgusting chef’s coat, your hair haphazardly pinned up, shit on your face. You wipe your hands down your front, smearing something orange across the little bit of white left on your apron.

As soon as you turn the lock, Pale pushes his way through with his big body. Without the barrier of safety glass, he can really get a good look at you. Even with all the mess, you’re pretty fuckin’ hot. Stunning really. Makin’ his cock twitch in his dark jeans, with your soft fuckin’ eyes and lips and shit. But he can’t think about that right now. He’s got work to do. Clearly.

He sticks a fat hand out and greets, “Hey doll. The name’s Jimmy. But call me Pale. Everyone calls me Pale. Hate that fuckin’ name in fact. Jimmy. Only person call me that is my fuckin’ wife.” You’re flustered with how quickly he rambles, but you take his hand and introduce yourself. “Well let me ask you something. Why the hell ain’t you open? It’s the middle of fuckin’ lunch,” he wave his hands all over the place like this is the most atrocious thing. And honestly, in his opinion, it might be. “Uhh well no one’s in here,” you try to explain. He scoffs, “Yeah no shit. Kinda hard for people to get in with the door locked and all.” He did have a point there. You wring your sweaty palms together, trying to fight the utter embarrassment. “Thank you for agreeing to help me, Jimmy - uh Pale. Please tell me what I need to do to fix this.” He leans in real close, jabs a thumb behind him, “Why don’t you unlock the fuckin’ door first?” You chuckle nervously and walk past him. Pale can’t help but glance at your ass as you do, just can’t help himself. And damn. You look just as good from the back as you do from the front. And again, his dick agrees.

With the restaurant officially open, you give Pale a tour. But the condition of the dining room is so deplorable, he doesn’t want to go any further. “Nah doll. I ain’t going in that kitchen. I got half a mind to even let you cook for me,” he throws his hands up in protest. He pulls out the cleanest chair he can find and plops down. Dusting off the tiny table in front of him, he asks, “So what kinda food you serve here?” “I create Mexican Italian fusion dishes,” you respond quickly and proudly. But that pride is short lived, with the way he’s staring at you. “Huh. Fusion. Well I’ll be the judge of that,” he purses his lips as he opens a cloth napkin and sets it in his lap. You take that as your cue to bring out his first course.

“Here we have a baby squid, steamed with lemon and capers,” you say in your best chef’s voice. Steamed? Squid? Pale thinks - knows - what’s sitting in front of him won’t be good. But you’re too fuckin’ pretty for him to flat-out refuse. He wishes he did a bump before coming in this place. By the way he has to stab the fish with his fork, he instantly knows it’s not cooked. “Look, I ain’t eating this. This squid is so raw, I can hear it telling Spongebob to fuck off.” Hot tears prick at your eyes. And he can see it. “No. Come on now. Don’t start that shit. Just - just bring me the next course,” he dismisses you.

You set two overly stuffed enchiladas in front of Pale. They look better than the squid, but his hopes aren’t too high. When he finally musters up the courage to take a bite, he wants to spit it out right away. “These are the worst fuckin’ enchiladas I’ve ever had,” he throws down his fork. You go to remove the plate, but he grabs your wrist and pulls you to his eye level. “Look doll. I know I said I didn’t want to go into that fuckin’ kitchen, but you’re going to take me back there. Right now. Show me with the fuck you got going on.” The way his breath blows over your face and his eyes bore into you, you can’t refuse. “Oh-okay,” you stutter.

As you walk to the kitchen, Pale follows, and you can feel his gaze locked on you. And he is truly mesmerized by the way your hips swing. As soon as he crosses the threshold, he demands any and every other employee leave. “Go clean something. And don’t come back in her til’ I say so. Got it?” All life - including the cockroaches - scatters. Except for you. And him. He stalks over to you liek a wild animal. And you’re his prey. Your ass back up against the metal counter, where he cages you between his strong arms. “How’s this sweetheart. Your restaurant is disgusting, your food is even worse. This place ain’t gonna stay open another month. But you? You’re the best damn thing I’ve seen this side of the Hudson.” He steps in even closer, pressing his hot hot body to yours. “Pale, I-” your eyes drop between your bodies. You can feel the bulge in his pants, insistent on your stomach. Before you can choke out another word, his fingers are digging into your soft hips. In one swift instant motion, he lifts you to sit atop the cold counter and mashing his mouth to yours. Demanding. Hungry. You part your lips for him without protest, let his tongue slide against yours. Your fingers comb and twist into his slicked back hair. He moans and thrusts into you when your nails scratch at his scalp. A sudden burst of confidence implores your hands to move to work at undoing his jeans. But he swats you away, pinches your cheeks between his forefinger and thumb. “Nuh uh doll. You’re not ready for my big cock yet.” When you nod in agreement, he releases your face and finds your own waistband, yanking down your pants and panties at once. With those around your ankles, he spreads you open and admires your glistening cunt. “God. Are you always this wet for every Joe Blow that walks in this joint?” You can feel your face heat up at the comment, but Pale ain’t paying not attention. He’s too busy dropping to his knees and wedging himself between yours. And he wastes no time diving in. You gasp and hiccup at the sudden contact. He licks and sucks at your silky folds, drinking down everything you give him. Occasionally, his proud nose nudges your stiff clit, sending shockwaves down your spine. He grunts and pulls away with a wet pop, “Finally something edible. Finally some good fucking pussy.” Fuck he really wishes he had some coke or a cigarette or a drink, something. He’s already too worked up and he doesn’t want to wait anymore.

So he doesn’t.

Pale stands back to his full, towering height and makes quick work of his belt. He uses one hand to free himself, while he coats two fingers on the other in your slick. “Are you ready to take my big cock sweetheart?” he asks before shoving his thick digits deep into you. You inhale sharply and groan at the intrusion. “Yes Pale. Please.” He shakes his head, his dick now in his hand, where he strokes it slowly. “Nah doll. I want to hear you say it.” It takes every last brain cell not focused on the sensation of his burning hand pumping into you to find the words. “Yes - ah fuck - yes. Please fuck me. I’m ready to take your big cock.” Before you even finish your sentence, he’s lining up and thrusting into you. Hard. Deep. Your head falls back and knocks the steel service pass at the same time his cock head knocks your cervix. “Fuck. Fuck me. I like the way you beg sweetheart.” As he sets his brutal pace, the only sounds you can return are moans and whimpers and gasps. Your sounds of pleasure mix with his grunts and groans and curses and the delicious sound of bare skin smacking on bare skin. The symphony you create together bounces off pots pans plaster walls. “Fuckin’. This tight little pussy is gonna make me bust. Mmnh - fuck. Play with yourself doll. Make yourself cum. Make yourself fuckin’ cum on my cock.” You think you nod your head, but you’re not really sure. Either way, you brace your weight on one hand and use the other to draw perfect tight circles into your needy clit. The extra stimulation, added to Pales’ filthy words and steady driving driving into you, pushes you right over the edge. “Unnhh Pale. I- I’m gonna cu- I’m gonna-” “Yeah. That’s right. Cum on my cock. Cum on my cock in your dirty kitchen. Add to the mess. I’m gonna fuckin’ add to the mess. I’m gonna cum all over you. Fuck it’s disgusting in here,” he babbles and rants. You don’t even care that he’s continuing to insult your restaurant, even when he’s balls deep in you. You don’t even care because you can feel your cunt tightening around him and that ball of fire tightening around your insides. He fucks into one, two, three times more and everything explodes. You lurch forward, eyes pinched tight, cum with a shout. He follows right behind, pulling out of your still convulsing cunt, fucking his fist fast. Shooting sticky thick streams of cum onto one of your thighs, your exposed belly, and the counter. As he groans through the end of his climax, he smacks your undefiled thigh and grunts, “Shut it down doll.”

And you do.

You never enter another kitchen. Never cook another meal.

And never hear from Jimmy - Pale - again.

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

Tagging a couple other pals who expressed interest for some reason lol @direnightshade​ @poetic-solo​ @blackredrose27​ @find-me-with-orion​

[hi-im-dazey]

My first thoughts on 15x17

Behind the cut for head-canon and spoiler avoidance for them that wants ‘em

Chuck was writing versions. Each version had a different twist to set them on the path to Chuck's ending.

So what was the twist for this Sam-n-Dean that made them able to defy the narrative? Where was the moment that Chuck "screwed" his story and made actual free will?

I'll tell you what I think.

I think Chuck accidentally made one human with free will.

Only one.

Sam Fucking Winchester.

Sam can see and understand exactly what's going on. AND he is coming to realize that he is outside of Chuck’s control.

He knows Dean is being manipulated. Dean is clearly aware of it too, but he doesn't seem able to stop it. So what's the difference?

Sam told us, he told Dean, he told everyone, throughout the show, for 15 years,

‘It’s not who you are; it’s what you do.’

And because of this understanding, he relies on one particular trait of Dean's.

Dean will do literally anything to protect Sam. It's not always the right thing (he doesn't “always like it”) but in the end Sam knows and has always known the magic spell to trigger this trait in Dean. (call it “puppy dog eyes” if you want, but someone having blind trust in you, no matter what, is a helluva drug. Dean is addicted to it.)

But how come? Where did Chuck make his fatal error? What was the twist this time? The one that broke, not only the plot line Chuck wanted, but the character of Sam, as well. Making Sam incapable of following the narrative laid out before him.

I think the moment where Chuck made his mistake was the moment he had John hand the baby to the four-year-old. There’s a reason that’s the scene that kicks this all off.

A moment of extreme trauma and dire importance, literally burnt into Dean's brain.

Setting up this trait in Dean enabled Sam to truly push through any obstacle Chuck's story presented, because he knew Dean had his back when push came to shove.

Nothing bad was ever going to happen to him as long as Dean was around.

It's the song he grew up listening to.

"But," you say, "Everything that ever happened to Sam was quantifiable as ‘bad’!" (the joke of the only stroke of luck Sam Winchester ever had was that coffee cup landing on its ass is sad, but true)

Yes, and don't you think he has noticed that?

He’s given considerable thought to the fact he has survived this long with that much crap, against all odds, largely because of Dean. Anyone else would have been dead the first time and it would have stuck. Yet here he is. This has only reinforced the fact that Dean will try to do anything to save him. Not only will he try to do, he will succeed.

Without Dean he may have died at six months, or any time between then and now. It’s an important revelation when Dean tells Sam about carrying him out of the fire in season 1, Sam did not know that before then, but it makes Dean’s entire character snap into focus for him.

Sam has seen the pattern, he sees the hand of Chuck in their lives. He tries to break them out of the pattern over and over again.

Even before he fully understood what was happening and that it could be broken out of. Or that this was what he was doing. Before he was consciously breaking free, he still broke out of the plot.

Dean sees it too, he's not dumb.

But Dean's life did not belong to anyone, not the way Sam's has always been his responsibility. He only has Sam to help him break out of the hamster wheel, and I think they are just now seeing that.

I think Sam understands now, that for some reason, he is free and can refuse to do what is laid out before him. And, indeed, that he has been refusing his entire life.

He also understands that Dean can break out of the pattern too, but he needs Sam to help him.

Sam is the snapped fingers in the corner of Dean’s eye.

Sam is the trance breaker for Dean.

Sam is that moment of real panic that flooded his system when the house was burning and Sam’s life was in his hands.

That moment, that plot twist, is what broke Chuck’s story.

I’ve said before that the reason Chuck is afraid of Jack is that Jack was not written by Chuck, Jack is what the characters in the story wrote when Chuck left them alone (to go off and play with Amara), and in Unity Chuck admits there were things he “didn’t write”

So someone else must be writing things. When did that start, though? At what point did Chuck lose control of the authorship and accidentally allow another author into his sandbox?

Maybe when John Winchester handed a baby to a four-year-old. Maybe the reason Sam has free will is because he is also capable of writing in Chuck’s world. Or maybe he is capable of writing in Chuck’s world because he has free will.

What we saw in Unity  was Chuck forcing his will on Dean to get to his poetic, tragic ending. He squeezed all of Dean’s rage up to the surface, and added more, he gave him an order direct to his nerve ending, squeezing his ink through Dean’s veins... “This time, fire that gun, boy!” Daddy’s blunt little instrument fed on rage and frustration and anger at being thwarted and impotence at being led on a string...

And Sam, again, snapped his fingers in the corner of Dean’s rage and broke him out. I think we saw Sam beginning to realize that he has the upper hand here.

And I don’t think Chuck has realized that Sam himself is, in fact, the issue.. yet.

Not the bullet hole, or Sam’s hope, or the demon blood, or the latent powers or missed destiny.

Sam’s existence and being are the issue. What Sam DOES, not who he is or was meant to be. Sam’s actual free will is the problem for Chuck. (and take a moment here to remember that almost every crisis Chuck wrote for Sam involved removing Sam’s agency and autonomy.)

He thinks they are all refusing to toe the line, I don’t think he understands that Sam is the one editing his book yet.

And what about Castiel? Well, the moment he shook hands with Sam, he was broken. His chassis may have come off the assembly line cracked, and Naomi may have patched him up time and again, but the second he shook hands with Sam, he was irredeemable for Chuck’s narrative.

Chuck inserts himself in to the story as the prophet, maybe to check in and see what’s going wrong? Figures out that Cass is broken (again?) and takes steps to make an opportunity to “remake” Cass. Then again, once back in Sam’s orbit, Cass is again, broken... there is something that cracks apart for Cass when he interacts with Sam.

This is not a shippy thing, btw. It’s being confronted with a creature that has actual free will... Cass is not equipped to handle that. He left the angel factory without that blind faith setting. He can ‘see’; and he ‘sees’ Sam. Every interaction with Sam shows him what is wrong with the rest of the story.

And again, Chuck rebuilds Cass, and this time traps him in a story where Cass himself is the villain. And Cass was a great villain, that was a good story, no matter how you feel about Cass or Misha, season 6 was a good story.

When Cass returns again, in season 7, hyperbole is gone now, he literally BREAKS himself upon touching Sam. There is no metaphor here, he takes on Sam’s brokenness, with a touch.

(”you’re broken [...]broken toys? You throw them away...”)

The only way Chuck could possibly hope to keep Castiel from being broken is if he can keep him away from Sam.

But Chuck hasn’t realized this yet. He tries to write a narrative that Naomi is “tuning him up as he transgresses” as she has in the past? or as she has in other worlds?

Is Dean what really breaks him free of Naomi?

No, touching the Angel Tablet does it... and again, this is just Chuck, writing his way to his preferred ending. The Narrative Cycle begins again because the Angel Tablet ‘resets’ Cass. This plot point starts us on yet another iteration of the “remove Sam’s agency so one of the brothers sacrifices either himself or the other” cycle.

~~~

Looping back again to the fifth season...

When Chuck says “endings are hard” in Swan Song he’s not talking about writing that ending. That ending was good, it was solid, it closed out the story on a note of melancholy hopefulness, Sam was gone, and the apocalypse averted. It wasn’t happy but it was complete.

That ending wasn’t hard to write.

It was hard for Chuck to read.

Because that wasn’t what he was trying to write, Sam took over his narrative. Sam refused to kill Dean, Sam refused to kill Adam, Sam refused to kill Michael or allow Michael to kill Lucifer, or allow Lucifer to kill either of Sam’s brothers or his own brother.

Sam effectively cock blocked Chuck’s little ‘fratricide 21-ways served in a light creamed-angel sauce with a side order of fried surrogate dad’ all you can eat and there’s dancing after banquet finale.

Cass comes back, almost immediately, because Chuck needs to re-boot the cycle. Because Sam screwed it up for him, again. (Maybe if Chuck takes Sam’s soul out of the equation... he can get some traction on his plan, this time.)

Sam Fucking Winchester is simultaneously Chuck Shurley’s hero, voice, protagonist, and muse.

He’s also Chuck’s biggest problem.

Sam Fucking Winchester is the corner Chuck has written himself into.

~~~

Now this is all just spit balling head-canon, and probably nowhere near where the writers are actually going, but it woke me up early and took over my brain and prevented me from doing my homework (which is also writing, to be honest) until I got it all out of my system.

~~~

Inserting standard disclaimer: (C-A-S-S is how they spell it on the show, and more importantly, it makes screen-reading software for the visually impaired pronounce it correctly; as opposed to C-A-S which makes screen-readers say “Kah.”)

[deathandrenegades]

Death’s 1000k Writing Challenge!

Hello, hello, recently I’ve hit 1000 followers and since most of us are sitting in quarantine with not much to do, I thought a writing challenge would be very fitting. It’s gonna be on my blog and I’ll put it in my masterlist too so hopefully everyone will be able to find it whether they’re on iOS or PC. So firstly, let’s talk rules and guidelines: 1. This is a Marvel or Supernatural writing challenge, but if you direly feel the need to write for a different character just give me a heads up. 2. Smut is welcomed but no wincest pretty please. 3. 500 words minimum, please use the “keep reading” cut. 4. You don’t HAVE to follow me, but it would be nice, and feel free to signal boost to spread the word. 5. Inbox me with your prompt and pairing, limit to one (1) prompt per person, and with your blog it will be published to. Any comments/reblogs will not be taken into consideration for prompt requests. 6. Make sure to tag me in your post, use the hashtag #Deaths1000kchallenge and bold or italicize your prompt so I can find it. 7. Deadline: June 10th, 2020. If you need an extension, shoot me a message!

PROMPTS (23/25 remaining):

1. What if I said I didn’t want to die yet? That I wasn’t ready?

2. Tear around, jam the key in the ignition, and haul ass till I ran out of gas.

3. Decide to be fine until the end of the week. Make yourself smile, because you’re alive and that’s your job.

4. But when you shut out pain, you shut out everything else too.

5. Perhaps I’ve been down here with them for too long.

6. Purgatory has an escape hatch, but I got no idea if it’s angel-friendly.

7. We ganked those bitches once before. We can do it again.

8. Having fun won’t help me. It’ll help both of us. Shall we?

9. We are a family. I’d do anything for you. But things will never be the way they were before.

10. Why is it my job to save these people? Why do I have to be some kind of hero.  @fichoe21 (Steve x reader)

11. Dude, you were hallucinating sheep on the road.

12. We’re stronger together than apart.

13. Must be hard, with your sense of direction. Never being able to find your way to a decent pick-up-line. @ultramarvelslug (Sam Wilson x reader)

14. If you’re gonna to make an omelet, sometimes you have to break some spines.

15. No, it won’t be so bad, as long as we… I take it back. This will be very annoying.

16. You sold your soul?! Sold it?! For an extra three inches of willy?!

17. You’re changing the world, and I want to be a part of it.

18. I know it’s hard to believe, but I haven’t always been this cute and cuddly.

19. All that matters now, all that’s ever mattered, is that we’re together. So shut up, and drink your beer.

20. You betrayed me? No one in the history of torture’s been tortured with torture like the torture you’ll be tortured with.

21. Always knew I’d find the source of all evil at a vegan bakery.

22. Who do I have to kill to get some French fries around here?

23. I so miss being an atheist.

24. Snapping necks and cashing checks, it’s what i do.

25. This universe can be so many things, and sometimes it is poetic.

Thank you all to anyone participating, I’m very excited to read everyones work and I pray to GOD for some good smut in here.

[thepilgrimofwar]

The Funeral - Edited Roll20 Log

[Backdated to after Retrieval and Purgatory. Before Right of Blood.]

[Event Start]

Guests began to arrive at The Emberheart manor, a structure that seemed more akin to a fortress than family household. Arrowslit windows lit the rooms and hills with the colours of early summer sunlight, illuminating the courtyard where Sederis’ body lay still.

“Thank you for coming,” calls a voice from the shrine. It belongs to an adolescent, bearing the weight of his title upon his shoulders. “It means the world to us that you came today.”

“I’m sure it’d have meant a lot to my brother, if he could see his friends, family, brothers and sisters in arms gathered here today.” Solendis speaks up, arms folded with a solemn smile. The resemblance to Sederis was there, save the short cropped hair that he wore.

Behind him was the man’s body, just as Dame Everleigh had returned him. It was speculated that she knew that returning her worthy adversary would likely lead to his resurrection. But try as they might, the former Lord of the Emberglades had refused to return. It was as if his soul had faded away into oblivion, not a trace of it to be found. So through winter and summer storms he watched over the Manor. Protecting them as the Phoenix Wars drew to a close and milder weather returned with the restoration of the Sunwell.

Today marked a year since his death. Long enough to be sure that bringing him back was an impossibility. Symbolic enough for his family to finally move on from his absence.

Solendis “Refreshments are in the covered area. Reason tells me that the dead can’t hear, but I’ve seen enough to know that some things in this world are beyond reason. So, if you do have anything to say you may say your peace before the ceremony starts proper.”

Thanidiel seems to acknowledge Esheyn and Ellasha by the weight of her stare - something that slowly rotates away like a golem as the voices of Emberheart break over the courtyard.

Esheyn feels the intensity of that gaze upon her- familiar despite the time that had passed since she was last in her friend's presence. And so she nods to Thanidiel in return, but otherwise remains silent.

Ellasha scans the premises with a solemn expression on her face. She dips her head slightly as she meets familiar sets of eyes, and raises a hand to brush lightly against Telchis' upper arm as she turns toward Sederis' resting place.

Telchis looks onto the still body of Sederis with a forlorn expression. It was only at the corner of his eye did he spy Lirelle. Why was she blessed to return onto life and Sederis was not. Sighing heavily he accepted the silence as a endearment of respect.

Oosaarn was near as motionless as a stature. The head of that large axe planted in the ground with his hand on the pommel. There was but a flicker in those icy blue eyes to indicate they were moving. The orc then grunted and spoke. "He earned his warrior's death. Nothing more need be said."

Lirelle closes her eyes for a second longer than she needed to not at all. Eventually she unsticks herself from her very nice spot near the pillar to move -slightly- closer.

Sakialyn stood with a solemn expression. Eyes drifted over those gathered whom were recognized,giving a short, silent nod of acknowledgement. As she looked upon the body of what had been one of her finest soldiers, her expression offered no change, though there was a twinge of sadness within her that would not be expressed.

Ellasha speaks up at last, breaking the silence. "His life was given that we yet may stand. His was a warrior's end, befitting of every honor."

"He did have a flavour for poeticism." Thanidel says with a bit of a pause, then she delivers the 'punchline,' "That little of us have."

Thanidiel's attention ceases to lock onto the preserved body and its weapon, raising up now to Lirelle. A dip to an already entrenched brow is there - perhaps some measure of frustration for the cognisance that she was the one of the three to leave the field genuinely.

Lirelle acknowledges the gazes that light upon her, but she stays silent where she was. Near everyone was in the same boat, retired war dogs, some aimless, some starting new. At least here, once more, she was surrounded by friends, both his and hers.

[Ceremony Starts]

Solendis “Please gather round,” Solendis ushered everyone’s focus back to the shrine and with folded arms he began the ceremony in earnest.

Vaelrin refuses to get any closer, if anything, prowls well around the longest route away from Lirelle towards the alcohol table as everyone treads into the central garden...

Telchis reaches out and places a hand on Ellasha, watching the ceremony take place. He was in a somber mood, shaking off the memories of the Phoenix Wars. Memories that flooded his mind and stilled his tongue.

“Sederis was…” Soldenis began, his voice cracking slightly. “Troublesome. Always trying to do too much with what little he had. But if there’s one thing to say about him, it was that he was a man of action. A man of his word. He tried to do right, when he could. And when he couldn’t, he did what he thought was best. His sacrifice was the only reason why the Emberglades was safe. Maiming the Alliance forces so direly it forced them on the defensive. In his own way, he was a loving brother. A loyal friend. And a true soldier.” He bowed his head and looked to the next speaker. Glancing briefly at Lirelle who seemed to fidget. Not knowing of the sensation the seemed to nudge her forward.

Lirelle has no point clearing her throat, but she mimes the motions anyway, one hand resting on her chest like she just swallowed something strange. "Sederis is- -was-. a good man, and idio-"

Yells seemed to stop the woman in mid-speech. Then as silence filled the courtyard, a sudden blast of wind howled through the manor walls followed by a deafening explosion. Then another. And another. Solendis gathered his family close, huddling them to the altar as Emberheart Houseguards drew their weapons. Smoke began to fill the building.

Solendis “An attack?!” He looked to the guests. “What’s there to be gained from attacking a funeral?” He ran to gather is family, keeping them together.

Telchis felt the blast sound through the halls. His ears flattened as he ducked. "Who dares distur- DRAW SWRODS!" He yelled, reaching for his belt and produces a blade of shining steel.

Esheyn reacts with a fluidity that she wouldn't expect after remaining... dormant, so to speak, for so long. She draws her sword with no hesitation, eyes narrowing as she looks to each of her comrades.

Sakialyn's expression hardened, but she did not need to be told twice before drawing her sword and facing the noise. Even in death, Emberheart seemed to find all kinds of trouble. Respectfully.

"Mmm," Thanidiel verbalizes, "Someone needs to guard the child."

Lirelle moves to put herself between the Emberhearts and the source of the noise, looking around for the house guards to protect the family.

Thanidiel strides to loom before Stenden, her hand swiping the phoenix helm hanging from her belt to strap over her visage.

Oosaarn turned towards the door, already hefting that axe over his shoulder. "Took longer than I expected for things to go bad. This group of elves is always good at finding fights."

Vaelrin tosses down the drink that had been raised to his lips, a swear grating out from his throat as the Wraith pulls farther into the courtyard.

Vissehn speaks up. "Oi so this fuckin' sucks, looks like they wanna send him off with a godsdamn promenade."

Thanidiel:"Those words are too big for you."

Vissehn gathers his weapon to him and salutes jauntily at Thanidiel. "Been gettin' me an Emberglades edu-kashun. Now time to repay the favor."

Thanidiel:"Mmm. Good luck 'Fish.'" Awwh, she remembers.

Zarannis lifted her black sword from her back and threw her sheath to the ground. “Doesn’t matter. They came for a funeral. Let’s give them one.”

[Combat Starts]

The first wave of assassins charged through the breech they had made, expecting to find the Emberheart family and a handful of House Guards and not a dozen veterans of the Phoenix Wars. Regardless, they had come for Stenden- The boy Lord of the Emberglades- and would not leave without his head.

But the veterans tear through them, carving them up as they entered the courtyard where Sederis’ body lay. Thanidiel stood her ground by the family, putting herself between Stenden and the other attackers, earning her a nod from Solendis. A nod with a mix of anxiety and thanks- and debts to be repaid.

Sounds of battle are heard outside. Signalling that the local garrisons had answered the call to arms. It wouldn’t be too long before those trapped in the manor would have their fates sealed. This was their last chance for the assassins to complete their mission.

The second wave poured through the gaps in the walls. Bolts and gunfire mark their entrance as they are cut down and bashed back with shields of Sederis’ friends. Though wounds are sustain, not a single member of the veterans fall. Thanidiel receives a bolt on behalf of Stenden, and quickly dispatches its shooter.

[Combat Ends]

As the nearby garrisons respond to the commotion at the manor, their retreat is cut off. The remaining assassins drop their weapons and surrender.

Thanidiel promptly swings her poleaxe into the one closest to the family still as steel clatters onto the stone.

Zarannis, who had taken the battle outside of the manor walls looks at the lone remaining assassin. He looks back at her, fear filling him. "Go back to your Lord. Go back and tell him what happened here to a company of his men. Go tell him that we'll be coming for him soon" She pushes him away with the flat of her blade and strides back into the manor through the breach.

Vissehn:"Well that was a fuckin' useless attack."

Esheyn just sighs quietly, wiping the blood from her blade in one deft movement. "Never a dull moment."

Telchis retracts his sword and wipes the blood away. "Did we take any of these knaves alive?"

Oosaarn:"What about the rest? Could kill them. Could question them THEN kill them. Could also make them fight for the right to live."

Thanidiel:"Second option."

Solendis nods and looks to the guests turned protectors of his family. Then at the remaining assassins. "So. What shall we do with you?"

Oosaarn:"Don't look at me. They're your people. I'm just living here."

Ellasha:"T'would be wise to utilize the chance to find out more about what this attack was and where it came from."

Telchis:"I would rather know who believes it wise to attack a funeral attended by the heroes of Quel'Thalas. Killing them won't give us what we need."

Thanidiel:"Perhaps they were not aware of our presence, Serdar. I arrived without armour or ceremony."

Vissehn:"Get the info, then a clean end is about the fairest they deserve."

Esheyn:"Aye. We should glean what info we can."

Telchis:"It is fair to put them in fetters and hold them to account. Killing your foes will only harden the hearts of the rest of them. I say keep them in a dungeon until we can determine what plan was."

Lirelle sighs. This was supposed to be the last thing she was being -made- to do before she could go. And a certain someone was being silent. We know where they're from, she nudged one of the uniformed corpses with her foot, bringing to attention the family crest they wore. "House Ilithia"

Thanidiel:"Why would you start such a conflict in your own uniforms?"

Oosaarn:"-Is- that their real uniform then?"

Thanidiel:"Exactly."

Relriah looked to the others in the courtyard, steps up to the assassin closest to her. Picks up the weapons he had just dropped and places it to his neck. "Kill them." She says. "Kill them all." She presses the knife hard against the man's throat but doesn't cut. Her hand shudders.

Thanidiel can be seen barely squinting behind her phoenix helm as Relriah postures. A scoff resounds from her as she flips her poleaxe, placing the blunted end of it into the shoulders of the man; pressing him -in- towards Relriah. "If you're going to do it, then fucking do it. Otherwise leave it to others if you are too indecisive for such things."

Relriah Ilithia listens to the Lady of war. Nods. And then, together, they take a life.

The House Guards follow her example, and the assassins who had dared threaten her son were cut down where they stood.

[Event End]

Stenden clears his throat, asserting some measure of authority- For the first time- In a time of fire and blood. "I believe... We're already in a state of war- And if we are not, I will make it so." He walks over, unsteadily towards the dining room.

Solendis follows his son, acting the Steward rather than a father for now as the Lord of the Emberglades gathers himself.

Telchis:"Ellasha, we should pay our respects and go. I fear the road will be dangerous."

Ellasha:"We ought to be kept appraised of the events here. Hostiles at a funeral are poor news for Eversong."

Telchis walks through the garden over to the quiet body of Sederis. Placing a hand upon the man he looked at him with a grim expression. "Goodbye brother. Even in death you showed brilliance in violence."

Telchis turns back to Ellasha and nods. "I will send for a Knight of the Dawnspire to join us then."

Ellasha strides forward to accompany her husband in paying respects. She touches the tomb lightly and murmurs a blessing of peace, warmth emanating from her fingertips.

Vissehn looked over the bodies and then the most important of corpses. He lofted his blade in a salute to Sederis.

Thanidiel Highdawn:"Mmm," reverberates through her frame again as Thanidiel pulls off her phoenix helm. "Crows march here. As do my personal followers, if you would like them to double-time, Lirelle."

Lirelle was halfway to following both the father and the son into the next room, but at the mention of the Crows, she stops. "I would appreciate that Thanidiel, thank you."

"Then word will be sent." She replies.

Meanwhile, Relriah stares at the corpse of the life she just took. And the lives of the others she had ordered to be taken. It was within her right of course. But the emotions it gave her were... Unfamiliar. Pleasant? That she had killed them? Good? Because she protected the lives of the ones she loved? "I thought it'd feel worse. I heard from Sederis that this was what crushed men's souls." She looked to Thanidiel, who now had her helmet off.

Oosaarn snorted. "Don't presume to know war after one fight."

Thanidiel nods towards Oosaarn then directs her attention to the wife that had been full of fury a second ago. "You are seeking assurance from the wrong person," she delivers frankly. "I have never regretted a kill."

Relriah nods at the two of them. The orc. The lady. Then looks once more at the crumpled man at her feet. "Neither do I."

Oosaarn:"Consider yourselves lucky if you never do."

She drops the knife, "I'm not sure what that says of me."

Thanidiel:"That you are Sin'dorei."

[a-third-attempt]

Raising Bell (pt. 1)

 * * *

Defamation, Libel. 8 cts: First Presbyterian, Chittenden County &c. (see Appendix C)

 * * *

“We’ve got her”, I said.

“Jason. I’ve told you a million times not to barge in here after— Who?”

The boss’s desk is big, but he makes it look small. Tall and fat, he always wears a dark brown coat that somehow makes him an even more imposing presence. You'd never catch him during working hours without a cigar in his mouth, and even then you’d never catch him for more than a couple seconds at a time. He wasn't the easiest guy to get along with, but the only reason this operation was still in the black was because that man worked around the clock to make it go. At the moment he was busy with paperwork, a task that he never started until 7:00 at the earliest, because “the real work goes on when the sun is up, kid!”

“Dorothy,” I said.

“Dorothy McAdams?”

“Dorothy McAdams.”

His eyebrows raise and he offers a breathless “Dorothy McAdams...” in reply. “How the hell did you manage that?”

“She came to town because of her brother, and the word on the street is that she’s sticking around for a year or two. Besides that,” I smile broadly, “I suppose it’s just to your credit for hiring such a charming talent agent, that got her to call you back before St. Anthony.”

He grunts. That was a little too showy for any other day, but with Dorothy in my pocket he’d damn well better cut me some slack.

“How much did it cost me?”

“Well, sir...”

“Snap it out Jason, I haven’t got all night.”

“Sorry, sir. Salary isn’t worth writing home about, double what the other four-in-handers get. And no signing bonus, just a condition.” I pause. He removes the cigar from his mouth and waves it in a circle, annoyed that I'm talking so slow. “We have to take on a kid named Timothy Courtson.”

“Who the hell is Timothy Courtson?”

“Does it matter?” I say, confidently.

“It might,” he snaps back. I guess he's right. Could be an arsonist, he always says. That sure would be bad for business, you know. I glance down at the file in my hand, and swallow hard.

“It doesn’t.”

“He any good?”

I’m sure the millisecond of silence was answer enough, but I answered him. “He can play C and D4.”

He puts the cigar back in his mouth and smirks. “So, no.”

“Positively dire, sir. But it’s no bonus with the kid; 2.5 without.” A second of silence is all it takes to get the words spilling out of my mouth. I spent too much money on her and if I lost the cash back… “Look, we just double up Karen and shift down the bass. The kid can sound like a dying cat and nobody’s going to know the difference down there. Garrett can teach him to mart properly and he’ll get the rest in the extra lessons from Tanya.”

He waves away my explanation. “Yeah, yeah, Jason. You made the right call. Good work.”

I bow my head, and take the opportunity to collect myself, knowing that the goodwill won’t last long. “There— sorry, there’s another thing. Louis told me to give you this.”

I hold the file out to him, and he recoils. “Does it look like I've got the time to read this thing?”

“Please, boss. It's important.”

He snatches the file in one hand, and with the other he grabs a pair of comically undersized glasses. Plopping them on his nose, he opens it and starts reading. It takes about three seconds for the color to drain from his face and his mouth to twist into a bitter scowl.

“What the SAM HELL is this, Jason?” I shrug. Could have been worse, if we're being honest.

“Just a list of notes that Louis kept when he had her, and everything he could find about her past behavior.”

He starts to shout at me again, but thinks better of it and rubs his temples. “Jesus Christ.”

“Language.” It’s instinct, but I know it’s a bad idea from the instant the word comes out of my mouth.

“Jesus Christ have mercy on this woman’s soul,” he snaps back. “But judging by this rap sheet, there’s not much chance of that.”

“She’s a genius. Every genius has some quirks.”

“Hell with quirks, Jason. This is a problem.”

The words hang silently in the smokey air of his office. He tosses the folder to the side and turns away from me, looking out the window at the view of nothing, just a few yellow streetlamps and the broad side of the next concrete building.

“You still want her, though, right?”

He’s quiet, still facing away from me, but there’s no hesitation. “Yes.”

“We’ll just have to keep a tighter leash than Louis did.”

“Take your good-for-nothing file and get out of here,” he grunts softly, and I oblige. As frightening as Boss can be when he’s a swirling rage, I know he’s much scarier when he gets that quiet.

 * * *

A/N: As usual, you can see the entire writing process below the break.

==========

==========

Second Draft

See savefile-1 for suggested edits. I don’t think we need to do a full rewrite of this, but if you get inspired, this would be the draft to do it. I think the original was pretty inspired, though, and it went though a lot of revision with all the retellings.

 * * *

Okay, I’m just going to let this one go through on the second draft. It’s fine and I’m too drunk to do real edits. Maybe if I can stay sober for a whole night I’ll make it work, but fuck Coronavirus, amirite?

==========

First Thoughts

Okay, let’s do the first person thing.

What does Jason notice in their narration? They notice Boss, first and foremost. Boss is tempermental and demanding, so this is a survival mechanism. And with such sensitive information that he’s bringing, he needs to be hypervigilant. 

What does he miss? Emotions, for anyone except Boss— and even then, only as they’re written in his face and serve as tells toward his behavior in the immediate future, or things that he does(n’t) want to hear.

Also, it’s not that he misses it, but he’s not going to wax too poetic about the office; he works there, and he works long hours too.

From all these outbursts, especially with Boss— forgivable because of the situation, but not ideal— we can tell that Jason doesn’t have much impulse control. Even though I don’t like the ‘not even for’ line, this characterization might not quite come through without it. Play around.

Dropping the F bomb feels just a little off. It's not about the “Language” outbust (that's part of what makes the joke); it's just that Boss is someone who commands enough respect that they don’t have to lash out to get what they want. And yes, this McAdams’ rap sheet is pretty wild but it just seems like he would say it a tad more eloquently.

You should probably, at some point, actually draft this rap sheet. For the extended version I can easily see each chapter starting with an item from the sheet, when the chapter is about shenanigans in that regard.

If we’re going to call this Chap 1 instead of Prologue, I could easily see the line item here being:

Defamation, Libel. 8 cts: First Presbyterian, Chittenden County &c. (see Appendix C)

I mean obviously I’m making this citation style up wholesale, which is okay because the real citations are in the appendix, duhhhhh. Also obviously I don’t need it to be Chittenden County, Vermont; but wherever it is, is presumably where Louis runs his empire.

==========

First Draft (written over multiple sessions)

“We’ve got her”, I said.

“Jason I’ve told you a million times not to barge in here with— Who?”

[Exposition]

“Dorothy,” I said.

“Dorothy McAdams?”

“Dorothy McAdams.”

His eyebrows raise and he offers a breathless “Dorothy McAdams...” in reply. He looks up at nothing in particular, visions of fame and fortune surely filling his head. “How the hell did you manage that?”

“She came to town because of her brother, and the word on the street is that she’s sticking around for a year or two. Besides that,” I smile broadly, “I suppose it’s just to your credit for hiring such a charming talent agent, that got her to call you back before St. Anthony.”

He grunts. That was a little too showy for any other day, but with Dorothy in my pocket he’d damn well better cut me some slack.

“How much did it cost me?”

“Well, sir...”

“Snap it out Jason, I haven’t got all night.”

“Not even for Dorothy McAdams?” Probably shouldn’t have said that; my wit got the better of me. He glares.

“No.”

“Sorry, sir. Salary isn’t worth writing home about, double what the other 4-in-handers get. And no signing bonus, just a condition.” I pause. He removes the cigar from his mouth with his hand, that he then waves in a circle, annoyed at my slowness. “We have to take on a kid named Timothy Courtson.”

“Who the hell is Timothy Courtson?”

“Does it matter?” I say, knowingly.

“It might,” he snaps back. I guess he’s right. He always is.

“It doesn’t.”

“He any good?”

I’m sure the millisecond of silence was answer enough, but he’s clearly not in the mood for games. “He can play C and D4.”

He puts the cigar back in his mouth and smirks. “So, no.”

“Positively dire, sir. But it’s either 0 bucks with the kid, or 2.5 without.” He doesn’t answer, and my words start spilling out. “Look, we just double up Karen and shift down the bass. The kid can sound like a cat on meth and nobody’s going to know the difference down there. Garrett can teach him to mart properly and he’ll get the rest in the extra lessons from Tanya.”

He waves away my explanation. “Yeah, yeah, Jason. You made the right call. Good work.”

I swallow, knowing that the goodwill won’t last long. “There—there’s another thing. Louis told me to give you this.”

I pass over the file. He grabs a pair of comically undersized glasses, glaring sarcastically at me. Putting them on, he opens it and starts reading. It takes about three seconds for the color to drain from his face and his mouth to twist into a bitter scowl.

“What the SAM HELL is this, Jason?”

“Just a list of notes that Louis kept when he had her, and everything he could find about her past behavior.”

He starts to shout at me again, but thinks better of it and rubs his temples. “Jesus Christ.”

“Language.” It’s instinct, but I know it’s a bad idea from the instant I say it.

“Jesus Christ have mercy on this woman’s soul,” he snaps back. “But judging by this rap sheet, there’s not much chance of that.”

“She’s a genius. Every genius has some quirks.”

“These aren’t some fucking quirks, Jason.”

The words hang silently in the smokey air of his office. He tosses the folder to the side and turns away from me, looking out the window at the view of nothing, just a few yellow streetlamps and the broad side of the next concrete building. I look at him. He doesn’t move.

“You still want her, though, right?”

He’s quiet, but there’s no hesitation. “Yes.”

“We’ll just have to keep a tighter leash than Louis did.”

“Get the hell out of here,” he grunts softly, and I oblige. As frightening as Boss can be when he’s a swirling rage, I know he’s much scarier when he gets that quiet.

==========

Who needs Brainstorming or Freewriting?

What actually is happening here is that I wrote this almost four months ago so the writing process looks a lot different than I’m trying to do now. But I really wanted to get this polished up a bit, so I committed to posting it soon.

[tothedarkdarkseas]

Hi hi! We’re all desperate for something to post about so I’m issuing a new challenge to the writers in the fandom, if you dare: rank your fics from best to worst. Not necessarily just to focus on negatives, you can take your own approach! But IMO, we grow by acknowledging our weaknesses.

I haven’t read any back recently but these are the impressions in my ol’ noggin:

Ampersands - This is due to the fact that it’s the most recent, so I haven’t had as much time to start really hating it. I also hated it so much while writing it that I felt a little more pleasantly surprised by the finished version? Pretty okay in my memory, scared to read again to confirm. Some clunkier sections for sure, not broadly appealing and took far too long, but kind of funny and probably the least bad I’ve got to offer. Like a solid 7/10, I don’t think I’ve peaked higher than that.

On Oysters and Black Water - Used to be my favorite, I wish I could say I still like it more than I do. I do enjoy the ideas and enjoy some imagery, and I stand by giving Stu more (outraged!) autonomy on Plastic Beach, but the dialogue’s rough in spots and it’s overwritten. Even in a setting where I should be able to avoid accidental Americanisms among the Brits, I do still manage to fuck that up, so well done. Mostly saved because I do think it’s at least a unique Plastic Beach take.

Coffin Dancer - Not necessarily better in quality than the fics after, but it was the first bigger project and only real “AU” I’ve written, and I do have some lingering fondness even though it’s actually kinda face-scrunching to read back. Why is there so much detail about digging? Why is Sebastian fallen-money? The Niccals family are plot devices. Very unnatural dialogue. The gothic setting slightly disguises my overwriting, so that’s sneaky and beneficial. Not really a very compelling characterization of Murdoc, I’d write him a little nastier or meaner this time. Even in an AU, “selfless” feels like a totally wrong character trait for him.

Midnight Coward - Lower half of the barrel from here on. I don’t really rate this or November better/worse than each other, these spots are interchangeable. I feel like this might even be worse because it’s older, but it felt better received at the time? There’s at least one line that I remember liking about Stu’s hands, but otherwise very awkward, and some real clunkers of dialogue in this.

November Hasn’t Come - About the same as Midnight Coward, but I think more forgettable. Ideas that seemed unique when I started but were pretty poorly executed. No real standout descriptions, and a few that stand out in a bad way. Pretty "oof” dialogue. Above all it just doesn’t... seem to breathe as a story, but we needed erectile dysfunction fic. (Did we really though?)

Same Old Cadillac - Hitting the bottom of the barrel. This probably should be lower, but it was written in two days for 2Doc Week so I kinda want to cut it some slack. It was fun to participate, but I do not think this drabble holds up or is worth reading now after that challenge week. It’s at least mercifully short! As is obvious, I didn’t know what the Cotswolds really were besides quaint. I think this feels like a stupid suggestion coming from either of them now. I thought if I wrote something more tender it would be better received, but I suspect people could tell I’m not gifted in that department, I think this was recognized as pretty dire right away. I lost a subscriber after posting this on AO3 and I don’t blame them. (Also clearly knocking off the concept of Margate in Yearz but without the extra layers, thankfully wasn’t bold enough to actually try and write them in this location. Nothing is shakier than me trying to write English things... this ship was a mistake.)

Berries, Unripe - This is actually kind of unreadable. Probably the most overwritten, and all of my fics are already competing for that title. Dialogue’s unnatural, bad references to Coleridge because I was still trying to convince people I was smart, awkward breaching of the main topic. Just... there’s nothing else to say for it, it’s clunky and overwrought. I remember being so proud of this at the time, and now I feel guilty that this was a present! I really appreciate that anon being so nice about it. If you’re still out there anon, I will write something else for you.

I Couldn’t Feel, So I Would Touch - Baby’s first 2Doc and the first fic I’d written in like 7 years, and it shows. This is my most viewed and it is also easily the worst. There is nothing salvageable in this. I don’t just think it’s my worst, I think it’s really bad on any objective scale. Take a final shot for this descriptor because it’s Clunky(tm) and faux-poetic, the POV changes halfway through, I don’t have a good handle on the characters so the attempts to be thoughtful fail miserably. In complete honesty I would delete it if I wasn’t a greedy little piglet who would be sad to see my AO3 stats drop. :(

I don’t say all that just to be negative! I just, err... well, I guess I do tend to focus on the negatives, haha. But I’ve only been writing again since July 2018 and I think I’ve improved a lot in that time, I do think looking at the material shows that practice does equal improvement-- so most of it being sorta garbage means if I keep going, I’ll keep improving. I don’t think I’m really at “good” yet, but I’m at “better.” That’s really all we can be, because the milestone for “good” will simply keep moving. Right, anyway, there’s my long post talking about myself, please do this as well if you’ve got like 3+ fics to rank, I’d like to know what you make of your work, which ones you still like best or which you’d rewrite!

[jahaanofmenaphos]

Art by the awesome @tommieglenn!

Of Gods and Men Summary:

When the gods returned to Gielinor, their minds were only on one thing: the Stone of Jas, a powerful elder artefact in the hands of Sliske, a devious Mahjarrat who stole it for his own ends and entertainment. He claims to want to incite another god wars, but are his ulterior motives more sinister than that? And can the World Guardian, Jahaan, escape from under Sliske’s shadow?

Read the full work here:

ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN

FANFICTION.NET

TUMBLR CHAPTER INDEX

QUEST 08: MARK OF ZEMOUREGAL

QUEST SUMMARY:

Because of Jahaan’s betrayal of Zamorak during their heist of the Stone of Jas, Zemouregal takes the matter of revenge into his own hands. When Jahaan looks to get even, he enlists the help of his Mahjarrat allies to take the fight to Zemouregal…

CHAPTER 5: UNAVOIDABLE CONFLICT

Jahaan landed back at the temple delicately, thanks to Wahisietel basically carrying him during the teleport. Removing his armour, Jahaan sat back against the oak frame of his bed’s headrest while Azzanadra fetched something to ease the pain. The potion was bitter; sweet with a twinge of burnt apples was the only way he could describe it. Despite that, it served its purpose, helping to numb the aching of his ribs.

“That armour is the only reason you’re still breathing, World Guardian,” Wahisietel noted, motioning to the dented elder rune platebody resting against the wall. “It is somewhat fortunate Zemouregal destroyed your first set, is it not?”

There was a twinge of a smile of the Mahjarrat’s face, and Jahaan caught the meaning. Despite the pain of it, Jahaan couldn't help but laugh at the irony. By trying to kill Jahaan, Zemouregal destroyed his armour. Jahaan’s new set of armour saved his life against Zemouregal.

How bitterly poetic.

Closing his eyes, Jahaan let the drowsy side effects of the potion consume him, mumbling before he fell under, “I’ll buff that out in the morning…”

It wasn’t for quite a few mornings that Jahaan had the upper body strength to even raise his arms above his head, let alone take his armour to an anvil. Damaged ribs were a time-taker to heal - there was nothing he could do to speed up the process, just rest in the quarters of his Mahjarrat ally. As promised, he told Wahisietel of the troubling encounter with Sliske, and in return learned a whole new set of Freneskaen curse words.

But at least in the comfort of the temple, Jahaan felt safe. His mind, however, would never let him rest.

Just like after Lucien’s death, Jahaan expected a miracle that didn’t come to pass. He expected to feel relief, joy, anything. He expected the weight off his chest to be lifted, but the pain was still there, predominantly in the form of a cracked rib.

He didn’t expect to still feel so hollow.

The rage had subsided at least, but that had ebbed away in the battle - a miracle in its own right, for Jahaan couldn’t remember the last time he’d effectively controlled his temper like that. The mental image of the sword slicing into Zemouregal’s throat put Jahaan to sleep every night, but he never slumbered for long, awoken either by the aching of his ribs or one of the many delightful recurring nightmares he’d been suffering from since the fire.

They were all there, friends and enemies alike. Ozan, Zamorak, Icthlarin, Zemouregal, Sir Tiffy, Cyrisus… their corpses cold and decaying, only to be dragged into reanimation by wires on their limbs, twisting and contorting their lifeless bodies against their will. Dancing marionettes, puppets on strings, shuffling to the rhythm of a haunting cackle, a gloved hand, a masked face.

Jahaan knew that voice all too well; he could only watch in horror as the familiar puppeteer orchestrated his plays, the world at his mercy.

After just under a week had passed, Jahaan felt like he’d graduated from bedrest and decided to leave Azzanadra in peace, still feeling bad that the Mahjarrat had acted as host and carer to a broken guest for far too long. Now that he was well enough to travel, albeit with the assistance of a cane, Jahaan wanted to check up on Ozan’s progress in the Wizards’ Tower. In one last favour he asked Azzanadra to teleport him to Draynor. There, Jahaan first utilised the bank to transport his armour to safe storage. His ribs still couldn’t quite take the brunt of any constricting armour, despite how light and nimble the elder rune set was.

Then, it was just a short walk across the bridge to the Wizards’ Tower, somewhere Jahaan was glad to be back at under less dire circumstances than before.

The Wizards’ Tower is a Saradominist institute for magic and runecrafting in Misthalin, housed in an immense structure located on a small island south of Draynor. It is one of the tallest buildings on Gielinor, rivalling the greatest cities’ castles, but coming short of the Tower of Voices in Prifddinas. It is connected to the mainland by an exquisite bridge, and the tower’s elaborate architecture and ornaments make it a beacon of human accomplishment in the Fifth Age. The tower has many facilities, including two libraries, an armillary, a telescope, offices and workrooms. In addition, the tower houses several secrets, such as the teleportation spell to the Rune Essence mine, which Zamorakian organisations such as the Zamorakian Magical Institute were attempting to steal. The Wizards' Tower was also known for having created most spells currently used today, as well as many magical theses and theorems. The tower was run by Archmage Sedridor, a very enthusiastic and bubbly old chap who happily welcomed visitors into the tower and would chat their ears off about its history.

As he searched for a certain textbook on the floating shelves, the archmage saw Jahaan in his peripheral vision, who was being signed in by Valina, the entrance clerk.

“Jahaan, Jahaan come in!” Archmage Sedridor greeted him, ushering him inside. “We were beginning to worry about you, you seemed so frantic last time, son. It was quite troubling.”

“It was a stressful time,” Jahaan replied, an understatement that Archmage Sedridor accepted with a deepening frown.

“Yes, yes poor Ozan… we’ve done all we can for him, I assure you. We treated his burns and prevented infection, but there’s still some lasting damage, you see. I’m afraid his skin will never truly heal.”

Jahaan winced. He knew Ozan’s narcissism well, reflected in his reply, “Let me guess, he’s taking the damage to his face the worst, right?”

Sniffing a humourless laugh, Sedridor confirmed, “He does mention it often.”

The two made it to the medical bay in good time; the door was ajar. Inside, Jahaan could hear the pleasant chattering between Ozan and Ariane, and he held back for a while. Archmage Sedridor left to attend to other business, leaving Jahaan to rest against a neighbouring pillar. He couldn’t make out too much from what was said, but noted how Ozan’s usual full-bodied laugh was weaker now, punctuated by tight coughs. The sound made Jahaan’s throat close up.

Finally, he realised he couldn’t hold it off any longer and gently pushed the door open, its ear-piercing creak signalling his arrival.

Once the two locked eyes, Ariane’s face grew dark, her expression cold. She feigned a reassuring smile to Ozan, muttered a few words - seemingly making her excuses to leave - and gathered up Coal, who was chewing on the bed linen. She edged past Jahaan at the door without sending him another glance. Even Ozan couldn’t spin it, offering nothing but a sympathetic smile and a light shrug. He was propped up against the head of the bed, still in nightwear, with bandages taping his arms and half of his face. He looked like an incomplete mummy, something which Jahaan didn’t decide to voice, just in case Ozan’s sense of humour wasn’t fully recovered.

Luckily, Ozan broke the tension, pointing to his own face and saying, “Fenkenstrain’s suing me for ripping off his creation.”

It wasn’t that funny, but Jahaan laughed. Like, properly laughed, doubling over with tears in his eyes. He was just so… relieved. The relief was such that it felt as if a phantom had left his soul in a jolt, similar to how he felt after Zaros disembarked his body, though without the unwelcomed loss of consciousness that followed.

Awkwardly, Jahaan sat down on the edge of Ozan’s bed. He really didn’t know where to start - an apology, a check on his health, on his spirits, an explanation… there was too much he needed to cover. So, he allowed Ozan to make the first move.

���I haven’t seen you for a while,” Ozan mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. He was clearly sensing the awkwardness too. “Was getting worried, y’know… Ariane told me what happened.”

Meeting Jahaan’s eyes, he finally asked, “Did you get him? That Mahjarrat guy?”

“Zemouregal? Yeah, he’s dead,” Jahaan replied with a shaky breath.

“You shouldn’t have gone after him. You could have gotten yourself killed.”

With a humourless chuckle, Jahaan said, “Ozan, have you ever known me to let anything go? I had to. I had to… to try and make it right. Ozan, I’m so sorry. I’m so-”

“Let me stop you right there,” Ozan interejected, a calming hand reaching out to Jahaan. “You have nothing to apologise for, okay? You never could have guessed what was gonna happen.”

Laughing softly, Ozan added, “Heck, with all the enemies I’ve made over the years, our roles could have easily been reversed.”

“But can you honestly tell me that, if the roles were reversed, you wouldn’t feel guilty?”

Ozan remained quiet, accepting this.

After a long pause, Ozan lightly nudged Jahaan on the arm, tried to raise his voice a tad as he said, “Damn, man. It’s like a morgue in here. I haven’t died or anything!”

Unfortunately, the act preceded a bout of coughs, Ozan shrugging Jahaan off as he reached over to pat his back. “I’m fine, Jahaan. The coughing thing’s gonna go in time they say. It doesn’t hurt that much. My skin, on the other hand…” Ozan’s frown deepened into a comical pout. “The fire’s done a number on my pretty-boy good looks…”

Motioning to his own fire-scarred face, Jahaan dryly remarked, “Well, at least we match now.”

Sniffing a chuckle, Ozan said, “We could start a double act called ‘How Not To Play With Fire’. I’m sure Ariane would lend us some runes.”

Jahaan winced. “Ah yes, Ariane.”

“She’s taking it a lot worse than I am. I think it’s best if you stay out of her eye-line for a while,” Ozan winked, his face contorting slightly from what used to be such a simple action.

Trying to hide the sorrow in his features, Jahaan forced himself to smirk as he replied, “Good idea.”

Noticing how Ozan’s eyes were starting to close, Jahaan realised this little catch-up had probably exhausted the poor fellow who should be conserving what little energy he had at this point. So, Jahaan helped him lie back down on the bed, saying he’d visit again soon. Knowing Ariane’s stance on things, Jahaan wasn’t sure when that would be.

“Bring booze next time,” Ozan drearily called out before turning over and burying himself in the comfy pillow.

His heart heavy, Jahaan watched Ozan’s steady breathing for a few moments. It was serene - just the simple action of seeing his best friend in a peaceful sleep after all he’d been through was reassuring.

Quietly, he made his way out of the chamber, careful not to move the door for fear the creaking would startle Ozan awake.

When he turned around, Ariane was greeting him with a stern face, her arms folded over her chest. Seeing her seemingly manifest out of nowhere surprised Jahaan, causing him to jump slightly.

“How long have you been there?” Jahaan hissed, catching his breath.

Ariane didn’t answer, instead motioning for Jahaan to follow. Leading him into a small study, Ariane closed the door behind them, and from the look on her face, Jahaan knew he was in for a rough time.

“So you killed him, then? This Mahjarrat?” it sounded more like an accusation than a mere question.

Raising his chin, Jahaan confirmed, “Yes, I did.”

Ariane did not seem impressed, her eyes boring holes through the man.

“Look, what is your problem with me?” Jahaan hissed, advancing on Ariane, who didn’t step back. “I know you think I’m a bad influence on Ozan, but the man’s no monk. What matters is that we both care deeply for him, you and I. I’d rather die than let anything happen to him, and I’m pretty sure you know that already. So tell me, please, what have I done to piss you off so greatly?”

“Other than nearly letting Ozan get burned alive?”

“You hated me before that,” Jahaan countered. “So come on. Did Ozan tell you about how I grew up? Is it the people I’ve killed? What?”

“You really want to know?” Ariane snapped, storming forward with such force it made Jahaan back up on instinct. “It’s your attitude, Jahaan. Your callousness, your naivety, your self-centred view on everything. Ever since you became the Word Guardian it’s only gotten worse. The world is falling apart and I don’t think you know, let alone care. Do you ever read the newspapers, Jahaan?”

Wary of where this was going, Jahaan hesitantly answered, “I hear bits and pieces…”

It became apparent rather quickly that Jahaan did not hear enough; Ariane filled him in on all the delightful things he'd missed on his travels, such as the dangerous antics of the Godless.

The Godless are a faction of those opposed to deities being on Gielinor, similar in many ways to the Guthixian views, but with one key difference.

They were violent.

Guthixians would preach about how Guthix banished the gods from Gielinor to protect the world from them. They relied on churches, emissaries and sermons to convey their message to the general populous. The Godless, on the other hand, took it upon themselves to wage war against every god and their followers. They believed no-one should worship a deity, that we were the masters of our own destiny and do not need to follow behind a divine being in order to have worth in our lives.

Before the gods returned to Gielinor and the Sixth Age commenced, the Godless were an incredibly small faction, for almost everyone on Gielinor stood behind a banner of some sort. Now that the gods had returned and they were starting to cause a ruckus, more people were becoming sympathetic to their cause.

The Battle of Lumbridge was their single greatest recruiting tool since their inception.

The Godless would attack and deface shrines during the night, would tear apart churches and harass emissaries. They were lawless, worked underground and distributed propaganda wherever they could.

However, their petty destruction was nothing compared to what the former Bandosians had caused.

After Bandos’ defeat, the vast majority of his followers had defected to the avian deity, erecting shrines and even taking to books and studying the ways of Armadyl. They were helped with the whole ‘learning-to-read-thing’ by emissaries of Armadyl, who set up roaming caravans to teach the former Bandosian loyalists the preachings of their new god.

Sounds great, doesn’t it? Well, old habits die hard, and it would take a lot more than a few commandments and pretty shrines to undo centuries of Bandosian indoctrination. Thus, instead of gradually trying to convert the remaining Bandoanian loyalists - as the emissaries said they should - they went out and systematically hunted them all down.

It was convert or die; any hesitation on the former signed your death sentence.

Goblin and ogre settlements especially were bloodbaths, sometimes even spilling into nearby human settlements, and people often got caught in the crossfire.

The Dorgeshuun, a peaceful tribe of hunter-gatherer goblins that had existed beneath the surface of southern Misthalin, were brought to the brink of extinction. The Dorgeshuun, largely non-religious, did not partake in the battle against Armadyl, and had defied Bandos for years by refusing to submit to his warlike ways. Bandos had planned to wipe them out as soon as he defeated Armadyl, and resolved to make such a day a national holiday. After Bandos’ death, the remaining Bandosian loyalists looked for a scapegoat, someone to blame for their god’s demise, and they settled upon the Dorgeshuun.

They were exterminated before the ex-Bandosian Armadyleans could arrive, who had similar plans for their slaughter.

It wasn’t just converted Bandosians that Armadyl had amassed into his following; more and more humans, particularly Saradominists, were growing increasingly interested in the avian deity’s philosophy. Saradominism and Armadylean beliefs overlapped quite a lot, making the two religions close allies back in the God Wars of old. Now though, more people were getting exposed to Armadylean teachings, and after the way Saradomin helped to tear apart Lumbridge, those same people were becoming open to the idea of supporting a new deity.

This did not go down well with Saradomin; tensions were rising between the two factions, but it had yet to come to a head.

And then came the Zamorakian invasion of Ardougne.

Hazeel and Khazard, along with Zamorakian armies, had marched into Ardougne only last week, taking control of the territory and pushing the warring gnomes - who were already locked in battle with the Khazard troops - out within days. The combined might of the Mahjarrat and their forces was too much for the gnomes alone to handle. Fortunately, Saradominist soldiers had come to the aid of the city, and now a joint Saradominist-Guthixian alliance was fighting to take back Ardougne.

If the Battle of Lumbridge was the first major battle of the Third God Wars, this would be the second. The Armadyl/Bandos scuffle was on a different level - more isolated and less destructive. This time, they’re were battling through the streets of the largest city in the Kingdom of Kandarin.

The Saradominist effort to halt Zamorakian advances in the Kandarin Kingdom forced Saradomin to delay his plans for Morytania, or so rumour has it. It was mere whisperings at this stage, but it was told that Saradomin planned to reignite his desired conquest of Morytania, taking it out of the hands of the Zamorakians (Lord Drakan especially) and liberating the people of Meiyerditch, returning it to its former glory of the Hallowland.

Thanks to two asshole Mahjarrat, that had to be put on hold.

The God Wars were beginning again; at the rate things were going, it wouldn’t be long before an all-out conflict arose.

“You triggered this, Jahaan,” Ariane finished, gravely. “I know it was you who Sliske managed to trick into letting him into Guthix's chamber. Now, the very Mahjarrat that deceived you, the very Mahjarrat you're somehow so chummy with, is the one that’s allowed the world to be torn apart, and instead of trying to stop him, you locked yourself in petty revenge. You're the WORLD GUARDIAN Jahaan - it's time you started acting like one.”

Moving towards the door, Ariane peered briefly over her shoulder with darkness in her eyes. “Actions have consequences, Jahaan. Start thinking of the bigger picture.”

DISCLAIMER:

As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex.

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[silversunshine2012]

About Self Harm

For those who either want to help a friend/family member/etc who self harms and wants to stop, or if you yourself are trying to find ways to stop but don’t fully understand why or what helps or why you’re feeling this way or whatever.  This is for you.

So.  If you don’t know why some people with depression self harm, this, as someone with personal first hand experience, is the only way i know how to explain it

So there are a few different reasons but these three were always my main go-to’s when i was in that place.

Imagine you’re drowning.  Or that you’re in a void.  And in that void there is nothing put pain and fear and loneliness and the desperate need for sleep.  But you can’t sleep.  And even though good and bad things are going on around you, there’s a wall separating you from those things.  So, you know you should feel happy or sad or angry or whatever, but you don’t.  So..  Hey.  Physical pain is better than nothing right?  And for me it felt like an adrenaline rush.  Or just..  All of the sudden there was something to feel that didn’t feel forced or fake for others’ sake.  And it was addicting.  

How i would describe this one to those that understand the feeling (usually trying to help and pin point what the feeling is so that i can help them not harm themselves) usually ends up being, “i feel like shit and yet i feel nothing which makes me feel worse because it also doesn't bc i /cant/ /fucking/ /feel/”

Another reason was that I felt like a failure.  For me personally i never felt like i was punishing myself though.  For me personally it always felt like an escape from my own mind badgering me over and over again about how pathetic and stupid and worthless and all those other things i was starting to believe i truly was.  

This one I usually explain like this, “i'm a shit person i should just die in a hole.. *****.. you're my only friend..”  (i sensor this for both our sakes, so that they can insert whatever they use to self harm instead of simply saying what i used primarily, and so that neither of us has to read a word that is a trigger for one or both of us)

The third reason, and this one became more prevalent as i began to actively try not to harm myself, was that as the scars began to fade (and to those of you who think they never will, most do.  Yes there are deeper ones that may never completely disappear, but they do fade) I felt guilty about it.  I felt guilty because I was trying to forget a person who so desperately just wanted to be seen, and remembered, and missed.  I felt like I was betraying myself, my own trust.  Like I was abandoning myself.  Or even just that I felt that it was part of the new routine now.  Or at least, that was what i told myself when I didn’t feel like getting too deep into it.  

However, especially after i started actively fighting the urges, it was usually a weird amalgamation of all of those.  (And as i write I’m realizing more and more little details about why like how when I felt guilty for not doing it, I felt like a shit person.  And again.  What was the go-to “friend” when i felt like a shit person?  Exactly.  Which of course made not wanting to anymore even harder, and just added to the whole dynamic and mess of emotions that didn’t even feel fully real anyway.)  

So, what helped me the most, especially when it was one of those amalgamation ones, was to do an amalgamation of alternatives.  

Depending on how dire the urge to feel or remember or see something physical and just have a little evidence of my past self, etc.  If that urge was too strong to wait, I would change the order.  But my go-to was usually this:

(for me 1 and 2 were interchangeable)

1.  Distract yourself.  Go on a walk outside, get some water, walk away and get out of your current surroundings, take a bath, go in the restroom and just splash some water on your face.  You can craft or do something fun like reading or whatever.  Just something to get your mind off of it and onto something better.

2.  If you can, and you don’t want to distract yourself because it makes you feel worse for ignoring a problem you know is there and you don’t want to keep doing that because you know that just makes things worse when you’re trying to GET BETTER FFS.  Then go to a quiet spot and just start writing.  Write down everything you feel, that you think you should feel, like this is legit your time to be as existential as you want.  All that existential crisis shit you do when you feel numb?  Yeah.  Do that.  Write it all down and get inside your own head and just, get it out.  Even if you don’t think you can write it how you want it?  Just keep writing.  Either until you think you understand it all a little better, or just feel better because you got it just..  OUT yknow?  You aren’t going to share this with anyone so go ahead and write literally anything and everything.  If you really /reeaally/ want, later you can show someone you trust if you think they will be able to help or you want them to understand things better.

        a.  Drawing also works.  Just do something that gets out what you feel inside in some way.

3.  If that doesn’t help, or you can’t do that because you have a limited amount of time to yourself at that exact moment and you physically can’t push it down any longer because you think you’ll explode in front of your friends, coworkers, boss, parents, etc. 

        a.  Grab some ice and run it across where you would normally hurt yourself.  It wont have the same warm buzzy burn or sharp sting or any of those, but it burns in its own way.  

        b.  Grab some pens.  Red works great, for obvious reasons, but blue and black also do too for different poetic reasons like blue for robot veins and black for the black that you always described your soul as only semi-jokingly or the void you’re trying to get out of but not leave the little kid behind still trapped there in the process.  Pens are great because you can use different pressures and write words and all these other things.  You can even trace your veins which not only helps but looks badass when you’re done

These usually helped me the most.  No.  This is not a fully comprehensive list of alternatives.  If I can find one again I will link it in here somewhere.*  However, I wanted to help and show that I understand and you’re not alone if you feel this way and things can get better.  It’ll take some time and a lot of patience and work on your part and a lot of support from family, friends, and loved ones.  But it can and will get better eventually.  

And don’t feel like you can’t come to anyone.  Trust me.  I know how hard it is.  Especially when you feel like you don’t want to drag them all down with you because you care about them too much to let them be swallowed up by the same abyss of fear and pain and tears that you’re in when they tried to save you and pull you out.  

But listen to me for a sec, okay?  Like really listen.  If they truly care about you?  They will be there.  They may not know how to help.  They may not know what you’re going through fully.  But they will try their best to be there for you and try to get you help or just be an ear to listen.  Let them help.  Don’t be alone.  Don’t choose to be alone.  Get help.  Surround yourself with the people who love you and care about you because I can Guarantee they exist.  And if the people you love help you by helping you find a therapist, take your therapist’s advice seriously.  Engage.  Don’t just let this pass by.  Everyone likely needs at least a little therapy, so take advantage of it.  You’re not weird or brain damaged or crazy by being there.  You’re admitting you need help.  And that’s the first step to getting some.

And to those of you who want to help but don’t know how, just listen first.  Please don’t judge.  Don’t make them feel bad for coming to you, because it took a shit ton of courage for them to do so.  Listen to them.  Really listen.  If you’re in a position to help them find a therapist or something, and maybe even help them pay for it, that’s great!  And if you’re the one taking them home from therapy sessions?  Don’t badger them until they tell you everything they told their therapist.  That’s what a therapist is for.  Don’t push them.  They’ll tell you things when they’re ready, or maybe just not at all.  And that’s okay.  It’s nothing against you personally.  But a therapist is trained and knows the brain and people in a way that can help far better than you can.  Also, they don’t have to see this therapist outside of therapy, and if they do, they need to get another therapist or not see them outside of therapy.  Because that can completely defeat the whole purpose.

And for those of you who can’t actually talk to anyone about this because of safety reasons or anything else like that.  I’ll put a link to hotlines and chatrooms that can help for an immediate one-time help.  

And remember.  Asking for help does not make you useless or pathetic or stupid or needy or any of those things.  You are trying to get better.  Realizing that you’re having urges to self harm again and actively trying to fight it and fight the part of you that still wants to or says it’s easier. Is. Ficking. Huge.  It’s an enormous step in the right direction.  Towards healing.  But urges come and go.  Don't let the crazy bitch in the back of ur mind telling you getting help is bad or that this is who you are and it'll never change, win.  Don't let them take part of you with them when they crawl back in that hole in ur mind where ur trying to bury them for good.  Don’t let them take that kid that just wants to be seen and remembered down with them when they go back.  Who you were and who you are are two totally different people.  Yes they're the same in many ways. but they're different.  child you, five year old you? you when you didn't know any better? you when you thought you were going to grow up to be a superhero?  You before you found out your sexuality or gender or lack thereof?  Yes.  They were all you.  But only were.  Not are.  Who you are now is the pieces from all those people you were that you choose to take with you

But don’t forget that while that bastard in your head you think of as a villain for now is buried, the malevolent being you tell to fuck off when those self deprecating thoughts come in, and the one you call your depression and all of that, they’re still in there.  Even while they’re buried they’re still there.  And they will come back out.  But they come out to help both of you heal.  They need healing too.  And with time, and support and help and trust and love and patience and work.  You both will slowly heal together, and someday you can even visit every once in a while to help those after you going through the same shit you went through.  And you can know that what you went through wasn’t for nothing.  Because you make sure of it.

Alternatives

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Self

Harming

Suicide Prevention chat

More hotlines

More hotlines worldwide

Crisis as well as suicide hotlines