#i never bring the full set ups i want to floor 11 purely because of the dumb defense trial

[electric-plants]

hoyo loves to update the spiral abyss by making 11-1 even more fucking annoying every reset🥰

[supernaturalgirl20]

Taking a Chance

Part 11

Pairings: Marcus Pike x F!reader

Warnings: Angst, cursing, mentions of stalking, mentions of mental illness/break, hospitalisation, mentions of gun use, finally some fluff.

Summary: After an amazing night with Marcus you discover you’re pregnant. What happens when you go to tell him and another women opens his door?!

A/N: ok ok so, we’re moving away from all the angst, I know finally. On to the fluff we go😉

Comments and reblogs really appreciated 🥰

Maria’s eyes were scrunched closed, the tiny baby held close as she turned away from the gun, her only thought was to save the baby. The sound of the gun going off echoed along the roof and she thought that this was it, but the shit never came. Slowly opening her eyes she looks around to see Theresa screaming in pain on the floor, Tim standing over her with his gun pointed at her head.

“Theresa you’re under arrest for attempted murder and kidnapping. You have the right to remain silent, anything you do say can and will be used against you.”

Maria started crying, the adrenaline wearing off and reality finally setting in. Josh helps her up off the floor and wraps her in a blanket bringing her back into the hospital.

“You better go down to the baby ward Maria, Marcus and Y/N are frantic.”

“I told that guy not to say anything.”

“Wasn’t him that said it, but all the same I think Marcus is gonna have a heart attack so please hurry.”

The tiny baby in her arms is crying at the top of her lungs and Maria does her best to sooth her but nothing is working. Walking through the emergency door she’s greeted by the sight of you and Marcus looking nervous. Maria can’t help the flutter her heart makes as they spot her holding their baby, the look of pure relief. Marcus whispers something to you before running towards her, pulling her into a hug.

“Thank you so much Maria. We owe you everything.”

His gaze shift to the baby in her arms and he thinks his heart is going to stop. She’s beautiful, with her fluffy head of brown hair and eyes the same colour as his. He takes her gently from Maria before walking over towards you and handing her to you. He kneels down beside you both and kisses your forehead as you gaze lovingly down at your beautiful daughter.

“She’s perfect Marcus!”

“Just like her mama.”

You look up at him and he leans in to kiss you softly, pulling away your eyes meet Maria’s and you mouth a thank you to her as she is questioned. A quiet falls over the edge hallway as Theresa is pushed through on a gurney. Marcus stands, hatred and anger in his bones as he walks towards her.

“How could you? I almost lost my family because of you! You’re not getting away with this, if I have to sell my soul to the devil to see you pay I will.”

“Marcus please…”

“Don’t! Take her away I can’t look at her.”

She trashes on the gurney screaming for Marcus as the nurse sedates her.

Sitting up in your bed, little Millie suckling at your breast, Marcus with his arm wrapped around you, your heart feels full.

“Can you believe we made her? She so tiny and perfect and she is the image of you.”

“We make beautiful babies, we’ll have to make more.” You nudge him slightly with a smile on your face.

“Jesus Marcus at least give me a few months.”

He laughs for what feels like the first time in a month. Millie’s little hand is grabbing at your breast as she slurps away.

“Someone’s hungry! I think I’m gonna have some competition for those now.”

“Will you stop. Besides once she’s fed you can have them all you want.”

“Really?”

Marcus has sat up beside you staring you dead in the eyes, excitement rolling off him.

“Yeah, seriously.”

“Uh I love you so much baby.”

“Love you too. Has Maria said anything about Theresa?”

“Eh yeah her trial is next week, they searched her apartment, she eh…”

“What? I don’t like that look!”

“Apparently she had pictures of me all over the walls and the pictures she had of me and you, you…eh…”

“Marcus it’s ok, I’ll find out eventually.���

“She either cut you out, stuck her face on yours, she even had a board where she threw knives at your face. I’m sorry baby, this is all my fault I should never have helped her that night, should have known she wasn’t over me.”

“Hey look at me…it’s not your fault! You didn’t know she was a psycho, I’m just happy it’s over now.”

“I can’t wait to get you both home, and I promise I’m never gonna let anything like this happen again.”

“I know! Oh looks like someone’s finished. Hello our little angel.”

You both coo at her as she just stares back, brown eyes falling heavy with sleep.

Maria sits in the back of the courtroom, waiting for her turn in the stand. The evidence is stacked high against Theresa, there isn’t a hope she’s getting off, and if by some miracle she does Maria has plans.

“Hello you.”

“What…what are doing here?”

Maria is shook as she looks up at Patrick Jane, a smug smile on his face. Sliding in beside her he crosses his arms over each other, his gaze directed towards Theresa.

“Please tell me your not here to get her off, she …”

“Oh no on the contrary, I’m here to make sure she goes down. Ever since she saw Marcus back at the office that time she’s become obsessed with him. I knew she was up to something and when I confronted her she started fighting me and left.”

“Well good! Not that she did that to you..”

“I know what you mean. How’s Marcus and Y/N holding up?”

“There ok thank god and so is baby Millie, their getting out of hospital today, I’m going to see them after this.”

“We’ll send them my well wishes.”

“I will.”

It’s not a long trial, the evidence is stacked high against her and she’s sentenced to life in prison. Maria texts Marcus just to let him know the outcome and that she would be around later. Theresa spot hers as she’s being taken away and shouts at her.

“Maria! Maria! Tell Marcus I love him, I did it because I love him….please…”

Maria just scoffs and turns to leave, closing the door on that entire debacle.

Sitting on the couch with Millie at your breast Marcus is running around trying to do things for you. He’s been adamant that you don’t lift a finger, that you’ve done enough carrying and birthing Millie along with what happened.

“Marcus baby, please will you just sit with us. The house will still be here tomorrow.”

“I know I know but I don’t want you to worry about anything ok, besides Maria is on her way so I want to make her some lunch.”

“Well when that’s done your daughter says she wants her daddy.”

“Did you say that my little princess, daddy will be with you in a few minutes I promise.” He kisses her head before kissing you and running back into the kitchen. You smile as he leaves and look down at your daughter who’s the image of her daddy.

“We are two very lucky women Millie, your daddy is such a good man and we love him so much don’t we.”

A knock at the door startles you and you call to Marcus who shouts that he’s got it. Maria barrels in with bags of presents and a smile wide on her face.

“Aahh there’s she is, ooh oh ok no I did not want to see your boobs. Why am I still staring I’m turning around now.” You laugh and luckily Millie is finished so you pull your top down.

“It’s ok all good.”

“Ok let me have her.”

“Oh so that’s how it is.”

“Oh you know it, she’s my little monkey. A very cute monkey.”

You hand Millie to her and she rocks her gently cooing at her. You can’t help the smile that spreads over your face, the thought that Maria is the reason your both here, alive. You share a look with Marcus before nodding at him.

“So we were thinking, what if you were Millie’s godmother?”

“Shut up! Are you serious right now? Because if you are I’d be honoured.”

“We’re serious. So that’s a yes then?”

“Yes yes yes!”

Standing up you move towards Marcus, “ok so since Millie is well fed and Maria is here I think I’m gonna have a bath.”

“Go you need to relax we’ve got it covered.” Marcus stares after you and when he turns back around he’s met with Maria looking at him with a smirk.

“What?”

“You know if you want to join her I’ll be ok here, she’s falling asleep anyway.”

“I…I don’t..”

“When’s the last time you had alone time?”

“Eh..”

“Exactly so please just go we’ll be fine won’t we, yes we will.”

“Ok if you’re sure?”

“Yea now go.”

Standing looking at your bare body, you feel disgusting. Your bump has only gone down slightly. Your body is covered in stretch marks and bruises from the accident, you wonder how Marcus can stand to look at you.

“Because I love you and you look beautiful.”

Your jump at the sound of his voice, you hadn’t realised you said that out loud. He makes his way towards you and wraps his arms around you from behind.

“Your just saying that to make me feel better.” He moves his hand under your chin and lifts your head up so your both looking in the mirror.

“I love you! All of you. These stretch marks are a reminder that you grew our daughter and gave birth to her, these breasts feed her and these bruises are are a reminder that you went through hell and survived.”

“Marcus…”

“No Y/N, you need to hear this. I loved when we first got together, I love you now and I’m going to love you until my last breath.”

You have tears falling down your face now, how did you get lucky with this man.

“If you needed more prove, this guy can provide it.” He pushes his hips into your ass and you can feel how hard he is.

“Now come on let’s have that bath.”

Part 12

Permanent tag list: @lunaserenade @anaaaispunk @maievdenoir @elinedjarin @seasonschange-butpeopledont @alberta-sunrise @dihra-vesa @pintsizemama @athalien @loserrlauraa @thorins-queen-of-erebor @pascal-rascal424 @ikinmahlen @pascalisthepunkest @dindjarinneedsahug @almaeunice @jediknight122 @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @colorlesswhispersunknown @stevie75 @rosie-posie08 @hauntedmama @greeneyedblondie44 @prettylilhalforc @giselatropicana @spanishmossmagnolia @phoenixhalliwell @sherala007 @its--fandom--darling @donnaa @javierpinme @luxmundee @littlemisspascal @hayley-the-comet @ezras-channel-rat

[queensoybean0724]

Succession Chapter 8 (Karl Heisenberg/female reader) Resident Evil Village fanfic

Chapter 8 is here!

Title: Succession Chapter 8

Characters: Karl Heisenberg, female reader, OC

Rating: R for language and explicit gore (may be triggering with the descriptions of the bodies in the factory)

Summary: you discover a long lost relative has died and made you his sole beneficiary.  While flying to collect your inheritance, you crash in a village in Romania.

Author’s Note: I do not own the characters from Resident Evil Village. This is a work of fiction.  Anything remotely similar to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter 8

The soft tugging of your wrists woke you from sleep.  You blinked rapidly and looked up to see Heisenberg removing the cuffs and setting them on the floor.

“What are you doing?” you asked, bringing your hands close to your body and rubbing your wrists.

“Sorry to wake you,” Heisenberg murmured, “but I’m going to work for a while downstairs...didn’t want you to be shackled to the bed the whole time.  Do you need to use the bathroom before I go?”

You nodded your head, realizing you were in need of the facilities.  Standing slowly to your feet, you padded to the door and walked across the way into the bathroom.  Once you relieved yourself, you washed your hands and made your way back to the room.

“I’ll be down there for several hours,” Heisenberg said as he rinsed his hands in the sink, “I’ll probably skip lunch.  Help yourself to whatever is in the refrigerator.”

You thanked him and curled back up under the covers.  You couldn’t believe it, but this fucked-up picture of domesticity was starting to grow on you.  Last night’s dinner outside at sunset was quite pleasant.  Heisenberg didn’t talk much aside from the occasional grunt or nod if you said anything.  It seemed that something was weighing on his mind.  And when you asked him what he had been working on at his desk a few hours earlier, he once again told you to mind your business.

Heisenberg put on his hat, sunglasses, and trenchcoat and left without another word, closing the door behind him.

You fell asleep for another three hours before finally waking up and looking over at his clock on his nightstand.  The time read 11:46am.

Rising from the bed, you cooked yourself some breakfast and filled a mug full of water.  You ate leisurely and leafed through a fashion magazine that had been stuffed into one of the suitcases Heisenberg had brought from the crash site.  

Once you were finished with your plates, you washed them in the sink and put them away.  You had made up your mind that you were going to shower.  You hadn’t washed since Heisenberg brought you here and it was creeping up on day three...or was it day four...five maybe?  Either way, you needed to wash.

You gathered your shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and sponge.  You also reached for your razor and shaving cream.  It had been several days since you shaved your legs and you wanted to be clean and smooth...just in case…

No, you thought, not because of Heisenberg!  But because I want to get back to feeling normal again!

There were a couple of towels hanging over the windowed walls of the shower, no doubt used by Heisenberg himself.  You made a mental note to ask him for towels of your own when he got back…

Then it occurred to you.  When he left, he closed the door, but you didn’t hear the loud click that his key usually made in the lock...

He didn’t lock the door.

*

As you shaved and showered, you mentally weighed the pros and cons of whether or not you should leave Heisenberg’s living quarters.  He had never not locked the door.  Maybe whatever work he had planned was at the forefront of his mind and he had simply forgotten to lock the door.  Or maybe, just as he trusted you to go back and forth from the bathroom without him keeping watch over you, maybe he was starting to trust you not to leave the room.

The monotony of the room was starting to become boring...perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to walk around and stretch your legs.

You put on a pair of jeans, a long sleeved shirt, socks, and sneakers. Promising yourself that you wouldn’t walk too far, you opened the door quietly and peeked out into the hallway, looking right and left.  Heisenberg wasn’t in the vicinity.  The usual sounds of the factory rang out in the distance.  You strained your hearing to listen for footsteps.  Except for you, the area was empty.

Pushing the door all the way open, you stepped out into the hall.  You walked down the hallway, making sure to keep your steps light and quiet.  The pounding of your pulse was ringing in your ears and you were terrified of Heisenberg finding you outside of his living quarters.   He would not be happy with you if he could see you at that moment.

You walked to a closed door and opened it to see the suspended walkway you had run across on your first day.  The noises were louder as you looked out among the metal, chains, steam, and rotating bodies.  A large body of water was several feet below you.  You stood there for a minute and looked all around, afraid that Heisenberg would be nearby and see you on the walkway.

The coast was clear.  You quickened your pace as you walked, making sure to tiptoe.  You reached the door on the other side, pushing it open.

This was uncharted territory. You didn’t know what was around the corner and made a mental note of which way you turned, how many flights of stairs you went up and down, and factory signs.  The signs were written in Romanian, but you sounded them out in your head in hopes you would remember your way back.

Occasionally you would open a door or two along the way, poking your head in and scanning the rooms.  A part of you felt guilty...you were being invasive and nosy.  This was Heisenberg’s home and even though he was keeping you here against your will, you thought it unlikely that he would want you poking around in his factory.  You could picture him now:  his brows furrowing, his gloved hands balling into fists, and his mighty voice booming as he yelled at you to get back to his quarters.

Dear god, why did that turn you on?

You had descended stairs earlier and hadn’t seen another set in quite a while, so you assumed you were down in the dregs of the factory.  It started to feel warmer the further down you went.  Why wasn’t Heisenberg’s room down here instead of higher up where the cold slid in through the walls so effortlessly?

You turned a corner and came up to a heavy steel door that was slightly ajar.  Leaning forward, you peered down a dark hall...with bodies hanging along the right side.  “Oh my god…” you whispered.  You couldn’t tell whether they were alive or dead, but a gas mask sat over each of their mouths and they hung from a tight leather strap wrapped around the breastbone and up under their arms.  Their skin was pale and their eyes closed.

Keeping your back flat against the left side of the hallway, you quietly and slowly made your way across.  You counted in your head...one, two, three, four, five, six bodies spaced out along the hallway.  Was this part of the work that Heisenberg was doing around here?  You shook your head.  Why was he doing this?  What was he doing with all of these bodies?

Another steel door was at the end of the hall and you silently turned the knob and pushed it open.

Upon entering the large room, you gasped audibly, your eyes wide.  The place looked like a morgue.  Five steel tables sat in the room...with five more corpses lying on top of them.  They each looked recently dead, their skin not as pale as the men hanging in the hallway behind you.  Decomposition had not occured yet.  The bodies had various trauma to them.  One was missing an arm.  One had its left leg sewed on.  

The other three were fitted with a visor over their eyes.  They laid shirtless on the tables.  One was a woman, her bare breasts visible with a gaping hole in her chest where her heart was supposed to be.  She was clothed from the waist down in a uniform that looked familiar...she was wearing a flight attendant’s uniform.  Could this be one of the attendants from your plane???

The other two bodies had something different over their left chest.  A circular metal contraption was lodged inside.  “What the fuck…” you murmured softly, walking amongst the carnage.  You were beginning to think that maybe you should have stayed inside Heisenberg’s quarters.

A door was opened on the other side of the room.  You crept towards it and looked inside.  The room stretched out before you and you could see a steel wall in the middle, separating one section of the room from the other.  A steel table stood next to the edge of the wall and you saw that you would have to circle it to see what was on the other side.  Swallowing the growing anxiety in your throat, you stepped closer.  

You reached the table and the wall and leaned forward, peering into the room.  Your mouth dropped, your eyes widened, and you gasped loudly.

“Bruce???”

Bruce Williams sat in what looked like a dentist’s chair, his body slumped forward.  A visor, just like the ones the three bodies were fitted with in the previous room, was also sitting over his eyes.  Three or four tubes were hanging from the ceiling and plugged into different areas on his body.  But the worst thing was his arm...the forearm from the elbow down was missing...and what replaced it was an electric saw.

A tear rolled down your cheek.  Oh, god, Bruce, you thought, what happened to you?

Before you were able to put two and two together, there was movement behind Bruce’s body.  An open door was against the back wall and Heisenberg entered the room, both of his hands holding surgical tools.  He stopped in his tracks when he looked up and saw you standing before Bruce.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” Heisenberg growled, “how did you get out of my room?”

Panic, disbelief, and terror surged through your body.  You found yourself mourning for Bruce all over again and being gripped with fear over being caught...but even greater, fury had begun to make your blood boil.

“What is this?!?!” you cried out shrilly, “what are you doing to him???  Bruce...he was seated next to me on the plane!!!  OH DEAR GOD, WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO HIM???”  You took several steps back, your fingers gripping your hair.  This was not happening....this was not happening...you were dreaming again…

“Y/N, let me explain…” Heisenberg said, fastly approaching you, putting his tools down on the table.

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!!!” you screamed, turning on your heels and running out of the room.  You ran into one of the bodies on the table, your body falling forward.  Your chin touched its cold skin and you let out another loud scream.

“Y/N, stop!” Heisenberg commanded.  You felt him behind you, his hands gripping your shoulders.  You yelped and whirled around, shoving his body away from you.  You ran for the exit just as one of the tables with a body flew out in front of you, blocking your path.

Adrenaline was pumping through you and you quickly ran around the table and out of the door.  You ran down the hallway, ignoring the hanging bodies, your heart hammering in your chest.

“Y/N!!” Heisenberg yelled as he ran after you.  You were in total flight mode and you couldn’t remember which way was up.  The little notes you had jotted in your memory were long gone and you had no idea how to get out of the factory.

As you turned a corner, you saw a large industrial lift.  You darted inside, gripping the sliding elevator door from above, and pulled it down shut.  Looking over at the buttons, you hit the UP arrow rapidly in pure panic.

Heisenberg ran full force at the door, his fingers wrapping around the wooden railings.  You screamed loudly, scrambling back against the other side of the lift, pressing your back against the wall.

“Y/N!!” Heisenberg shouted, “Y/N, STOP!!! OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!!!”

The elevator lift began to ascend, putting more and more space between you and Heisenberg.  You could hear him shaking the wooden railings, screaming your name over and over.  Looking upwards, you watched with growing impatience as the lift slowly made its way higher and higher until it stopped at the very top.

There was a metal door before you with thin railings.  You looked between them to see a small field surrounded by a barbed wire fence.  The metal door was shut tight.  You started to kick at the door and shove your shoulder against it, desperate for it to open.  After what felt like several moments, you shoved your body once again and the door flew open.  You spilled into the grass and looked around wildly.  Where could you go?  Where could you hide?

You looked to the left and saw a small section of fence that was rusted and pushed back, creating a space that would allow you to escape.  Running as fast as your legs could take you, you pushed at the wire and slithered your body through the hole.  Jagged edges snagged your skin and your clothes, but you were too fueled by panic to worry about scratches.

After clearing the fence, you jumped to your feet and ran towards the trees and the mountains, desperate to get as far away from Heisenberg as you could.

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

I’ve been rewatching CM and god, what I wouldn’t give for them to bring TG back for this revival. I haven’t even watched seasons 12-15 yet because I’m in denial about him being gone 😭😭😩

omg I haven't watched it either xD I've been holding off watching s11e22, The Storm, for like a month I swear. Which, I know is going to be amazing but I also have heard it's the beginning of the end and I'm not readyyyyyyy.

I would give anything for TG to come back. A n y t h i n g. But idk what CBS feels is the appropriate amount of time to be blacklisted or whatever the hell they did 🤷‍♀️ despite how it would be so easy to write him back in, and the missed opportunities is already making my skin crawl.

Okay. This was going to be a quick answer, but I've been THINKING about this way more than I should lately, without ever having watched 12-15 but I feel like I know enough, and with all the projects I'm going to be finishing/starting soon I know I won’t have time to do anything with my ideas. So I'm just going to type this little beginning I have plotted out and maybe one day I'll make it into the fic I want it to be:

(I know you didn't ask for a hc/blurb thing but surprise you get one xD)

CW: Spoilers for season 11-15 that are probably inaccurate af, fighting, violence, bit of blood and injuries talk, some profanity. 

-

((I legit have this all plotted out like a full season, and picture everything as shots and scenes and I know exactly how I would want to bring Hotch back.))

-

It would start in a small suburban town in Indiana, legit white-picket fence, middle of nowhere, off the grid town. With the most pedestrian name ever, we might as well call it Mayberry. Typical weekend morning, bright green grass and trees and summer sunshine lighting it all up, they still get papers delivered it’s that picturesque. And it’ll pan to all sorts of people on this street of nice, two-story houses, and finally zero in on not the man picking up his paper from his front porch, but the jogger slowing down that the man calls to next door, calling him a name we’ve never heard before -- but the jogger answers with that dark eyed squint and a nod... and it is Aaron Hotchner. Or the man who used to be Aaron Hotchner. He hasn’t gone by that name in years, WITSEC provided him and Jack with new ones.

His house isn’t even really decorated like a home, he’s been in enough over the years to know tell-tale signs of what a happy home should entail. Photographs, memorabilia, nostalgia tucked away in corners -- they don’t have that. He has a couple of photographs he keeps in his office, the only two in inconspicuous view being a photo of Haley and Jack when he was two years old, and a photo of his team the day he completed the FBI triathlon and they all showed up to support him. Everything else of their old life is in boxes in a storage facility in downtown D.C., under another false name that can never be linked back to them. 

Mr. Scratch was a poor excuse for why he and Jack were still under WITSEC, but he hopes near daily that it was enough of a reason that no one would question why he didn’t return once that monster was dead. That no one smart enough to read between the lines would go digging for more reasons, or worse -- try to find him -- and they pictured him living a happy retirement very similar to the charade he is living now. 

But Aaron Hotchner was never meant for retirement. No matter how easy and simple his days have been the past few years. It was only a matter of time. 

He walks through his home that looks more like the insides of a Home Living magazine, to his kitchen which is bright and spacious and tiled white that he knows Haley would have loved, getting a glass of water from the sink and chugging it all in one go. It isn’t until he’s getting a second glass that he hears it. The faucet was supposed to have masked any disturbance, they were careful in when they moved, how they placed their feet, the slowness of the their approach -- but not enough.

Hotch keeps his shoulders relaxed, his spine still ram-rod straight but that’s just how he stands and it keeps tension ready at a moment’s notice. Keeps him on alert, which he needs as he takes slower sips of water and lets all his other sense shift to a heightened awareness. Knows this house like the back of his hand, even if he’s never allowed himself to consider it home, so he knows which floorboards creak and where all the furniture is strategically placed. Always prepared for something like this to happen, even if he never imagined someone would be so bold. 

Their mistake.

With a careful tick of his head, peripherals his only guidance, he strikes before the intruder gets to. An iron grip and momentum that propels their face into the metal of the sink basin, shocking them that what their file was so misleading about their target. Retired FBI agent, almost 60 years old, living in Pleasantville with a picket fence and a vegetable garden. This should have been easy. The intruder is stunned by the blow, attempts a quick recovery where they lash out and get a few good body shots into the older man -- but he’s built like a brick wall, can take a blow and give it back twice as hard -- a few more precise hits and another crack of their face to the sink that shatters the bridge of their nose leaves the attacker slumping to the floor. 

“You didn’t do your research,” Hotch tells them, breathing a little heavy, opening up a drawer usually deemed for junk and pulls out zipties and an ancient looking cell phone buried deep at the back. “Sloppy. I expected more from him.” 

The attacker kicks out Hotch’s knees in a fit of rage (at having his skill set insulted so), leaving them both crashing to the floor. They grapple and fight a bit more, knocking dishes from the counters and pots and pans to the floor from the grill top island, but Hotch is so well-trained in take downs he gets the slighter man pinned with only a split lip and a single hitch in breath. He barely broke a sweat. Knocks the guy out clean, two solid punches to his face, and he stops because he knows better. Has been there before, and they need to question whoever was sent to his house to kill him. 

He’s barely off the floor, the intruder binded and stuck in a corner when Jack walks in from early morning soccer practice. Takes one look at the kitchen, his dad with blood in the corner of his mouth, and the guy all in black bound by zipties and already knows what happened. Sixteen, nearly as tall as his father now, he looks only mildly worried for all of two seconds until he sees that his dad has an old flip cell phone held up to his good ear, awaiting a connection with their handler in Indianapolis. 

“... Does this mean we get to go home?” 

The shot would pan back to Hotch, and he wouldn’t answer him, just tells the person on the phone to ‘patch him through, they have a situation’, and there would be no very obvious look in answer to Jack’s question. But all of us who know him, know the subtle changes in expression and the slight softening to that stern frown, knows what his reply would have been.

-

The very next scene would be the BAU. JJ and Emily walking at a brisk pace covering a debrief, since they basically run the department now. Everyone has been called in, everyone, retired and moved away and even the ones who cut all ties have been contacted. JJ has just gotten off the phone with Elle, who is working as a liaison in Rome and assured her that if anyone showed up in her home to attack her that they would be leaving in a body bag. But she appreciated the heads up. 

In the bullpen it’s more like a family reunion than anything. Garcia has just gotten off the elevators, a flurry of color and blonde curls and bright as ever, Morgan and Savannah are trying to corral Hank and the twins (both girls and pure chaos now that they can walk) while still making introductions with the new team and their families, and asking if Reid or Rossi know anything about what’s going on as JJ gets there and asks for everyone’s attention. 

“Not everyone is here yet, Kate and her family are on their way from upstate, Will’s getting the boys from school, and Alex and her husband are on a plane, but we need to get started as soon as possible.”

“What’s is going on, JJ?” Morgan asks, passing off one of the twins to Penelope who is in full baby fever mode despite what is obviously a very bad circumstance that has brought them all together. It’s a juxtaposition that has put everyone on edge. It doesn’t help when JJ and Emily look at each other as if in confirmation, trying to decide who is going to tell them.

“Okay, that doesn’t inspire confidence,” Rossi points out. “What happened?”

Emily sighs and makes a gesture for JJ to take the floor, since she has been on point for most of this.

The bull pen is silent in anticipation.

“Earlier this morning, Hotch was attacked in his home in Indiana,” she says, and whatever anyone thought was going on -- that wasn’t it. The shock across the room is like a bomb has detonated.

Rossi curses something out in Italian, looking down, and JJ immediately realizes how this all sounds. But doesn’t even get to backtrack as Reid looks completely devastated and Garcia like she’s about to cry and everyone else starts shouting questions at her. 

“What happened to Jack?”

“How did they even find him? What the fuck is wrong with WITSEC?!”

“Is he okay?” asks Tara, the only intellectual who can see the panic now blooming on JJ’s face.

“Yes, yes! He’s okay, sorry, no -- Hotch is fine. The guy who tried to kill him... not so much, but he should be conscious soon so they can question him.” 

“Jesus Christ, JJ,” Morgan says looking like he just aged ten years in the past 30 seconds. “Lead with that.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry. He’s okay, Jack is okay, they’ve been picked up. But... there’s a lot we need to be filled in on,” she admits, which quiets the room once more. “Apparently, the WITSEC had nothing to do with Mr. Scratch. There’s something much bigger and more dangerous going on, and he went under to keep us all safe. As well as himself, and Jack.” 

“What is it?”

JJ makes a gesture with her hands splayed as she looks a little lost. “I only know bare bones, we have to wait to hear the specifics and get everyone somewhere safe.” 

“You think we’re going to trust WICSEC after this?!”

Emily intervenes this time, “We have a plan, or... Hotch has a plan, I think. We’re just learning about everything as we go, he’s really the one that knows the most about it.”

“Then where is he?” Morgan speaks up again. “If he’s been pulled out, and we’re all in danger, why isn’t he here explaining this to us himself?” 

It’s a good question, and everyone looks expectantly at the two women leading the informal briefing. 

“Will he come back at all?” Reid asks, speaking up for the first time. It’s been years, that’s a long time to rethink a life like the BAU, and everything it entails.

JJ takes a deep breath. “He’s... in--”

“Out-processing.” 

Hotch is at the back of the room. Everyone turns to him, even JJ and Emily look surprised to see him so soon.  ((But we all know the CM cinematography love that kind of return shot, so I’m catering to it. For situational parallels if nothing else. Imagine the gif sets.))

“I pushed it as fast as they could go, but WITSEC always drags their feet.” The familiar drone, dry barely-there-humor, breaks whatever spell that had been over the room at the sight of the old Unit Chief. Disbelief and relief and stunned surprise litter every expression, and although Penelope looks like the first to say something, her words change course just as she opens her mouth. Because  Hotch is still in civilian clothes, a duffle-bag over his shoulder he used as a go-bag for decades, and beside him with a bag of his own with messy dirty blonde hair is--

“Oh my God, is that Jack!?” she near sobs, the teenager smiling at her in a way that looks so much like Haley, and she goes to hug him first with the boy meeting her halfway. “You’re so tall! And so grown up, look at you!” There’s definitely tears and the team converges on the Hotchners all at once. Reid hugs Hotch first, as tight and bone-crushing as that night in Atlanta all those years ago, followed soon after by Rossi who looks like he might shake the man but just hugs him tight and plants an absurdly embarrassing kiss on his cheek that finally cracks Hotch’s expression into something like a smile. Everyone hugs, everyone, Savannah calls him Aaron instead of Hotch because that was how he’d introduced himself all those years ago, the twins wave shyly and he shakes hands with the newer members that never got to meet him but have heard very tall tales about him for years and years. 

(And y’all, it would be the best damn scene and I would sob like a baby watching it.)

Morgan would be the one that would hold back and let the others go first, but it would also be the most profound when Hotch goes to shake his hand and the other man uses that to pull him into a tight hug of his own. 

“I’m glad you can still hold your own,” he’ll tease with nearly no heat behind it. Hotch hears it for the caring that it is.

“Like hell I would let that happen twice in my own home,” he assures him. 

Everyone settles down, and Emily leads some finer points of what’s going to happen with everyone in the next few hours. Days. Weeks, even, because there’s no knowing what is going to happen next. Hotch observes her, and there HAS to be a shot where she glances over to him and they share a look of understanding -- because she is Unit Chief now, and he approves of what he sees. 

But she turns the floor over to him, and Hotch explains what’s going on.

((I’m going to leave the finer points out about the case and the unsub, mostly because I haven’t finished ironing them out yet and I hope once I watch the remaining season I will be able to much more easily))

But at SOME POINT in the briefing, when Hotch is explaining what happened with the assassin in his home and how he apprehended him, and Emily maybe interjects with the injuries sustained and that they are still waiting for the man to regain consciousness. Penelope will 100% lean over to where Jack is sitting beside her and say without flinching, “Your dad is such a bad ass.”

((I also plan on bringing up Reid was in prison in this scene but it will be more humorous than anything because of Hotch’s reaction, stay tuned on that one. Again I’m not there yet))

((and where I’m taking them is also a secret because I need to do research and it will be so damn cool, but Hotch has everything completely planned out -- like he does. Goes as far as asking the few who question him “Secure enough for you?” when he drops where they will be staying and the protection they will have. Full blown mic drop moment.))

“So gather all of your belongings that you have here. Secure pets and homes, call the kid’s schools, whatever you need to do,” Hotch informs them, stepping back into his old shoes as team leader without even meaning to. But no one tells him to stop. “We need to be in the air ASAP, the jet is being prepped as we speak so we need to move on this.”

He leaves it at that, and everyone doesn’t move. Watching, waiting, smirking a little bit (Penelope, maybe even Reid), until he gives in.

“Wheels up in 30.”

Garcia giggles so much she near cackles with it. “Oh, I just got goosebumps!” And by Emily’s smirk and Morgan’s shared grin with Reid, a million watts between them, everyone is up and moving and pulling out cell phones to get their affairs in order.

Rossi sidles up to Hotch at that point, also openly smirking that they got him to say those four time-honored words. “Welcome back, Aaron.”

And Hotch, well -- he looks around the room at the family he had to leave behind without any hope of seeing them again, and feels every hardened edge in his face and demeanor soften. Before he looks to Dave and tells him what’s been going through his head ever since he walked back through the doors of the BAU.

“It’s good to be home.”

((END SCENE))

[herstarburststories]

I'd die for you, come kill me

Kinktober Day 11: restrained

Pairing: Demon!Dean x Reader

A/N: This one goes for my good friend followers celebration. So happy for your milestone, @msmarvelouswinchester! Divider by @talesmaniac89.

@stillintheimpala said: i have a fic idea. demon!dean stuck in a chair on handcuffed to a bed with those demon proof handcuffs. he's completely at your mercy. you get to dom him. (I put ropes instead of handcuffs because of the gif)

Prompt: Remember how I said I'd die for you.

Warnings: angry sex, p in v, riding, restraints, power play, smangst, angst, kind of hopefully ending (?), demon!dean acts like demon!dean

“Where is he?”

Sam sucked in a breath, moving his shoulder uncomfortably as he straightened his posture. The youngest Winchester's features contorted into a grimace, and you couldn't tell if it was because of the look on your face or him jarring his dislocated arm. “He's in the dungeon, but Y/N-”

“He isn't himself. I know that. Kinda noticed when he threw me against the wall and said he couldn't wait to rip my throat out with his teeth.” You gave Sam a humorless grin before you gestured to the wound on your shoulder. “This is a good reminder as well.”

“We'll cure him.” Sammy nodded at you, wrapping his words with faith and determination; he was always a believer.

You arched your eyebrows. “Then what are you waiting for?”

You two were still standing in the living room as Dean's howl rushed through the air. He sounded more like a beast than a man, yet he was smack dab in the middle of those polarized states. He was human enough to know where to strike and animal enough to relish in the attack.

Sam's gaze softened on yours.

“I know he hurt you. He hurt both of us, but Dean is my brother. I can do it alone. You don't need to-”

“Sam, he ran away once, and you just got your arm yanked out of your socket. You won't be able to fight him. You need backup,” you interrupted him. Despite your conclusion being completely rational, there was more to it than that, but Sam didn't need to know about it yet. “Besides, it's Dean.”

The hunter glanced at you. Gentle eyes watching your jaw harden, he pressed his lips together and nodded. “Okay.”

Dean's demonic self had been throwing insults like a man feeding his dog shattered glass. He was full of them, not caring about hiding his satisfaction when he hits yours and Sam's weak spots.

A couple of seconds ago, he had called you an easy pussy that saved him the job of having to go out and get some. That display rewarded him with a thicker needle that pierced much deeper than it needed to. The pure human blood spread into his veins as a holy wash, like soap over a flesh wound. Dean growled in pain and went quiet for a while.

Your eyes abandoned the demon for once, directed now to his brother. Sam's earthy brown eyes were drawn in concern, mouth sketched into a frown. His healthy arm was onto his shoulder, obviously physically hurting.

“Sam, go. I can do it. It’s just two more needles. He'll probably pass out once it's done,” you pleaded in an attempt to catch Sam's rational side that always saw the order in chaos. His hazel orbs settled on you, and you knew he didn't want to leave his brother. You can't blame him for that. You didn’t either, but if Dean was in his right mind, he'd want that. And you needed some time alone with this demon version of your boyfriend. “Please.”

You didn’t know if it was something in your cracking voice or if the fact his brother regaining control meant he’d have even harsher words to spit, but when the tall man’s eyes swept from you to his brother and back, he sighed. In that moment, you knew he accepted it. 

“If he doesn't pass out…”

“I call you right away. Don't worry, and please take some meds for your pain.” You offered some tenderness to him in the middle of the violence through a lovingly smile. In a matter of seconds, the only traces of Sammy in the room were the boot-clad clamor of his footsteps growing quieter and quieter.

“Now you have me all to yourself, sweetheart. What are you planning to do?”

The lopsided grin was still attached to his face, and those were still his teeth. Still, something about Dean's smile made you want to rip him apart with your nails. How did he let this happen? How did the situation escalate like this? How did everything get so bad so fast?

“Shut up,” you hissed through your teeth, boots clicking on the floor as you approached him. Dean glanced at you shamelessly; the pretty little bruise on your skin proving that he had succeeded in breaking you. It twisted his guts in both good and bad ways — the bittersweet contradiction among lovers. 

“Feisty, huh? I always liked that on you. Who would guess that you were a bottom in bed?” Dean appeared to find your fury entertaining as if he relished any emotion he could instigate inside you.

“I said shut up.”

“Or what? You are gonna sting me with a flimsy syringe needle like I did to you with my cock? Go ahead, sweetheart.”

The idiotic nickname burned your insides. As your and Dean's relationship got more serious, he'd stop calling you that. You weren't just a fling or a woman he'd leave the next day, and the Winchester only called you that either sarcastically or during an argument now. Was this how the demon saw you? Just another sweetheart?

Dean smirked at your quietude, poking the bear once again. “What? Demon got that smart tongue of yours? It's embarrassing, really. You get all worked up, pretending to be that tough gal, but you can't hurt me. You didn't even fight back when I tried to kill you. How weak is that? You’ve always been a liability. Just another woman I had to protect to get inside her.”

You warned him, the words coming out more like a groan than anything else: “Shut up!”

Yet, Dean persisted. He had discovered your weakness, and he couldn't wait to see how much you could take. You'd end up giving in to him, thrashing headfirst into a fight, and he'd escape again. The demon was counting on that. “A waste of time, really. At least you had a nice pussy, but I scratched it open. It's useless now, just like you.”

The dismissal in his words laced with the cynical chuckle that left his mouth made you hit your breaking point. 

“I TOLD YOU TO SHUT THE FUCK UP!” You grabbed a syringe and stung Dean like a scorpion, right in the jugular. He wanted to set you on fire? Good, you'd make sure he got burnt too. “I said I'd die for you. Remember how I said I'd die for you? And you tried to kill me.” You grunted, throwing the empty needle away. Dean's normally forest green eyes went black as howls of outrage escaped his mouth. The blood of saints that coursed through his body was a good way to either turn the beast into a man again or kill him completely. Knowing this, he screamed and struggled in the chair, as desperate as a rat stuck in a mousetrap. It made you doubt the cure. Perhaps a good thing couldn't save him now, the whispers of sulfur that colored his heart black too intrinsic to eradicate without killing the host. You couldn't bring yourself to care about it now. The demon was suffering, and he deserved it. You wanted your own hurt ricochet back to where it came from: him. “Now you are sitting there talking about me like I'm your bitch or something like that, but I'm not. I can take care of myself, and I don't need you. I chose to stay here.”

Dean blinked, and suddenly everything was in place again. His face softened like it usually did when you two were alone, and an actual smile conquered his features. All the oxygen in your body caught in your throat.

“You're right. You are a strong, independent woman, and I should feel lucky to get myself a keeper like you.” His voice filled the dungeon with light-hearted relief. Your cheeks were hurting as you scooted closer to him. “I missed you so much.”

He was saying all you wanted to tell him the minute he left. Your eyes got glossy, and you threw yourself on his lap, clutching to him like devout patron to her bible. Dean was here. He came back to you.

A quiet gasp of praise left your mouth: “Dean-”

He interrupted whatever you were about to say, replacing your words with a kiss. A sweet one — sweeter than anything you might imagine. It was the kind of kiss shared for two lovers in the dark, recognizing each other’s bodies by touch alone. You, of course, allowed yourself to get lost in the sensation of belonging. You shouldn't have. You should never just jump into someone, or you might drown. It's hard to find corpses in a black river.

Yet, your soul was tied to the righteous sinner, so you kept pressing your lips to his while he devoured your mouth softly.

“Sammy doesn't understand, Y/N,” he said. When he pulled away, you nuzzled into his neck. The heated tang to his murmured sentiments remained there, but his voice, less gruff than usual, fooled you. “I finally don't have the weight of the world on my shoulders. I'm free. I never thought I'd be happy after that night…” Dean wore the façade, even gulping at the thought. He didn't know if it was because the human blood was slowly coursing into the core of his being, but he wouldn't waste time on it. “But I can now. We can run away together, leave Sam behind. Just me and you.”

What did you expect? He was a demon. The blame was on you for expecting repentance from the ashes of hellfire. This isn't a fairytale where the hero suddenly is hit by true love and everything is solved with the ultimate kiss. This is a hunter’s tale, and there's just one ending for those stories: the prey dying.

You lifted your head. “Dean would never leave Sam behind.”

Dean burst into laughter as if your hope was some sort of funny joke. He adjusted his hips in the chair, smirking at you with cruelty.

“Bet it almost got you. I could see your eyes shining with hope. You were ready to get on your knees and suck my cock. You’d be screaming Dean, Dean, Dean, and inevitably fall for some stupid lies.” He shook his head with disappointment. “You're too easy, Y/N.”

“Who do you think you are?” The indignancy in your tone only drew a malicious grin out of Dean. This was too good. He could feel his cock hardened in his pants. He might fuck you before killing you only to make good use of his time.

“I'm a demon. What about you? Oh, wait! I know the answer to that one.” He licked his lips, savoring the moment. “You're a little-”

Smack.

The palm of your hand met Dean's cheek harshly, transferring some of your anger into a red mark on his right cheek. The eldest Winchester's head was tilted to the side from the impact. He clenched his jaw before turning his glare at you, eyes back in black as he spoke: “You shouldn't have done that.”

Every syllable that left his tongue was imbued with a threatening crimson rage, but you didn't care. Not now.

You weren't scared of him.

“You shouldn't be a demon, but here we are,” you remarked, summoning a smarmy leer and wearing it like one of his flannels. “Shut up. I know you're not my Dean. You are just all he hates in himself wrapped with his skin. You're disgusting, cruel, and selfish.” It didn’t make any sense for your body to be as heated up as it was, but it was. And Dean didn’t care. Fuck him. “You’ve spent so long aiming at our Achilles’ heel that you forgot you have yours too. Stupid.” You chortled, grinding your hips on his. At this point, both your panties and emotional stability were ruined. “Look at you, all hard for the girl basically torturing you with poison, huh?”

“You-” He attempted to speak, to put you down so he can climb over you. You stopped him with a hand inside his pants.

“Language, Dean,” you groaned at him. It wasn't unusual for you and Dean to blow off some steam with sex, either after a fight or a hunt, but, this? It’s a whole new level of fucked. Yet somehow, your pussy didn't seem to mind, and neither did his cock. You got his length free, and his stiffened cock slapped his clothed belly. “I don't wanna hear something that makes me angry because if I get mad, then I won't let you come inside my pretty pussy. Understood?”

He groaned in response, trying to move his hands to show you who the real alpha was here, but the rope kept him in place. Silence lanced through the air because you knew you didn't want to waste time on something as exciting as foreplay; he did not deserve that, and you didn't want this. You just lifted your red skirt and slid your panties to the side. Your pussy swallowed his cock painfully slow.

The demon that ate your lover didn't offer mumbled protests at the fact you were still wearing clothes. Your Dean always tried to get any piece of fabric away because he liked to see all of you. This Dean, though, gulped and glared at you. Pleasure flushed his cheeks only he can’t deny the physical pleasure. It’s clear that, even as a demon, he could never reject the carnal appeal of your body and your sweet, soaked pussy. Hands pinned behind his back with the restraints, you two in the middle of a big demon symbols on the ground, he was completely at your mercy. He was helpless.

Dean bucked his hips to get all of his hardness inside you right way, to show both you and himself that he still had the power here. You barely blinked before moving your hips up, restricting him further entrance into your cunt. Dean was always eager when it came to sex, but you knew this wasn't about just fucking you anymore. You were in control.

Placing your hands on his shoulders, you murmured in an increasingly sultry bite: “I'm the one making the rules here. Take it or leave it.”

“Fucking a demon? That's why you told Sammy to go with all the crap about caring for his arm?” the former hunter remarked. You and he both knew Dean wouldn't — couldn’t, not with half his cock being squeezed by your tightness — leave your pussy, but he still very much had the capacity to bite.

“Unlike you, I worry about the people I love.”

“I don't love,” he snarled, watching you swallow the malcontented lump in your throat. “Hear that? I don't love you.”

“Then at least be useful and fuck me,” you groaned, finally resting wholly in his lap with all of his dick inside of you. Dean whimpered, overthrown by the sensation of your heady tightness encompassing his cock. He tried to break free again, starved to grab your thighs, your ass, any part of you he could get his hands on, but the rope limited his range of motion. The raw polyester and nylon mix around his wrists was a contrast to the warmth of his lap. His eyes closed, blinking only back into wakeful blackness because of your promise disguised as a hissed threat: “No, forget it. I'll be the one fucking you.”

There was something delightfully mercurial about the way you rode Dean. The dungeon once filled by his pained screams had now become the perfect studio for your flexing thighs slapping against his, your breathless moans camouflaging the raw hurt of your heart, and the unique sound of Dean's cock sunk to impossible degrees inside your needy cunt. He leaned in for more.

This was no longer about the sexual release for him. It was for the tiny part of Dean that always craved an order to follow. It was the small piece of him that craved carrying the weight of responsibility heavy on his back like the burden Atlas had to bear. It was the liberation of the heavy chains that held him down since he was a child, even if his hands were — appropriately enough — tied behind his back. As a demon, he didn’t have to worry, and neither did he when submissive to you. For you, it was expelling your revenge on this devilish version of the man you loved. He had it coming.

“I hate you. I hate having to save you. I hate caring about you.” You huffed, nails sinking in his clothed shoulder. The ghost of your touch was enough to make his dick twitch inside you. Tears brimmed in your eyes as the goosebumps rose your spine, and every time you sunk on his cock brought you closer to collapse. All Dean did was to praise your name with a moan. “I hate how good you feel inside me.” You sobbed, increasing your rhythmic and going fast and rougher on his cock. Your walls were tightening around his dick. Your untouched clit rubbed against the fabric, but it didn't matter. This wasn't about pleasure. “I hate that it’s you and not him.” That's not my Dean.

That caught his attention. Dean’s shoulders grew rigid. He was ready to catch a glimpse of warring emotions of hatred and disgust on your face, but he wasn't prepared for the crushingly forlorn refraction of loss and dispair he found there. 

The knight of hell should feel satisfied. That was what he wanted, wasn't it? Destroying you, turning the woman the human version of himself loved into a walking catastrophe so you wouldn't dare bring him back.

Apparently, the priorities changed. Maybe the blood was really effective, slowly disintegrating his armor into flesh again. It was the only explanation for all the humanly emotions he was experiencing.

Dean felt the conflict building as if hurting you was physically tearing him apart. His eyes contracted into livid green again, shining like the moon with tears he didn't dare drop. He was still a demon, bratty heart or not.

Yet, there was only so far a man could control himself. His lips were treacherous for your name, echoed more like a plea than anything: “Y/N-”

“Shut up! I don't wanna hear your voice. You said I'm your little bitch, nothing but a whore to you, huh? Guess what, asshole. You are my bitch now, and you’re gonna like it.” The little monster in you hummed happily to your authority, glad to finally punish someone for the incitement of agony inside your guts. You closed your eyes, riding Dean ferociously.

Dean Winchester might have been a cage to your feelings, but at least it was golden.

You said you'd be here. You said you wouldn't leave me. Your thoughts corroded your wearied heart as you tried to fuck them away with Dean's weeping cock. You could feel he was close, and you were constantly hitting your G-spot with eagerness, your sweat and harrowed feelings gushing over. You said I didn't need to leave. You said we'd find a way through this. You lied, you lied, you lied. 

I trusted you, and you destroyed me. You hurt me and Sam, and I can't even blame you for it. He knew all your enemies started out as friends. He knew how much it would hurt you if he got the mark. He knew how it would break you if he said those words, demon or not. And you know you can't put this blame on Dean’s shoulders, but you were suffocating and needed fresh air. The sacrificial game wasn’t always a virtuous act. So, you dropped yourself down hard, appreciating the way his cock hit the right spot over and over again. It forced your body to feel good despite your restless mind. I hate you. You made me go crazy. And I miss you.

What was the saying? Man makes the promise, and the demon makes him break it.

Dean's fixated you. He wanted to get free of his cuffs and cup your cheeks, see you lean into his touch so he could wipe away the tears that started to fall and haven't stopped in minutes. He wanted to tell you he was here, not completely, but he was here. He wanted to apologize and make it better, but he didn't. His white skin was burning red because of how hard he was trying to move his hands, hair moving by your movements and his. The semi-human groaned like the remainder of the beast clutching his strings when he hit his orgasm and spread his seed inside you. You whined like a broken toy as you came all over his cock.

It felt good, for a while. It was nice, feeling good.

You stayed there a little more, gaining control over yourself while he softened inside of you. Dean was doing the same in an attempt to stifle his human emotions from surfacing. He wasn't going to be weak anymore. He couldn't be because for once in his life, he hadn’t hated himself. 

You coughed, using the chair to hoist yourself to your feet. His cum dripped from your pussy, dampening his still-clothed thigh. You sniffed, grimacing a little when you noticed that your face wasn't wet with sweat. You’d been crying. 

That only made you madder at yourself.

“Fuck it,” you groaned, putting his dick back into his pants before zipping him up.

Dean smirked in a final attempt to turn the table and get on your nerves again. “That's what we just did.”

You didn't waste more of your heart on him. Taking the last needle, you sunk the devil into his sharp skin and pressed the plunger with all the fervor of pulling a gun's trigger. He screamed like the rush of humanity flowing into him was a shot to the heart.

Your legs were trembling when you threw the object away and hugged yourself, focused on Dean's fragile body in front of you. 

He looked down, eyes shutting a few times as if he was waking up before lifting his head to look at you. 

“Y/N?” His voice was back to its gruff drag, but it was carrying a strand of vulnerability and care that he had only ever directed at you. Dean frowned, confusedly watching you and the place around you both, not to mention himself. “Y/N, what happened?”

He didn't remember anything. He didn't remember the terrible things he’d done. He didn't remember the words said.

You gulped, the back of your hand pressed against your wet cheeks. “I'm going to get Sam.”

The demon may have gotten teary-eyed, but the human Dean was the one letting the tears slide down his cheeks as you turned around and left, almost running to get away from him. He didn't even know why.

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[snelbz]

Lost Time {11}

A/N: Hey, guess what? It’s another smut chapter. Like this is purely smut. Enjoy. As always, co-written by @tacmc​.

The drive was quiet, Azriel was looking out the window as she drove, but not quite paying attention. Because when they reached their destination and Elain got out of the car, Az froze and looked around. He got out and jogged up the porch behind her.

As Elain slipped her key in her front door, she breathed, “Would you like to come in for a drink?”

He nodded. “I’d love to.”

She smiled broadly and said, “First, you have to kiss me goodnight though.”

Azriel laughed, quietly, before taking her face into his hands and bringing his lips to hers. He kissed her slowly, deeply. Just when he thought he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from kissing her all night long, she pulled back, breathless, and with a sly, sweet smile, she pushed open the door and flipped on the light.

“Make yourself at home,” she said, tossing her purse and keys onto the coffee table. “I’ll get us some drinks.”

Azriel nodded and watched her disappear before sitting in an armchair. He wanted to look around, definitely wanted to snoop, but he pulled out his phone, instead, and called Cassian.

He picked up on the second ring. “Well, mom said you were safe, but I’m still a little bitter that you’ve waited this long to tell me as much.”

Azriel chuckled, keeping his voice quiet. “Sorry, I got….busy.”

There was a silence. “Busy? Busy with Elain? Busy busy?”

Azriel ran a hand down his face. “Yes.”

“Holy shit,” Cassian breathed, then he started laughing. “Yes? That’s all I get? I don’t even get details-.”

“I was just calling to let you know that I’m safe,” Azriel said, unable to stop himself from grinning. “We just got to her house so-.”

“SHE LET YOU IN HER HOUSE-.”

“Goodbye, Cass.” Azriel hung up and tossed his phone on the coffee table, just as Elain came back with a full bottle of wine and two glasses.

“Who was that?” She asked, opening the bottle and sitting on the arm of the chair.

Azriel ran a hand up her leg, skimming the hem of her dress higher up her thigh. “Cassian. I figured I should let him know I wasn’t lying dead in a ditch somewhere.”

Elain was filling the glasses and was about to say something when her phone rang from her purse. Her eyes slid to him. “That’s Nesta. What exactly did you tell him?”

A blush appeared on Azriel’s cheeks. “He wanted to know why I hadn’t called and I told him we got...busy.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Busy?”

He cleared his throat and nodded, while Elain crossed the room to answer her phone.

He could hear Nesta’s voice through the receiver from where he sat.

“No, Donovan’s at Miryam’s-.”

It was all Elain could get out before Nesta went on another rant. A blush crept high on Elain’s cheeks, to the tips of her ears. “Are you seriously having this conversation with me? Nesta, I have a kid, it’s not my first time-.” She was cut off yet again, and she met Azriel's curious gaze and rolled her eyes. He laughed, softly, as Nesta continued on. “No, Lucien left, he won’t be back.” Her words were soft, but they gave Azriel a selfish satisfaction. “Okay, I’ll let him know. Yeah, I love you, too. Bye.”

She hung up the phone and blew out a slow breath before making her way back to Azriel and sat on his lap, her arms around his neck.

“Let me know what?” He asked, his lips finding her neck.

“Oh, you know Nesta,” she said, quietly. “Threats and whatnot.”

Azriel pulled back, his eyes growing sad as he looked at her. “I swear I won’t hurt you again, Elain. It was the biggest mistake of my life, my biggest regret.”

He had said it a million times, and it never felt like enough.

But the sparkle in her eyes was genuine when she breathed, “I know. I trust you.”

He cupped the back of her neck and pulled her lips back to his. She hadn’t said it audibly, but they both heard the but she hadn’t said.

But my sisters are a different story.

Elain pulled away and finished pouring the wine and they each took a sip - before Azriel spit his back into the glass and Elain made a low whining noise, her face scrunching up in disgust.

“What the hell is that?” Azriel asked, setting his glass down and picked the bottle up, inspecting it.

Elain began to laugh. “It's that eighty dollar bottle of wine we had Rhys buy for our wedding night.”

Azriel shook his head, chuckling. “That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever tasted.”

She smiled. “We were eighteen, we only ever drank Fireball and vodka. How were we supposed to know Sauvignon Blanc was one of the driest wines you can buy?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Do you have anything else?”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve got a couple beers tucked away in the back of the fridge. And a boxed wine.”

“Sounds perfect,” he said, carrying the horrible bottle of wine back to the kitchen as she followed with the glasses. He watched as she bent down to retrieve two cans of beer from the back of the fridge, along with a cheap boxed wine.

But when she turned around and caught his gaze, his eyes were soft. He whispered, his voice rough, “Come here.”

She set the contents down on the counter, but then Azriel was lifting her up by her waist and setting her on the counter, too. She grinned as her arms wrapped around his neck, her legs around his waist.

Words ceased as his lips found hers again and the alcohol was forgotten. She knew they’d most likely be a chapped mess in the morning, but Elain couldn’t bring herself to care. Where their kisses earlier in the day had been frantic, hungry, needy, these were lazy and appreciative. She knew that tonight he’d be tortuously slow, teasing her in every way he could. He had four years to make up for.

The thought had her dying for some friction, to feel anything between her legs. She tried to close her legs, to rub her thighs together, but with her he stood, she just squeezed his hips. She was unable to stop the quietest whimper from leaving her and Azriel pulled back to look at her. He breathed, “So needy.”

And she was. Her dress was halfway up her thigh on one side and exposing her green panties on the other. The straps had fallen to the side and her chest was heaving.

“Are you going to make me wait?” she asked, in a sensual whisper.

Azriel sucked in his bottom lip before a slow grin spread across his lips. “I’m going to take my time showing you just how much I love you.”

She kissed him, slowly, as he carried her down the hall. “And how much is that?”

His lips were still brushing along hers as he said, “More than I thought humanly possible.”

Her legs around his waist tightened, a gentle hand tangling into his hair as she kissed him, yet again. In that moment, she believed that their bodies could never be close enough. They were pressed up against each other, but she still longed to be closer. She would always want to be as close to him as possible, and then some.

Azriel’s tongue swept between her lips as he stepped onto the first stair, then the next, his heavy footsteps creaking up the wooden staircase. His grip around Elain remained steady, strong, his lips falling tenderly against hers, sweet, slow, continuous. When he reached the second-floor landing, he had her pressed up against the floral wallpaper, the same wallpaper that had always been there, and he was taking her face into his hands, holding up her body with his hips as he nibbled on her lip.

She let him kiss her for a moment, but there’d been one thing and one thing only on her mind since the front door shut behind them. Unwrapping her legs from around his waist, Elain put one wobbly foot down and then the other. Azriel pulled away, looking down at her with an amused, but confused expression. She only smiled up at him and then leaned up to press a kiss to his waiting lips.

Elain’s kisses began a path down his chin, along his jawline and then to the collared hem of his shirt. Her teeth tugged and teased against it and Azriel pulled it over his head, Elain leaning back to appreciate the expanse of tanned, tattooed skin. Her lips trailed down between his pecs, her nails lightly scratching a path behind them.

Azriel took a deep breath in through his nose and let it out of his parted lips, slowly. When Elain was on her knees before him, brushing those feather-like kisses across his lower abdomen, just above the jeans hanging low on his hips, she braced her hands on his thighs. He could feel her nails through his jeans, and the thought of what was about to come had his breathing shallowed. Those delicate fingers trailed up his thighs, far too close to his hardening length for him not to groan, and began undoing his belt, then the button on his jeans, then the zipper. She looked up at him through long, dark lashes as she slowly tugged them down his thighs. Just when he thought she couldn’t tease him anymore, she gently palmed him through his boxer-briefs.

The wait was agonizing. He breathed her name. “Elain.”

She only looked up at him, yet again, innocently with wide, brown eyes. He saw the wicked delight there, how much she enjoyed drawing this out. She’d never been one for waiting, but it seemed that as she matured, so did her patience.

A hiss slipped between his teeth as she took a finger and ran it from the outlined head, along his length, and then back up again.

“Elain.”

Her name was a warning this time, not to tease him too harshly. Her soft giggle was the last thing he heard before his eyes rolled back into his head and he pressed a hand against the wall in front of him.

She hadn’t removed his underwear, but her tongue followed the same path her finger had moments before. He did his best to control himself, to let her set the pace, but gods, that mouth. He’d never forgotten the amazing things she did with that sinful mouth, but memories never compared to the real thing. Azriel was unable to stop himself from pushing her hair back off her face, gathering all of the curling strands at the back of her head. He wanted to see her face, he always wanted to look in her eyes while she pleasured him.

Those brown eyes locked onto his own and she held his gaze as she pressed soft kisses into the patch of hair above the waistband of his boxer-briefs, before gripping them by the elastic, and discarding them around his ankles.

Her cheek brushed along the side of his cock before she took him into her hand. With those teasing, wild, brown eyes still on his, the tip of her tongue found his balls and trailed up along the underside of his length. His breathing hitched as she took the head into her mouth, softly sucking, her tongue swirling around the tip. With one hand braced flat against the wall, the other wadding up her hair, Azriel’s eyelids fluttered shut as he breathed a deep, raspy curse.

There was nothing Elain loved more than having Azriel’s cock in her mouth. She never felt more powerful than in those moments, because while it seemed she was in the position of subservience, she knew with one word, he’d call down the moon for her. Or he’d at least try.

Closing her eyes, she slowly began to bob her head, taking him deeper and deeper with each pass. There wasn’t another sound in the house, just Azriel’s shallow breathing and occasional moans from her that shot right through him.

After a particularly deep dip, when Az had been powerless to stop his hips from moving, he bucked once into her mouth. Elain’s eyes opened and she gagged around his cock, her lips nearly touching the base where the length jutted out from his body.

With a quiet gasp, Elain pulled back and Azriel watched as a thin string of spit still connected her lips to the swollen head. He opened his mouth to speak, but his words were cut off when she began to pump her hand along his length. She dragged her tongue from base to tip and back again before swirling it around his balls. Without a word of warning, she lightly sucked one into her mouth and slowly stroked him

His entire body tensed, his heavy breaths halted, then his low groans filled the silence of the dark, empty house. He wanted to lay her down, spread her legs and show her he could do just as well to her, wanted to thrust himself into her ruthlessly until she was screaming his name, but he was being selfish and would continue to be selfish until she was done. He had been in a lot of compromising positions with Elain throughout the years he’d known her, but what she was doing now... Azriel was on edge, and she’d only just begun.

He didn’t want to fall over that edge, either, because the sensation that was thrumming throughout his body was ethereal.

She sucked harder, just a little bit, as she stroked him faster, gripped him harder. He knew the little moans coming from her mouth were purely for his benefit, and he loved every little sound she blessed him with.

That is, until he watched, with her eyes closed, mouth still worshiping his balls, as her hand slipped under her dress. The second her finger came into contact with her clit, it was like another woman appeared. Her movements became more frantic, her mouth more urgent as she let her tongue glide over his hard cock.

Elain looked up at him, circling the tip with her tongue, before pulling it between her lips and sucking lightly. Azriel groaned and he held both sides of her face, gently brushing his thumbs along her hollowed out cheeks.

She pulled back and breathed, “What do you want, Az?”

“You,” he grunted as her hand took the place of her mouth. “I want you.”

“How do you want me?” She asked, finally pushing those green, lacy panties to the side and giving him a glimpse of her slick heat. Her finger lightly teased the entrance and her eyes fluttered shut. “Do you want me slow, hard, begging?” She ran her tongue along the underside of his length again, chuckling as it jumped in her hand. “Do you want me to stay on my knees, on the bed, from the back?”

Azriel’s eyes were wide and his cock was about to explode from just her words. She’d gained so much confidence in the past four years. When they’d been together before, she could barely talk about the fact that they had sex, much less go into details. Now, she was asking him what he wanted, laying out a veritable menu.

And he was so in shock that he had to fully collect himself before saying, “I want you in every way. And I plan to have you in every way, slow, hard, begging, all through the night.” Azriel took her chin into his hand and lifted so that she met his wild-eyed gaze. “Come morning, you won’t be able to walk straight.”

Her eyes lit up with humor and something else, something that looked like she was challenging him. Prove it.

“But first,” he continued, her chin still gripped between his scarred fingers, “I’ll lay you down, flat on your back, spread those pretty little legs as wide as they can go, and I’ll devour you, slowly, until I’ve memorized the way you taste.”

Elain sucked in a slow, shaky breath, as her own finger moved in urgent circles against her clit.

He held out a hand to her. “Stand up.”

The tone of his voice told Elain not to challenge him, nor did she want to. She laid the same hand she had been touching herself with in his open palm and climbed to her feet. Her dress fell back into place and save for the blush on her cheeks, no one would have known she’d just been giving him the most phenomenal blowjob of his life. He, however, was naked in her upstairs hallway and Azriel found that very unfair.

Lifting her hand to his mouth, he sucked the two fingers she’d used to play with her clit, that she’d just barely dipped inside herself, into his mouth and licked them clean.

When he let go of her hand and let it fall back to her side, her eyes needy and breathing heavy, he dropped his lips to her ear and said, “Just in case you forgot what I can do. Bedroom.”

Her bottom lip was trapped between her teeth as she nodded and took his hand, leading him to the master bedroom. The room used to belong to her father, but it bore no resemblance to the cave the reclusive man used it as. Now it was decorated in soft pastels, florals, with lots of light and space.

Not that Azriel was paying attention to any of that as Elain led him into the room. Reaching the end of the bed, she loosened the top of her dress, shimmying it down her body until it was pooled at her feet. She hooked her thumbs in her panties and he reached out and grabbed her wrist, stopping her.

“No,” he breathed. “Leave them on.” It wasn’t a request. She nodded and he added, nodding to the bed. “Lie down.”

Elain did as she was told, eyes bright. Her back fell against the lavender comforter and for a moment, Azriel did nothing. He stood at the foot of the bed and slowly scanned her body. She laid confidently, her lips parted, hair splayed across the blanket. Her arms were tossed above her head, allowing him full display of her perky, petite breasts. As he watched her, drinking her in, Elain slowly spread her legs, allowing him access to the place she longed for him to touch most. Her thin, green panties were soaked.

In the time it took Elain to blink, the sweet Azriel she’d always loved was gone, and instead a side of Az she’d never seen took his place. And holy gods… She liked this side of him.

He was always careful to make sure he wasn’t too domineering in his everyday life, because at his size, it was next to impossible. But this side of the man she loved, the man who never failed to surprise her… It made her want to do every word he said.

Azriel climbed onto the bed, crawling and kissing his way up her body. He kissed along her thighs, her stomach, and her neck, but he didn’t ever get close to where she needed him. Elain fought off a groan as he chuckled, the husky laugh by her ear, sending goosebumps along her skin.

“Please.”

The word tumbled from her lips and Az froze. He pulled back and looked down at her, whispering, “Say it again.”

She did as she was told, the breathy whisper almost inaudible. “Please, Azriel.”

In a flash, he was between her legs, but he didn’t press his lips to her sex like she’d wanted him to. He ran a soft featherlight touch directly down the center of her soaked panties.

She gasped, and although it was quiet, she swore it echoed throughout the quiet room. He did it again, slower this time, admiring the way her chest heaved, the way it rose and fell, rapidly.

“Please,” she begged, another quiet plea. She whimpered, softly, and Azriel let out a deep, low growl.

“Please what?” he whispered.

“Taste me,” she breathed.

Azriel slowly moved her panties aside before running his thumb gently between her folds. She was so wet that he couldn’t help but bring his thumb to his mouth. Elain watched as he licked her juice off his own skin.

“Your mouth, I need your mouth,” she whispered. “Please.”

Azriel gripped her thighs and pushed her legs down as far as they’d go before he settled himself between her legs and gave her pussy one agonizingly slow stroke with his tongue.

She softly cried out, her hand tangling into his messy hair. Her eyes didn’t leave his as he repeated the motion once, twice, three times, and then flicked his tongue over her swollen clit.

Elain couldn’t have stopped the bucking of her hips if she wanted to, not when she needed his mouth on her. She needed it like she needed air to breathe, to live. But then she felt his arm snake over her lower belly, and he held her down, sucking her clit in between his lips.

Elain’s moan echoed throughout the house and Azriel fisted his cock as he did whatever he could to bring her right to the edge, wanting to give her his full attention, but god damn, she tasted like perfection. And the way she writhed beneath him… Fuck, he loved this woman.

He abandoned his own pleasure and teased a finger at her entrance, gazing up at her through his lashes.

Her lips were parted, her brows furrowed, her eyes nearly shut but watching him. He pushed his finger inside of her as he continued sucking on her clit, then he added another finger, and another. He pumped in and out of her, slowly, as he took her clit between his teeth before gently soothing it with his tongue.

She cursed and Azriel’s bones were set on fire. He loved the way she cursed, loved that it sounded more like a prayer than damnation.

It had Azriel gripping her ass and pressing his mouth against her sex, taking as much of her in as he could. His tongue explored her, desperately. He’d told her he’d devour her, and that he would.

His own personal feast.

Her body began to tense, the tug of her hand in his hair almost painful, her other hand tugging on her own breast. She was pinching and squeezing her nipple as if it were his teeth. Her pulled her clit back between his lips and sucked lightly, tugging just hard enough that he drew another moan from her. With a curl of his fingers, she was there, on the edge, on the precipice of orgasmic bliss. And when he moaned against her sex, the vibration shooting directly to her core, she exploded.

Azriel didn’t care, helped her ride it out, his mouth still sucking her clit as her body tensed around him. Her legs wrapped around his neck, his shoulders, shaking uncontrollably, as Azriel’s chin, his lips, became coated in her juices. Her screams turned into soft moans, then she fell silent as she held her breath. And when her body became slack, and she tried to catch her breath, Azriel removed his mouth from her sex and met her gaze. He licked his lips, slowly.

Elain couldn’t remember how to move, how to speak, how to breathe. The only thing she knew was Azriel’s name and that was enough to tether her to the ground to come down from her orgasm high.

His eyes stayed on her as he kissed and sucked and licked his way up her body. He was not even close to being done pleasuring her, wanting to hear his name echo through every room in the house.

As he reached her breasts, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to each of her nipples. After he’d kissed the second one, he flicked his tongue over the sensitive nub. Elain gasped, her chest heaving, and he closed his mouth over her breast, sucking the nipple between his teeth. He kneaded the other, his fingers massaging and tugging and soothing.

After giving equal treatment to her other breast, he continued his path upward until he pressed a soft kiss to her lips. Elain leaned up and nipped at his bottom lip, tugging lightly and he groaned and let some of his weight fall on her. A soft gasp fell from her lips and her eyes gazed up at him as the head of his cock pressed against her entrance.

Azriel brushed back her hair, his breathing shallow as his hands skimmed down her body before he pushed himself up on his knees. Elain’s eyes followed him as he did so. Neither of them said a word before Azriel gripped her hips and flipped her over before grabbing her ass and pulling her back into him. His cock was hard, brushing between her folds as Azriel hovered over her back. He took her breasts into his hands as he whispered into her ear, “What now?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Fuck me.”

Before she could take a breath, he was filling her, so agonizingly slow, that she tried to force herself back. He held her hips tightly, not giving her any room to wiggle around at all. When he was completely inside of her, seated to the hilt, Elain’s legs were shaking and she thought she might split open from just how full she felt. One of his long fingers found her clit and Elain whimpered as he pressed against the sensitive nub. Azriel leaned over her back one more time and breathed into her ear, “Fuck me, what?”

A little whine tumbled from her lips before she said, “Fuck me, daddy.”

Azriel’s body stilled. She’d breathed the words so softly that he wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly. He’d expected a please, but daddy…

A low, primal noise came out of him before he could stop himself, as that single request fueled his every move. He pulled himself out of her, nearly all the way, before thrusting himself back into her, relentlessly. She cried out as he found a quick, hard pace. He didn’t hold back, couldn’t hold back. She made him wild, made him forget who he was, made him forget the world around him. All he knew in that moment was that Elain was there, raw, real, confident, wanting him.

One of her hands was braced against the headboard, pressing herself back, trying to take as much of him as she physically could. The sounds of her moans spurred him on and when she buried her face in the pillow, he groaned. Her ass lifted and the view was fucking phenomenal. Without warning, he removed one of his hands from her hip and brought it back down with a crack!

He didn’t think it was possible, but Elain tightened around him further when she cried out as his hand made contact. The whimpering moans had his hand gently rubbing over the curve of her ass, soothing the sting. “Did you like that, baby?” He grunted, not letting up on the relentless pace he’d set. She nodded, soft moans falling from her lips, face still buried in the pillow. He caressed the same spot again, squeezing softly and breathed, “Do you want another?”

She turned her head to the side and nodded frantically, whispering, “Yes, yes, yes…”

He paused his hips, stopping with just the tip still inside of her. She whined in protest and he said “Yes, what?”

Glancing down, he could see her wetness running down the back of her thighs. He would never have expected that this is what his sweet Elain would want. But he had also never seen her so wet, so completely out of her mind with lust. He loved it and would do anything she asked to keep her like that.

He repeated himself when she hadn’t answered, gripping her ass with both hands. “Yes, what, baby?”

Elain looked back at him over her shoulder, locking his eyes onto hers, and said, “Yes, please, daddy.”

Azriel nearly came at the sight of her on all fours, looking into his eyes, saying such things. His hand made contact with her ass, her pale skin starting to turn pink, his cock pounding into her over and over and over again.

He closed his eyes, gripping the headboard in front of them, fully aware that he couldn’t hang on much longer. His groans grew louder as her sounds of pleasure filled the bedroom.

Her voice grew higher and higher and he could tell she was only a few more thrusts from release of her own. He picked up his pace, going as deep as he could, growling, “Are you close, my love?” She nodded as he continued his relentless assault. “Do you want to cum? Say it, baby.”

She was facedown in the pillow again by that point, and the muffled moan that left her as his hand came down against her ass one last time had the timing of his hips becoming sloppy erratic.

“Can I cum, please? I need to cum.” The words were filthy coming from pretty, pink lips, and Azriel wrapped an arm around her waist as he fucked her with everything he had left.

“The cum for me, baby,” he whispered, pressing kisses into the back of her neck, damp with sweat.

She did just that. He could feel her release around him, and the sensation had his face falling into her back, against her damp skin. Her body was shuddering, everything shaking, hardly able to keep herself upright. His lips found the back of her neck, his teeth nipping at the tender skin. She moaned his name, and his grip on her tightened.

Azriel came soon after, and he rode it out slowly, his heart nearly about to beat out of his chest. He used to be insecure about the sounds that would come from him when pleasured, but with her he didn’t care. He let them tumble from his lips, freely, openly.

The room fell into silence, all that could be heard was their heavy breaths as they struggled to steady their breathing.

Azriel pulled out, taking note of the mix of their climaxes dripping out of her, one of the most erotic things he’d ever seen, and fell onto the bed beside her. When she kept her head buried in the pillow, he gently brushed the hair back from her forehead. Elain glanced up at him, those warm brown eyes orgasm drunk and satisfied. He didn’t want to disturb the stillness, but quietly asked, “You okay?”

She nodded. Her eyes drifted closed. “More than okay.”

He chuckled and tugged on one of the arms she had tucked under the pillows. She crawled over to him, nestling into his neck and he gently skimmed his fingers up and down her back, the light touch raising goosebumps along her skin.

“Mmm,” was all she said as she pressed a kiss to his throat.

He craned his neck trying to look down at her. “Good mmm or bad mmm?”

“Good,” she purred, a hand dragging down his chest and abdomen and she gripped his already softening cock. He grunted and she said, “Very, very good.”

“Good,” he mumbled, kissing her lips and rolling over so he was on top of her. His arms framed her face, caging her in so all she saw was his own. “So,” he said carefully, pressing a kiss to her nose. “Daddy, huh?”

She laughed breathily as she narrowed her eyes. “Thought I’d try it out.”

“And?” he asked, quietly, carefully brushing the stray wisps of hair off of her face.

“If that’s the reaction I get, I’d say it’s a keeper,” she whispered, her grin widening.

Azriel laughed, his smile wide as he kissed her lips, softly, slowly. “I love you, so much.”

Her fingertips began rubbing his lower back in small, gentle circles. “I love you, too.”

That wasn’t that last time Azriel made love to Elain Archeron that night, nor was it the last orgasm he gave her by far. But when they were finally spent, both sweaty and exhausted, but unwilling to let the other move even an inch, they fell asleep in each other’s arms, ready to face whatever tomorrow would bring to them.

[prorevenge]

Talk to me anyway you please? Nah... have fun loosing the entire staff along with the juiciest of juicy contracts.

This is a super throw back but it still brings a smile to my face. Also, my writing sucks so please excuse the grammatical errors.

I was a rink rat growing up. The only day I wasn’t in the skating rink were the adult and gay nights (calm down, it was the 90’s and that’s literally what it was called). Friday night, Saturday morning and night along with Sunday morning and night I was there. Hell, I didn’t even leave between the morning and night sessions. I even went Tuesday nights as well! I was serious too. I dove deep into speed skating and not trying to toot my own horn but I was pretty good and well known.

Anyway, I’d been going to this specific skating rink for years and knew EVERYONE. One day, It was right before I started 7th grade, the owner came up too me and asked me to go out onto the rink floor and tell some kids to slow down. I did and came back and he asked me how would I like to make $7.50 and hour to which I responded “do I also get in for free?” He laughed and said of course. BOOM! First job and I wanted to be there anyway so it was the biggest win-win of all time for me. To say I loved it was an understatement and I did everything besides work the snack bar. DJ, skate counters, floor guard, janitor, hype man... you name it and I did it. It was some of the greatest times of my life. So much fun and the owner was super awesome. Also, we were paid under the table so getting an envelope full of cash every week just felt like a bonus for having fun. To me it wasn’t a job, it was pure fun. It also helped that all my friends were regulars as well.

A few years go by and the owner sold to another guy who we will call Tim. Tim could be an absolute nightmare to work for. He changed the entire dynamic of the place and everyone felt it. Now, this skating rink was POPULAR and extremely old. Lots or people all over the city knew of it. My mom and aunt skated there when they were kids if that tells you anything.

Someway or another the new owner set up and juicy deal that had the rink started making a shitload of money! On Saturday night from 7-11 it was skating per usual but from 11-2ish/3ish is was a club. A local hip hop station came in there with local label Swishahouse and turnt the place upside down for those few hours. Every week and the place was POPPIN. There must have been over 2k people in there on average and at $20 per person it adds up quick plus the snack bar would NEVER stop turning out food and drink. We were making stupid money. Bonus! We also found some good stuff when cleaning up as well. Money, knives, weed, jewelry... It was awesome.

So Tim has it made but sometimes he would fly off the handle for little things. All of us weren’t sure what his deal was but he would explode out of nowhere and start talking all kinds of nonsense. I’d started to have enough because we all had worked there for many years WITHOUT ISSUE. One night he went too far..

I don’t like being called outside of my name. It’s a respect thing. My own mother didn’t do it and he for sure wasn’t. For context I was in 10th grade now. One night he was in some kinda mood and for whatever reason was taking it out on everyone. I don’t remember the exact situation but he started freaking out on me at about 11:30PM. Now, Slim Thug and Paul Wall were in the building that night so the place was extra packed. Waaaay more that usual (I’m sure we were braking all kinds of fire marshal rules lol). He went ballistic and called me every name in the book while I just stood there with rage building up in me. I’d had enough. For years this place ran flawlessly and everyone loved us so he really didn’t have a good reason to treat us in the manner he did. My plan was formed. I immediately gather everyone else that was working and we all decided that enough was enough. It was time for a lesson.

I assembled the entire crew and well all quit on the spot. ALL OF US. That meant nobody to serve food, clean, help the swishahouse people, or just carry out general things that needed to be done when 2-3k people were in the building. He was stunned, his tone changed and he became very sweet. We weren’t having it. As an additional fuck you I called the other two people that were off and they showed up to quit as well. Tim had already reached out so he assumed they were showing up to work. Nope. We left him with zero workers on the absolute busiest of busy nights and boy did it implode. He couldn’t find anyone to work so the place went to absolute shit that night. The on duty officer told him he needed to figure something out or he was going to close it down without workers. Well... he didn’t. It closed down that night and apparently without staff it got nasty. People started having sex, smoking, trashing the place and all kinds of stuff. Shortly after the radio station and label took their business elsewhere and not long afterward the place closed down. He lost his entire investment. This was very bitter sweet for me because I loved the place but he ran it into the ground. The building is still standing and I would LOVE to bring it back to its former glory but my pockets are deep enough yet. Maybe one day.

TLDR: New skating rink owners treated employees horrible so we all quit at the same exact time to leave him stranded. He lost a big contract with a local radio station and popular record label which cost him big money. Rink closed down shortly after.

(source) story by (/u/JawShoeWaah)

[imaginariumpod]

A Tapestry of Lace and Silk : the visual aesthetic and costume design of Crimson Peak (2015)

 In the dark corners of an ancient mansion, you hear the rustle of a long dress on the floor, there behind a closed door, lies some ghosts and secrets that should never be unearthed. 

A woman walks in the silence. 

Crimson Peak (2015) is a movie directed by Guillermo Del Toro, and is one of the most obvious mainstream examples of the gothic romance in cinema in the recent years. With a story full of ghosts, a secret, a haunted house and of visuals directly inspired by the mid-century gothic romance book covers. This movie is visually highly stylized and immersive in a way I think a lot of filmmakers and studios tend to shy away from. 

While Guillermo Del Toro’s movies tend to always be very stylized and visually cohesive, Crimson Peak is truly the one, in my opinion, where the production design was at its most compelling and beautiful. To me, it’s obvious how much care and attention has been given to even the slightest of details, to create the perfect visual identity for this film. I have read once that the gothic was very decorative, as a genre. From the dark mansions, and the flowing nightgowns to the flickering lights of the candles and the creaking floors. The ~aesthetic~ is something that is very important to a gothic romance story. It’s all in the atmosphere, as well as some important elements of the story in itself, that make a gothic romance. Gothic Romance is a genre that you have to lean into, and Guillermo Del Toro perfectly understood it when it came to Crimson Peak.

Before we go more into it, i just want to warn you all that there’s probably going to be spoilers in this article. I will try my best to avoid being overly blatant about what happens in the story in itself, because that is not my focus. My focus during this article will be on the production design of the movie, the way this movie looks and has been designed, especially when it comes to the costumes and the outfits the characters wear throughout the movie. I mostly want to go deep into the visual aesthetic of this film, from the decors and visual themes to the dresses and outfits that were created for this story. I want to talk about the visual aspect of the movie and how it translates within the genre of gothic and the medium of filmmaking.

Guillermo Del Toro : the cineast 

Guilerrmo del Toro is a mexican director mostly known for having a very distinct style of dark fantastical movies often featuring monsters, myths, the folklore and fairytales. His movies alternate between being made in spanish or english. His stories and movies often explore the dark side of the fantastical, of fairy tales and stories told after the dark.  and yet. they have a hopeful side to them . 

While a lot of his movies were successful, I do think it’s El Laberinto del fauno (2006) (Pan’s Labyrinth) that really established him as a thriving filmmaker, despite how niche a lot of his movies and stories are.   Which, by the way, as a quick aside, Pan’s Labyrinth is a very formative movie to me, I watched the year it came out, when I was 11 years old, my dad brought the DVD home, thinking it was a movie for children. And well. It was not. I ended up being TERRIFIED and yet mesmerized and this was my first contact with Guillermo Del Toro as a filmmaker but it certainly wouldn’t be the last. His movies are crystallized in my memory, and they awakened in me a love of this more gothic and fairy-tale inspired horror. He's definitely a movie director that brings his unique touch to whichever work he’s doing. 

The Gothic is a very prominent part of Del Toro’s work, which he calls Gothick (and is indeed a word that represents the genre that got started by Horace Walpole’s book The Castle of Otranto in 1764) and he describes the relationship he has with this genre as “a way to discover beauty in the monstrous”  The protagonists of Del Toro movies often embrace the darkness that exists around them and within themselves. For Del Toro, the gothic is the “only genre that teaches [us] to understand otherness.” You can see it in the narrative of so many of his movies, which culminates in The Shape of The Water, where the monster ends up being the victim of society, and the real monster is the character of Michael Shannon, who represents the pressure of society,  the norms and accepted and what can happen if you deviate from what is accepted. 

The narratives of Del Toro’s movies reject authorianism in any shape or form, whether the societal authorianism or the narrative ones, and this makes for a way of storytelling that often turns around all expected tropes.His movies are, at their core, anti-fascist and, in my very humble opinion, very relevant during our current political climate on an global level. I really do not feel like I am the right person to dive deep into this subject in a small article on the visual aesthetic of one of Del Toro’s movies, but I want to recommend the thesis The Dark Fantastic of Guillermo Del Toro : Myth, Fascism, and theopolitical Imagination in Cronos, The Devil’s Backbone, and Pan’s Labyrinth by Morgaan Sinclair. That thesis is widely informative and interesting to read and will probably dive deeper in those themes that are always somewhat present in every Del Toro movie. 

He loves using “typical” genre stories and making them his own. From folk tales, fairy tales, vampire stories, legends, he uses these narrative motifs as a template for his stories, but he always subverts them in one way or another, exploring the darkness within. And this is what he also did with Crimson Peak, but now with the gothic romance genre as his template. Gothic Romance is one of those genres that is very formulaic in some ways, it has very common tropes and themes that are often used.   For example, the way he explores the gothic house and its entire symbolism in his early movie The Devil’s Backbone (2001).

[These old-Gothic notions insinuate themselves in the Gothick terrain of del Toro’s films. The ­Devil’s Backbone, a ghost story set in a remote orphanage during the Spanish Civil War, seems at first glance to be a classic Gothick romance, which, as del Toro reminds us in his commentary, focuses on the house, the domicile, as an emblem and warped container of the human self.  This symbolically charged structure, he says, always conceals a “dark secret,” linked to a treasure and deep passions, “that is buried in the past and affects the people living in it.” At the center of the darkness stands “a very pure ­hero—a new set of eyes to explore the secret and through the purity of his heart unravel the mystery.”]

When it comes to his films, Del Toro tends to often use archetypes as a way to effectively communicate certain concepts, but more often than not, he will turn these archetypes upside down.  Del Toro tends to also use a lot of symbols in his movies, weaving a tapestry of overarching themes and meaning. He gives depth to his stories by a use of various artistic and literary references, historical references. building a story that contains layers upon layers. This depth also translates to the visual aspect of his movies, as Del Toro movies tend to be carefully and precisely crafted. The aesthetic is, as one might say, on point. From the somber and fantastical creativity of Pan’s Labyrinth to the epic and vibrants colors of Pacific Rim. Crimson Peak is, to me, one of the most visually beautiful and compelling movies of Del Toro, and this is what we’re going to get into a bit later. 

A ghost story: 

This story starts at the end. This is a narrative device Del Toro also used with Pan’s Labyrinth, the movie starts with the final scene, and we know that something terrible is going to happen, and it just keeps the tension and stakes high during the entirety of the movie, as we keep wondering when things will take a turn for the worse. 

We can see Edith Cushing (Mia Wasikowska ) wearing her white nightgown, in a scene of fog and piercing white. Her blond hair is flowing down on her shoulders, her face is pale, and her hands.

Her hands are drenched in blood. 

The first sentence of the movie is then spoken : “Ghosts are real. This much I know.” This immediately sets the tone for the rest of the movie. 

And then. It goes back to the beginning, when she was just a young child, at the moment her mother died, when the ghost of her mother, veiled in black lace,  came to warn her, to beware of Crimson Peak… 

Edith Cushing is a young woman living with her father and who dreams of becoming a writer. She keeps trying to publish her story, not a ghost story, but moreso a story with a ghost in it. “The ghost is a metaphor” she says. A metaphor for the past and for regrets and violence that still permeates a place. She then meets Thomas Sharpe (Tom Hiddleston), an english baronet without fortune, and his sister Lucille (Jessica Chastain). After the sudden (and suspicious) death of her father, she marries Thomas and follows him and his sister back to England, in their strange mansion that stands isolated in the midst of english hills, atop a source of red clay. The Sharpes are an aristocratic family with no fortune and a decrepit mansion where strange things happen, where ghosts roam. 

There’s also a social commentary here on the changing social norms and social classes. While the Sharpes are an aristocratic family, owning land and a title, they are not rich. Their clothes are good quality, made from good materials and hand crafted, but they are also old and not of the current fashion. They are in a very strange place socially, being higher up on the social class and yet, being broke and trying to figure out how to get money to take care of their crumbling estate.

Ghosts are real, we need to remember, and are a reminder of what has been forgotten and what has died. The past is still  lingering on in the present, and violence of the past will not go unpunished. The ghosts of Crimson Peak are terrifying. I do not want to say much about them, because it would reveal too much about the plot and the story, but I want to talk about them in terms of visual design. The ghosts of Crimson Peak are terrifying, they are skeleton-like, and red. Vibrant red. They are nothing like I have ever seen before in terms of ghosts, and this is yet another way Crimson Peak sets itself apart from other movies. 

Lucille says something at the end of the movie, and I will not say anything about the plot, so fear not for spoilers, she says “but the horror… the horror was for love” and I do think it says so much about the movie and about the genre. Gothic romance is not really a love story, but it’s not strictly a horror story either. It’s a blend of love and horror. And sometimes… the horror, the horror will be for the sake of love. 

The building of a haunted house

Production design, when it comes to movies, relates to everything that has to do with the visual identity of the movie. The look and the stylistic choices that are made to make the movie look the way it does. From the costumes, to the sets, to the decor, and all the small details, production design is one of the most important parts of  constructing a movie. It’s those elements that make out how the movie will  look and what it will communicate to its audience.

The production designer works on all the aspects that pertains to the visuals of the movies, along with the director of photography. They manage everything from the costume, the sets and the decor. And they work closely with the director to craft the visual identity of the movie. Guillermo Del Toro always draws from a very vast range of thematic and visual inspirations when it comes to his movies : from gothic architecture, symbolist art, the surrealists, but also more popular inspirations such as comic books and even video games. So many of these elements are brought and matched to visually create a layered look to the film.  

The visual storytelling, the ambiance, the atmosphere, all of these elements are a huge part of what makes Crimson Peak truly interesting. The visuals of the movies were not an afterthought to the script, but were an integral part of how the movie was constructed. Under the directives of Guilermo Del Toro, Thomas E. Sanders [Dracula (1992) ; Braveheart (1995)] constructed an intricate and vibrant appearance for Crimson Peak, which I think is one of the most memorable components of the film.

This movie takes the canons of gothic horror and gothic romance and embraces them, whether it is narratively speaking or visually speaking. I always love a story that leans heavily into its genre and its tropes and convention, only to make use of them in a different and new way. I can mention The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015) as another movie who embraces its genre, here the corny 1960s inspired spy movie, and just GOES WITH IT. I do so much appreciate when any type of storyteller and artist fully work within the genre and then try to expand the boundaries of that specific genre, all the while trying to create a work that is definitely recognizable as a certain genre. 

As I said, the visuals are obviously very much inspired by the canons of gothic romance, whether it's the illustrations that were in the book of the 19th century, as well as all the historical inspirations from the late 19th century in which the movie is set. There’s also the obvious references to the book covers of the gothic paperbacks of the mid 20th century, with their jewel tones, and their heroines escaping a dark and looming manor behind them. Or sometimes, she is exploring the dark winding corridors, with only the help of a few candles lighting her way.

There’s this dichotomy that sometimes occurs when it comes to movies, of style over substance or vice versa. Which to me is a moot and useless point, because style is a form of storytelling as well. The way you construct the visuals of the movies, the decors and the costumes, and the way the film is shot, all of this is a way of telling a story and is as essential to a good movie. Even a movie that doesn’t put the emphasis on “style” also makes a visual choice. Not focusing on the visual elements such as the costumes, or the decor, is also a stylistic choice in itself. Even if the choice is to make the movie devoid of any outlandish visual assets. Taking these decisions are what ultimately make the movie be the way it is visually. A film is a visual form of storytelling, 

When it comes to the sets, the movie is set mostly in two diametrically opposed houses, the airy and light house of the Cushings in Buffalo, homey and comfortable, and the cold gothic estate of the Sharpes : Allerdale Hall. Where the house in Bufallo was full of light and a warm color palette, Allerdale Hall is the opposite. That house is the typical gothic mansion, and one of the most important elements of any good gothic romance. Imposing, dark, with twisting corridors and actually decaying above them. Visually, it’s also distinctive with the colder colors that are used when filming there. It’s the ideal setting for the gothic romance story to happen. Sanders says that the only reference that he was given by Del Toro for the design of this house was the painting House by the Railroad (1925) by Edward Hopper. This painting was the beginning of a very long and arduous process as Sanders tried to create this perfect haunted house.

The house of the Sharpes, is atop a source of red clay, hence its name. It’s decrepit, falling apart, cold. “colder inside than out” says Edith when she first enters it. The house is slowly but surely sinking in the red clay that once used to be the source of the Sharpes’ fortune. Visually, it looks as if the house was bleeding, as if the house was alive. As Sanders says during an interview with Slate : 

“We felt that the clay is the blood of the earth, and it’s also the blood of the house, and that the house was a living thing that embodied the family over all those years.”

Within the genre of gothic horror and gothic romance, the house plays a very peculiar part. Whether it is haunted or not, the house is very much often an important character of the gothic story, on the same level as the heroine or the antagonist or the ghost. The spaces of Allerdale Hale are tight and menacing, the house is full of dangerous sharp angles. This is not a warm house. Del Toro said that he repeated the wooden pattern on the columns three or four times, so that it looks slightly out of focus, like something is wrong, but you cannot pinpoint what it is, exactly. 

Allerdale Hall is thus the perfect setting for this gothic romance to unfold, through the sharp and twisting corridors, with the gaping hole in the ceiling through which the snow falls and covers the red crimson blood of the house. 

A nightgown to explore strange corridors at night:

The main costume designer for this film was Costume Designer Kate Hawley, assisted by Cori Burchell. Even though they hadn’t worked specifically on period movies and historical movies or more fantastical movies prior to their job on Crimson Peak, I cannot help but think that they did a marvelous job when it came to the costume design for this particular movie. Hawley had previously worked on Pacific Rim with Del Toro, so she was familiar with the way he worked and envisioned things. Together, they truly created a wardrobe that was absolutely wonderful for the movie of Crimson Peak. Highly stylized. Imbued with the fashion and artistic trends of the era, without being exactly Literal to the clothing of the time. She used costume design as a vehicle to communicate ideas and moods that were intrinsical to the characters of the story. 

Hawley worked closely with  Del Toro to create the costumes that would be perfect to convey the personality of the characters and would help build the depth of the movie. In her interview with digital magazine JEZEBEL, she says that she definitely considers Crimson Peak to feel like an opera, a piece of music in which there’s two distinct acts, and so the costuming had to also follow those two distinct acts and those two distinct worlds that the characters inhabit. From the color scheme and mood, to the details of the historical period. But most importantly, especially for a Guillermo Del Toro movie, it was vital for Hawley to look at it thematically first. Del Toro movies are always chock full of references to art, folklore and literature, and there is no surprise that the costume design should follow the same direction.

The costumes are an important narrative device as well, the clothing a character wears reflects their personality as well as their narrative journey. It can inform on the status of the character, their place in society, it’s an effective tool of storytelling. A good costume designer will use the wardrobe of each character to say something about the character in themselves but also create a cohesive visual look for the ensemble. From the colors to the chosen fashion style and to the accessories, fashion is a silent mode of communication that we all inherently understand, even if not on a conscious level. The wardrobe of each different character is thought and designed, to fit the character but the movie as a whole. 

As our queen and icon, legendary costume designer and winner of eight separate academy awards for costume design, Edith Head says : “Fashion is not the primary thing, the primary effort in motion pictures is to tell a story”. And clothing do tell a story, whether or not you think they do. This is comes back to what I was saying earlier, that sometimes, people tend to not put any sort of importance on the clothing, considering it shallow and superficial, but I would argue that it’s a very subtle way of storytelling that says more about the character in a single outfit than a whole scene of exposition ever could. 

Edith’s clothes are all very modern and current to the era the movie is set in (ie. 1901) The silhouette of all the clothes she wears are very much within the fashionable silhouette of the era, with the gigantic sleeves, and the cinched waist and slightly flare-y skirt. All of the dresses she wears throughout the movie have the leg-of-mutton sleeves that were so fashionable during the late 1890s and early 1900s.  The color palette of Edith’s clothes is very much within a very soft and warm-toned palette, with a lot of soft yellows, ivories, creams, mustards and golds. this very much visually set her apart from the Sharpes. Hawley says she imagined Edith as a canary in a coal mine, her vibrant yellows and gold outfits in the dark and somber walls of Allerdale Hall. Hawley and Del Toro also used a pre-raphaelite portrait of Helen of Troy by Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1863) as a visual basis to work on Edith’s aesthetic. 

She’s a down to earth woman who is ready to make efforts and her dresses reflect this aspect of her personality, they are comfortable and practical, while still having that air of whimsy to them. From the gigantic buttons on her honey colored dress or the beautifully eccentric belt in the shape of hands. Kate Hawley, the movie’s costume designer, says that this belt is just an upscaled version of the small mourning jewelry in which a lock of hair of a loved one who passed away can be found in. “I took these little earrings, these little ivory hands, and we scaled them up so it was almost like a mother's hands clasped around her waist”. (I so desperately want a belt like that btw, it is creepy but i still want it, if any of you happen to find one, please do contact me, thank you so very much.) She matches her hat and gloves with her ensemble, and generally, Edith, is just very visually cohesive and coherent within her own style. 

During a very romantically and sensually charged scene, she wears a beautiful evening gown in ivory satin and ornamented with pearls. She enters the room dressed in this lovely dress and a long satin cape of the same color and a pleated collar, her hair delicately swept up.  This is Edith’s very own dramatic moment, where she gets to dance with her romantic lead and wears an outfit that is a bit fancier than her usual fare. This dress is still within the very soft and pale color palette that represents Edith. This particular dress is visibly inspired by a painting of  the italian artist Giovanni Boldini : The Black Sash (1905), which furthers the fact that this movie’s visual aesthetic is deeper than what first meets the eye. From the delicate color and stark black ribbon down her back. 

Edith, though, is our ingenue heroine of the gothic romance. One of the main archetypes in the gothic romance is the innocent heroine, a young woman thrown into a situation that’s claustrophobic, scary and dangerous. In every gothic romance, there comes a moment where the heroine leaves her bed in her nightgown, it’s a very striking visual that is the mark of the way we visualize gothic romance. She holds a candle, wearing only the lightest of clothing, and goes to explore the darkness within the walls she inhabits. Her nightgown ends up being the most significant outfit of the whole movie, it truly marks her as a gothic romance heroine, while she roams the corridors at night.

 «I’ve never done so many nighties and nightgowns! It’s all about running around in night dresses through long corridors. That also blended to the fabric. When Guillermo said to me, “It’s about a house that breathes,” that’s why we chose the lightest fabric, just a little thing to try and help the storytelling with the idea of the house.»

 Edith’s nightgown is striking, the movement of the heavily pleated garment fills the whole screen whenever she moves, it gives her a certain elegance and follows the cohesive silhouette and color palette that was established for her thus far, with its gigantic sleeves and the soft warm and earthy colors of the dressing gown she wears over her nightgown, as she goes down the dark stairs of Allerdale Hall. 

Where Edith is the innocent ingenue, Lucille is the woman hardened by life and misfortunes. She is all sharp angles and contrasts, where Edith is soft and kind, with a seamless color palette. Lucille’s outfits are stuck twenty years in the past and this is very much a narrative device and tool that’s used through the usage of dress and costume design. By showing her in these lavish but old-fashioned dresses. it serves both the purpose of showing how rich and noble the family of the Sharpes is but also, it effectively communicates how they do not have the means to actually follow the current fashionable trends. It shows that Lucille is not one to want to have something of lower quality or cheaper than she thinks her standing deserves. Lucille is a woman that is stuck in the past and is not truly living in the current times.  I think that even though these details often necessitate a basic knowledge of the dress silhouettes of the late 19th century and early 20th century, this tactic still visually works because it sets Lucille apart from the rest of the world. It expresses visually how she and her brother are distanced from the world outside.

Her dresses and outfits are dramatic and striking, with the sharp silhouette of the 1880s, with the bustles. The colors of her dresses are always in deep tones, like reds, blues or black. The colors are very rich and vivid. The first dress that we see Lucille wearing is the beautiful red dress during the scene where she plays piano. A silhouette typical of the 1880s with the bustles and the very extravagant detailing. That one dress is a striking red, with a skirt that has a long train. The one very important design detailing is the back of the dress, replicating a spine of sorts in the middle of her back. Those sharp angles forebode a sense of danger that is conveyed strictly through the construction of the dress, and the arrangement of the textiles, the various shades of red fabric intertwined to create this gorgeous pattern that goes down the skirt. Her hair is swept upward and decorated with fine red jewels, and the pale complexion of Jessica Chastain only make the whole ensemble more striking. 

Compared to the two other components of the main trio, Thomas Sharpe’s outfits seem much more muted and sober. His clothes, same as his sister’s, are also too old to be fashionable, but made of high quality materials. The color palettes of his clothes are very dark and deep, with touches of deep blues and greens. When you transpose him into Allerdale Hall, he fits seamlessly within the decor, meanwhile he seemed out of space and out of time in the sunny and modern decor of Buffalo. 

A desire for accuracy : 

Historical accuracy is always a point of contention when it comes to movies set in a particular historical setting, in this case in the early years of the 1900s. And before we go any further, is historical accuracy even That important when it comes to an effective costume design ? I honestly think historically accurate costumes are very important when it comes to setting your movie. The visual immersion and world building when your story is set in a specific time and place, like for example, in this movie, set in Buffalo, United-States, and England, during the year of 1901, depends on these important elements, such as the costume design and the decor. Especially when a movie is not tending toward the fantastical. For this reason, I really do think that having period accurate costuming, design and makeup is incredibly important when it comes to immersion and creating a visually cohesive world.

Nonetheless, to me, this part of the costume design is less important than what the costume design says about the story and the characters. As I said earlier, costume design is a very subtle but powerful narrative and visual tool to use in filmmaking. And for this reason, I personally think it’s more important for a costume to be efficient when it comes to storytelling than to try to achieve perfect accuracy. Simply put, a costume designer is not someone whose aim is to recreate historical garments perfectly (if this is your jam, I follow a bunch of creators on youtube who actually do that, using historical sewing techniques as well). Their aim is to use the clothing for a storytelling purpose.

There is this thread by fashion historian and curator Hilary Davidson on the subject of ahistorical costume design and this is what she has to say about Crimson Peak:  

“Kate Hawley's designs for Crimson Peak (2015) are immersed in artistic trends of the fin-de-siecle, making costumes that embody the period's aesthetic spirit without being completely literal” 

When it comes to Crimson Peak, are the costumes historically accurate. For the case of Crimson Peak, the answer is yes and no, at the same time. More than creating historically accurate costumes, Hawley wanted to create an atmosphere, with dreamy costumes that would serve a narrative purpose, and use historical sources as a guideline and inspiration Liberties will often need to be taken to complement the story and to serve the purpose of storytelling  nonetheless, I do think that the more researched and accurate the costuming is, the more complex and interesting it can be . and I do think it ended up being SO SO INTERESTING. 

Costume design is more than simply making historically accurate costumes, a costume designer needs to know fashion history and fashion trends, but ultimately, their job is not to recreate exact replicas of the clothing of a certain historical period. What a good costume designer has to do, is to create a wardrobe that fits the story that is being told, and fits within the general universe it's set in and gives you information on the character. What Hawley did was to respect the silhouette of the period, from the foundation garments to the outer garments, and then, when it came to the actual costumes, she could play around with the details to convey a certain mood and narrative. The underpinnings always do define the general structure and shape of a garment, and it’s one of the most important elements when someone wants to construct a historically accurate costume. Even if, like Hawley, liberties are then taken when it comes to the actual clothing, the “spirit” of the clothes is respected. From the corsets and to the petticoats and all the subsequent layers, it was important for Hawley to have all of these elements in a historical accurate way, because it would change the posture and the demeanors of the actors. It shapes the way they stand and the way they move through the different spaces. 

Visually, Crimson Peak is a masterpiece of a gothic romance. From the sweeping nightgowns to the imposing and sharp gothic mansions, and the scary ghosts behind the door, Del Toro and his team have created a movie that takes everything that is wonderful about gothic romance to the highest theatrical level, and I, for one, always enjoy this visual and cinematic experience. 

[cl-01-kestis]

My Little Rebel - Inquisitor!Cal Kestis x Female Rebel!Reader | Part 11

Summary: You dig deep into your mind and search for answers about your past as a Jedi, unlocking memories you never thought you’d have.

Warnings: this is a filler chapter

“You’re gonna need all the energy you can get, I’ll see you in the morning” Cere hugged you like a mother as she wished you farewell for the night, squeezing you tighter than usual and making you feel safe as you pulled away and smiled.

“Night, Cere” You nodded, earning the ghost of a smile from the woman who turned around and walked away without another word. You closed your door quickly, closing your eyes and leaning your head against the door as darkness flooded your room, only light pooling in vaguely in the gap between the bottom of the door and the floor.

You opened your eyes, realising now just how exhausted you were. You weren’t sleeping as much as you used to, so of course you’d be tired. In fact, tired was a pure understatement. You practically dropped down almost unconscious on your bed as you got down the small set of stairs that connected the two platforms of your room.

The covers felt warm as you wrapped yourself in them, you turned to the large circular window that revealed all the stars and planets the Mantis was passing by. You sat cross legged on your bed as your eyes gleamed up at the pitch black surrounding you, feeling as though you could fall asleep right there and then but something was keeping you awake.

The faint sound of humming could be heard next to you, a mechanic buzz.

Your tired gaze shifted from space to your lightsaber which was placed next to you on your bed, it flowed a faint purple and only then did you realise the force wanted to show you something. Yawning, you picked up the lightsaber and held it in your lap, closing your eyes and memorising your meditation routine due to how religiously you had been doing it since you arrived on the Mantis.

It took a while for you to get that connection with the force, the saber was glowing but it was almost as if it was denying your presence. Still, you kept your calm and didn’t get angry, you knew better than to get angry over such a small thing.

You inhaled deeply, the air filling your chest till it couldn’t anymore which was followed by a slow and outdrawn exhale. The force finally let you slip inside and brought you into the same familiar white space that you appeared in the first time you meditated.

Multiple orbs of purple hue floated in the air, surrounding you and all waiting for you to pick one. You took your time in deciding which one to go for, instead of silence there was now many different voices calling out to you from each orb. You recognised Shaak’s, there was also Wolffe and the Wolfpack, but another voice caught your attention over the others. One you didn’t recognise but were sure you had heard it from somewhere.

It was a young boy, you were guessing at about 11 or 12 years old, his voice was squeaky and he sounded nervous as he called out your name. The voice was coming from one of the orbs furthest away, highlighting itself to you because of its brighter colour and bigger shape.

Curious, you creeped through the other orbs, careful not to touch any as you walked past and eventually stood in front of the bright glowing purple hue. The voice got louder, sounding as though the boy was now yelling out to you as you slipped your hand into the hue, everything immediately going white and the only thing present was the boy’s fading voice.

Your sight returned shortly after, followed by your hearing and then the sensation in your body. You breathed out a sigh of relief, feeling tense at the way it felt to flash back into memories you had forgotten all about. This whole experience was way out of your imagination, you couldn’t make this stuff up even if you tried.

You opened your eyes and found yourself standing in the middle of a cantina hall full of clone troopers, including your own Wolfpack. In your hands you held a tray, you didn’t even know how it got there, but you acted along and looked around for some kind of answer, wanting to know why the force wanted to show you this.

“Padawan, you seem lost?” You jumped slightly and turned around, only to look up and crane your neck at an almost 90 degree angle when a large Lasat male approached you with a kind yet firm face.

“Master Tapal,” You greeted, surprised you even knew his name considering you didn’t recognise who he was, maybe you had more memories you were supposed to cover before this one.

“I-I was just trying to find a seat, it’s pretty busy today” You said whilst looking around, your voice much more squeaky and anxious. Master Tapal let out a brief, short lived chuckle, staring down at you with a smile before looking around and trying to find somewhere to sit.

“I’m sure there’s a seat somewhere, come with me Padawan” He instructed, his massive body turning around to walk in the opposite direction where the booths were located. Reluctantly, you followed him whilst keeping a firm grip on your tray, shy around the clones you passed and trying your best to smile as they greeted you.

You were starting to remember more in your conscious state, getting used to being back in your smaller body and adjusting to the fact you had no control over what you done and said. This was a memory after all, everything you were seeing had already happened, you had no control over it.

“Ah, see! Over there by the corner” Jaro stopped and pointed his long arm over to the corner of the cantina, you almost crashed into him at his sudden abruptness but stayed quiet and looked over to where his finger was directed.

In the distance, inside a booth sat a young boy.

You clutched your tray just a little tighter when you studied him, noticing his fiery red hair and hauntingly familiar face. Next to him was a clone troop, white and yellow armour followed by helmets on the tables so the soldiers could eat their food. Your heart slammed violently in your chest and you felt like you were going to throw up.

“Over there, I’m sure my Padawan won’t mind some company, especially from someone who’s his senior” Tapal nudged you with an amused expression on his face. You gulped down the lump in your throat and nodded, looking back up to the large man and smiling.

“How old is he?” You asked curiously, looking back down to the booth and seeing the boy laugh, you weren’t sure why but it seemed the clones were sharing funny stories and jokes.

“11, 3 years younger than you” He answered with a kind tone, obviously not bothered at the fact you were curious. Nodding your head, you thanked Tapal and bid him farewell before making a hesitant approach to the booth full of clones and the one Padawan boy.

“Um, e-excuse me, can I join you?” You asked with a stutter followed by a blush. The nearest clone to you smiled and chuckled to himself softly, shuffling over and patting the spot next to him at the booth which made your heart feel a little easier.

“Of course! Get yourself comfy kid, you’re just in time for the 13th Batallions stories!” The clone nudged you after you sat next to him and let out a giggle, grabbing your cutlery from your tray and tucking into your food.

A lot of chatter and chuckles were exchanged across the tables, including your own. You shared stories of your own and talked about the adventures you went on with Shaak Ti, the clones were in awe of how brave you were considering your age, but nothing caught your attention more than the small, younger Padawan sitting across from you. He was quiet, letting out the occasional chuckle and waving off whoever asked if he was alright. You stared at the boy in curiosity, quickly looking away if he ever looked over and caught your gaze. He looked familiar.

“I’m (Y/N)” You said, your voice barely audible over the clones laughter. Your eyes connecting to the boys light blue ones and made him smile slightly, he was awkward about his approach though.

“I-I’m Cal, Cal Kestis” He stuttered shyly, reaching his arm across the table and shaking your hand in a soft, delicate grip. Your smile widened and you shook his hand in return, careful not to scare him and watching how hard you shook it until the two of you let go and looked to the clones.

“Are they always this loud?” You asked with a giggle, making the small Padawan in front of you roll his eyes and nod his head, as if he’d been asked the question a million times.

“You wouldn’t believe” Cal laughed, exchanging another glance from you which seemed to bring a blush to his freckled face.

“So what Jedi do you want to be when you grow up?” You asked curiously, turning your attention back to Cal who coughed lightly on his drink when he realised you were speaking to him once again. Gaining his composure, the red haired boy set down his cup back on his empty tray and let out a sigh.

“I like the idea of becoming a Jedi Master or Knight, like Obi-Wan Kenobi” Cal answered with a breezy tone, shrugging his shoulders and scratching his neck before clearing his throat.

“What about you?” Cal looked at you curiously, tilting his head to the side and waiting for your answer as you finished off the last of your meal.

“A Jedi Shadow, Master Shaak tells me I’m fit to be one and I’ve always looked up to the shadows within the temple, their jobs are to destroy the Sith and traces of them within the order” You seemed to boast about what you wanted to be, but to put it bluntly it was a dangerous job. To destroy the Sith and all thats to do with them seems a pretty hefty job, but your determination said otherwise.

“That’s cool” Cal’s eyes gleamed as he looked up at you, as if you were already made a role model just by the statement you just made. You smiled at his amazement and nodded your head, a blush spreading on your face.

“It’s... nothing really, I’ve got 10 more years till I’m at the stage of deciding my future as a Jedi,” You sighed, looking out to the cantina and spotting your Master speaking with Wolffe, their eyes directing over to you. This could only mean another mission had come up.

“Enjoy your training whilst you can, Cal, with skills like ours you’ll be able to conquer anything and stand up against everything,” You picked up your tray, standing up from your seat and bidding the clones a loud and humorous farewell.

“May the force be with you, Cal Kestis” You vowed your head, earning one from Cal who looked disappointed that you were leaving so soon.

“You too” He responded, watching you walk away and up to your master who reached an arm around your shoulders, guiding you away and out of the mess hall whilst Wolffe took your tray and took care of it. Cal didn’t take his eyes off you until you were fully out of sight and out of the Mess hall, feeling a strange ache in his heart before hearing the clones tease him about the way he was acting towards you.

The 11 year old huffed silently, turning around and crossing his arms over his chest and shutting off from the conversations surrounding him.

-

With a violent jolt, you woke up. Panting, sweating and catching your breath like you had just been underwater for minutes. Your body was covered in wet, fresh sweat and you felt your heart slamming harshly against your rib cage. Tears filled your eyes and you felt as though you were suffocating, trying to stop your crying as you shifted in your bed and let your legs dangle off the edge.

You hid your face in your hands, your body trembling aggressively as a cold sweat slowly lurked around you. You felt as though you were going to be sick, your stomach churned with the dinner Greez had made you early on and there was a sensation of impending doom that was heading straight your way.

Acting quick, you got up from your bed and ran up the small set of stairs in your room. You didn’t care what time it was, you had to get to the bathroom. Stumbling out of your room, you dashed for the bathroom beside you and fell to the floor when you reached the toilet. Your body was in a whole mix of sensations, from freezing cold, to boiling hot, to completely in between, you were all over the place.

You kicked the door shut behind you, not wanting to wake anyone up with the commotion as you coughed up your guts and tried not to choke. It was a few minutes until you stopped vomiting and only then did you manage to collect yourself and gather all your thoughts. You flushed the toilet before collapsing on your backside, leaning against the wall beside the toilet and grabbing some tissue and wiping your mouth, spitting out the remains of the horrid sick that remained in your mouth. You closed your eyes, checking that you weren’t going to be sick again before leaning back and letting out an exhausted sigh.

You let the images of the memory flash in your mind, your pulse was beating as fast as it possibly could at the shock you were in. You couldn’t believe it, you wanted to refuse to believe it, but these were your past memories. The memories you had before Shaak wiped your brain and you started from scratch.

Still in a state of shock, you carefully wobbled to your feet and opened the door, staggering back through to your bedroom and closing the door behind you. You didn’t bother walking down the set of stairs leading to your bed, instead you sat down on the floor and held your head in your hands. Your mind was a commotion, swirling with so many thoughts and opinions about the memory you just saw. Tears fell down your face and landed on the ground, followed by a swarm of stiffled sobs and sniffs.

Your body was shaking, at this point you felt like it was shutting down due to how much emotional torment you’d already gone through. First, you’re a Jedi, and now, you knew Cal before... before you ‘met’ Cal? Nothing made sense anymore.

You wanted to talk to him about it, at least say something even if he said nothing in reply, you just needed closure with this. The love of your life was once a Jedi Padawan along side you, you knew him long before he was an Inquisitor and he was even considered a friend.

Why did Shaak wipe your memory? How could she? Your mind held so many secrets that even you had to discover. If you still had the same memory you had as a Padawan, you’d be in a very different place. Cal would most likely be your enemy, he would most likely try and kill you and there would be a war between the both of you. You wish Shaak was still alive so you could ask her why she done what she did. You doubt any other Master wiped their Padawans memory after escaping the purge.

Coming back to reality, you rubbed your eyes and realised the ship had gone into hyperspace due to the stripes of blue and white outside of your large oval window. You stood up clumsily, walking through a light head and managing to get to your bed without collapsing. You needed sleep, you’d seen enough for the night and all you wanted to do now was to rest, only then would you be able to get a break from all the thoughts in your head. Only then would you find a bit of sanity.

[hayleyb100]

Light My Way, Part 5

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 the end

⚠️ WARNING! ⚠️  -It is a twisted story of Pokemon Sun and Moon, and a crossover of Pokemon SM and SWSH. -It features Hau and Kabu as the main characters. -Extremely angsty. -Everything is headcanon.  -It isn’t spoiler-free.

"This will be your room from now on. If you need anything, let me know anytime, dear."

Kabu smiled as he introduced Hau to his new room. It was cozy and lovely, filled with a comfy bed, bookshelves full of storybooks, and pokemon stuffed toys. Hau stared at Kabu with a little intimidated look. He kept asking if it was alright for him to go in, and Kabu nodded with another grin.

Hau hesitantly went into the room and looked around. He fiddled with some toys for a bit, but soon sat down on the floor and stared back at Kabu. It seemed like the child was lost on what to do. Kabu felt great pain for him. He should be a carefree child who would run straight to play with toys, but he was busy reading Kabu's face.

"Well, it is late and you must be tired after a long flight. I'll leave you to sleep, alright? See you tomorrow morning."

___________________________________

The next morning, Kabu went to check on the child first thing, only to have his heart sink. There was no sign of the child. Hau was missing from his room. The bed was still neat and tidy - without a trait of using it. The toys were still staying in the boxes.

"Hau? Hau! Where are you??"

Kabu called out completely flustered. How did such a thing happen only after a day they arrive in Galar?

 Then he noticed that the door of the wardrobe was peeking open. Hau was hiding in the wardrobe holding his breath.

"Phew, you gave me a fright... Isn't it stuffy in there? Come on out."

Kabu tried to get the child out of the wardrobe by holding him in his arms. But the boy shook Kabu's hands off freaking out a bit.

The Fire Gym Leader felt as if his heart was torn apart, because he had a feeling of what was going through the boy's mind. Ever since he stepped into Galar, Hau never complained about anything. He must have been uncomfortable since Galar is a lot different from Alola from climate to food. But the boy never complained about anything. He was only a child who ought to complain a lot when they don't feel like home. Instead, Hau was acting as if he was walking on eggs.

Hau had enough of getting abandoned by someone. He was scared he might experience it yet again. That pain. The feeling of being someone worthless. Hiding was the compromise he reached after going through all the turmoil. He was dead thirsty for love, but if the foster parents see something that doesn't suit their taste, they will abandon him again. So he decided to keep it down. Behave and don't show himself. He was desperate for affection, but he wanted to stay here more. It's even okay if he was to be fed and raised like a pet. All he ever wanted was to stay. He was his way of screaming, "I will behave. Please don't dump me."

It was such a heartache for Kabu to see his boy like that, but he decided to stay strong and keep to Hau's pace. He sent messages to his acquaintances to please restrain from calling or visiting so that he can focus on his new boy as much as possible. He was glad that it was the close season with no Gym Battles. He made a little world for just the two of them, so that they can relax and bond.

Kabu didn't rush things. He didn't try to pull the boy out by force or scold him. All he did was to bring a pile of books to entertain himself, and read it by the wardrobe. 

And when his eyes met Hau's, he smiled gently, sending a silence message: "I'm always here for you if you need me. Call me anytime."

During the meal and bath time, he gave Hau some food or bath products, and strolled around the Motorstocke City for a bit. He knew Hau didn't feel comfortable around him yet, so he gave him time to do it himself. But as he cleared away the empty plates, he dreamed of dining on the same table with Hau someday. Kabu did everything to win Hau's trust that he isn't someone to hurt him.

When Hau fell asleep in the wardrobe, Kabu tirelessly studied how to care for an adopted child. He never gave up his dream to adopt him one day, when Hau was ready. He didn't forget to jog around the Wild Area with his pokemons at dawn before Hau wakes up, so that he relieves stress before taking care of the child. It was a tight schedule since he had to be by Hau most of the time, but he never felt tired. In fact, Kabu started to feel joy from the bottom of his heart.

The way the child was slowly becoming the center of his life.

That was the procedure of becoming a parent.

It was the bliss Kabu never felt in his life.

Living and dedicating purely for someone else.

And after a few weeks...

His effort paid off.

Kabu was exhilarated that Hau finally came to him, but kept calm as best he could. He wore the same warm smile as he asked him.

"I am very happy that you have decided to let me spend some time with you. Very brave boy. Would you like me to read you a story?"

Hau nodded, still a bit nervous.

Kabu pulled out a children's story book called Scorbunny and Chewtle from Hau's shelf and started reading. Kabu's soothing voice calmed Hau down. Before Hau noticed, he completely forgot about the fear and was leaning on Kabu's arm, concentrating on the story. The warmth from someone else gave Hau such relief. Sooner or later, he yawned. Sleeping all curled up in the wardrobe was so uncomfortable that he had catnapped all the time. The relaxing from Kabu made Hau drowsy instantly. He tried to keep awake, but fell asleep without noticing.

When Hau woke up, he was shocked. Kabu was sleeping next to him, patting him gently. It's been a while since he felt such tranquil feelings. His fear and sorrow melted away like snow in spring. Hau kept as still as possible, because he wanted this to last forever. He wasn't completely sure if Kabu would accept him as he is, but hope started to bloom.

Few days after that, when Kabu was setting up the table for dinner, another miracle happened. Hau came close to him, showing interest in meals.

"Are you hungry, dear?" Kabu asked with a slight excitement.

Hau nodded.

Kabu happily allowed him to sit next to him, and gave him some food. But soon after, Kabu noticed Hau was shaking his hand a lot. It was the aftermath of the cold sleep. Hau tried his best to keep his hand still, thinking Kabu will dump him if he finds out he is still unwell. Kabu calmly suggested.

"Would you like my help? Or would you like to give it a try?"

Hau gripped his spoon tight, indirectly saying he can do it alone. Kabu was sad that the boy doesn't fully rely on him yet, but he reminded himself to let Hau do it at his own pace. Hau was surprised at how Kabu never raised his voice when he spilled food or dropped utensils. The hope grew more and more.

________________________________

Weeks turned to 3 months, and there were a lot of changes. Hau stopped going back to wardrobe and started to have a little bit of brightness in his face. He no longer ate alone but dined and slept next to Kabu.

It wasn't only Hau who changed, though. Kabu learned just how wrong he was. He started fostering Hau out of sympathy honestly, but he realized that he can't adopt a child with that sort of trivial emotions. It was so much more than that.

Even the tiniest smile on Hau's face pushed Kabu on cloud nine. The smallest pain on Hau's face pushed Kabu down to pits of worries.

The attachment he shared with the child was so much deeper than he thought. It wasn't something to be taken lightly. It made Kabu brace himself once more to take the child-parent bond seriously. Kabu was surprised at how he was so attached to the child already, that it will be impossible to turn back.

[noocturnalchild]

2. LUMINOUS 

He spent all day outside. He spent all day in coffee shops and diners and parks, like a homeless lost guy. Cursing between his teeth, glaring at strangers and walking aimlessly.

How the hell was he going to return home and look you in the eyes again?

How the hell did he manage to fuck things up?

How did he ….how did things whirl in a huge black vortex all of a sudden?

Why didn’t he keep his big mouth shut? What a loser, a loser and a weirdo.

That’s what he thought of himself, all the way wandering in the street.

Now he might go back home and you won’t talk to him again.

Or worse,

He might go back and find you packing your things to fuck off, away from a whack like him.

Or even worse,

He may return and find you already gone, and will never see you again.

He groaned loudly out of frustration, shooting randomly an empty dented can as he walked an avenue bathed in the setting sun warm light. The can went rolling and hit the feet of a passerby.

“Freak!”

He shouted in Adam’s direction and Adam muttered a confused sorry, big frame glued to a wall to avoid the angry man.

The little incident aggravated his gloomy mood and ended his street journey for the day. He still didn’t want to go home though.

A coward.  

When Adam thought he had his share of self-deprecation, he headed directly to work and decided to spend the night there. That was the best thing he could do, or that’s what he convinced himself was best to do.

*

Tucked in your sofa, mouth full of cherry pie, you threw away the tv remote control moodily.

The sun disappeared under the buildings of your neighborhood and you knew that Adam wasn’t going to show up till late night, and maybe not at all.

you waited for him to return home all day. You worked from home and you had nothing to do outside. You tried to busy yourself with anything that crossed your mind. You cleaned the apartment, you brewed cups after cups of tea, you took a bath, thinking and rethinking what you were going to tell him, writing and erasing speeches in your head, fancy dramatic ones and simple, heartfelt confessions.

All morning, you were buzzing with excitement, unexplainable striking feeling of warmth, recalling his awkward blush and silly excuses, his reddened ears as he struggled with his words.

Those were the signs, weren’t they? So obvious, he likes you.

But as the afternoon progressed, you weren’t sure anymore.

Was it just a misunderstanding? Have you projected your own feelings and hopes on him?

You even prepared a cherry pie and took your time to decorate it, expecting him to share it with you after you’ve confessed to him. You waited for it to cool watching the wall clock, sitting in the little kitchen and gasping every time you heard footsteps echoes in the building corridors, thinking it might be Adam, disappointment flooding you because it wasn’t him, every single time.  

And here you were now, like a loser, zapping over Netflix series, eating your pie alone.

You felt like an idiot, you couldn’t just stay and wait anymore, so you jumped to grab your cellphone and call him. It rang and rang but he didn’t answer. He might be wanting to be alone, you thought, you really hoped that was it, and nothing else.

And what if something happened to him? What if a truck hit him, what if he got assaulted? What if… The what ifs were increasing your anxiety but you couldn’t bring yourself to call again. In the ocean of uncertainty you were rapidly drowning in, you were certain of one thing : It took just one little incident to make you realize you were already so into him. And now doubting his intentions and emotional state was unbearable once you came to acknowledge your own feelings. Love is tricky. That was a sure thing too.

*

Adam arrived at work earlier than usual. As he emptied his bag in the changing room he noticed that his phone was dead. Shit. No charger in sight, he forgot it at home. Of course. Shit again.

Did you call? He couldn’t help but think about this possibility. Are you worried about him? Or are you mad at him? What are you thinking of him now? A fucking perv? A crazy needy perv?

“ You wearing you blue pajama”

Genius.

Fuck.

Damn it Adam, stop it for a while. Give it a break.

He reached for a small box he was hiding in his personal locker. He exhaled a deep sigh but he smiled. Its content shone glowingly under the bright recessed lights, it was still beautiful and he was still wanting to give it to you. He didn’t know how for now, or if what was he doing was worth the try anymore so he tucked it in his pocket and let the comforting presence warm his heart as he proceeded to clean in autopilot mode. Numbing his worries for the night.  

*

11 PM

You fidgeted in your sheets. Impossible to close your eyes or get your brain to shut down. Even your book that was thrilling yesterday felt bland tonight. What you were about to do was crazy, maybe, but the idea had been trotting in your mind for some time now. You wanted to be sure nothing happened to Adam, you didn’t have his work number, but you were familiar with his work place cause he asked you (sheepishly) several times to bring him something he forgot at home, a habit of his. Even his annoying habits weren’t annoying, and it wasn’t because he always treated you to dinner afterward.

You had to find him.

You jumped into your leggings and put a hoodie on, called an uber and in the span of 20 minutes you were facing the big illuminated building. You inhaled deeply before going in, trying to focus and not let the fear seep in you.

As you pushed the entry door and the vast cold space unfurled before you, your heart beats raced in your throat, your dread came to embrace you again. You saw the receptionist looking strangely at you, half expectant, half annoyed, and you cleared your throat.

“ Hi, um.. I’m looking for Adam”

please say you know who I’m talking about.

“ Adam who?”

“ The guy… the tall guy who cleans stuff here”

Please, say he is here.

“ I haven’t seen him come in today, sorry” he snorted. It was obvious from his tone that he didn’t want you there.

Damn, this couldn’t be possible, come on people.

“ Please, it’s urgent, I’m his roommate and I can’t reach him on his phone, can you please ask anyone in the offices, anyone who can help me find him?” you talked so fast and your voice was shaking, tears menacing to spill over.

The receptionist eyed you displeasingly then with a huff he told you to wait and started dialing.

With every second you hoped someone would pick up on the other side of the wire but nothing. For long seconds you looked around you, the hall silent, the buzz of air conditioners, the lightening, white and blinding recessed damned lights.

Then

“ Y/N !”

You gasped, and turned your body to the source of the voice, the one and only voice you wanted to hear now.

“What are you doing here” He stopped, eyes of a deer in the headlights, beautiful, wide, luminous, your favorite.

He was a little out of breath, in his work clothes and holding bottles of detergents, his strands of hair a bit sweaty, a bit messy, but he looked more glorious and glowing than any prince you read about in fairy tales. Love is what it is.

“ Adam …I..” You started but he cut you off.

“Come upstairs?” he simply asked, still out of breath. He nodded to the receptionist and he nodded back. Implicit consent.

You followed and struggled to keep silent, mesmerized by his large shoulders as his long legs climbed the stairs. You could feel the electricity buzzing between you two, heavy silence, sexual tension ?

You reached the floor he was cleaning and you were about to lose it when his hand pushed you gently in one of the open spaces  and your turned your heels to face him, at last.

You both breathed deep in unison.

“hi”

“hi”

You looked like two idiots, for sure.

“ so…” he started.

His eyes, you needed to stop staring.

“ yeah..”

“ I think that at some point someone should start to really …talk” you laughed.

“ yeah. Sure, sure” he paused. “ I’m sorry. If that makes any sense” his voice was reaching its deepest lowest levels. It sent shivers through all your body.

“ I’m sorry, I acted like an idiot the previous night and this morning…. And during all the day, actually …eugh” He winced, looking at his feet.

“ No…Adam ..”

“ No, you don’t have to act like it’s ok, I really crossed a line and I’m truly sorry y/n” he was about to put his large hands on your shoulders but he changed his mind and fisted them on his chest, another thing he did a lot, and that you found endearing.

“ Adam, just listen !” you blurted out, reaching a peak of nervousness because of  all the things you were holding in.

“ Adam it was ok, it was really ok… it ..was, it felt good.” You gulped, watching him under your lashes, you couldn’t believe you said this, you watched as his pretty lips parted to form a perfect O. Then what seemed like a sunny smile reaching his eyes.

“ And I was worried about you all day, I tried to call but you didn’t-“

“ Fuck, my fucking…sorry, my stupid phone was dead.. that’s ..that’s why”

You sighed out of relief.

“ So you called me? Jesus, I thought you will be like … purifying your bed from my presence and invoking… dunno… a divinity to take your revenge or something..”

“ Shut up” you laughed heartily, all nervousness starting to fade away as a blush spread over your face and warmth in your gut.

“You are pretty” he blurted, blushing the tiniest bit.

You looked down to your worn leggings and tennis shoes, suddenly self- conscious. Your face must be just as pity looking, but as you looked up you saw him staring at you, eyes searching for something, then stilling on your lips.

You reached for a damp strand of hair and tucked it behind his ear, all words failing you.

He took a step forward, and leaned down, hesitant. You met his movement, and as you closed your eyes, you felt the gentle push of his lips on yours, and the world ceased to exist.

He kissed you with all the tenderness he got, all the delicacy and sweetness you needed. It felt nice, it felt pure and just like him. It felt kind and caring.

Your heart swelled and swelled, head span, you lost every sense of time and place. You didn’t even mind the white, cold blinding lights above your heads. All you could feel was his warmth, invading you from everywhere. Then he stopped.

“ I wanted to do it somewhere else” he whispered, out of breath again.

“ where” you hushed, eyes shut, still lost in the moment.

“ Your room”

“ let’s go then”  you beamed at him “ I even made a pie for you… well, it’s half a pie now” you laughed gently.

And he kissed you again. He couldn’t believe this was happening. You were perfect for him. He never considered himself lucky, but what was happening now made him reconsider everything. Maybe it was his time, to be happy, to share all that he could give with someone willing to receive and to give back, abundantly. You.

When your lips parted again, he took your hand and led you outside.

“Let’s go finish this at home before I got fired”

You shared laughs and kisses and light chit chat all the way home and as soon as the door closed behind you your lips crashed again, with much more vigor and passion this time. He lifted you in his arms, so swiftly and easily you felt like a feather. Flush to his body you shuddered under his caring touch. It was mind blowing, so mind blowing he stumbled on the chair leg and lost balance, luckily he could put you down in time and avoided crashing on the floor with all his weight on you.

“Aouch” You laughed loud.

“ Fuck me!”

“We should eat my pie first”  

Your eyes were glowing with mischief.

“ I have something for you, too”  he scratched his neck.

And he took the box out of his pocket.

“ Sorry, I’m so impatient, I should have wrapped it at least, I know, and I should have waited till your birthday”

“ no more “sorrys” ! Adam that’s … that’s so kind of you”

“ it’s not just kindness, you know it now”

And you blushed some more, he made of you a hot mess.

“ open it, come on” he urged.

And you did.

It was wonderful.

A book mark. Shaped as a beautifully sculpted dragonfly, decorated with glowing stones in all shades of green. It was fairy. That’s all what you could think of it.

“ matches the fantasy books you like to read” he said sheepishly as words refused to leave your mouth. You were bewildered .

So you just jumped on him, hugging him and kissing him randomly, everywhere you mouth could reach. He seemed delighted, euphoric, eyes glassy as if he was drunk, and when you recovered, a detail stroke you. His gift must had cost a little much.

“ Adam, it’s expensive, isn’t it?”

“ No ! at all” he protested a bit aggressively and you knew you were right.

“ Adam is that why …” it hit you now.

“ What?” he laughed

“ Adam is that why you are working extra hours?”

“ nooooo” he sang awkwardly.

“ yes, please tell me “

“ NO!”

But you knew the truth. Adam couldn’t lie, it was that simple. It showed. Too pure for that.

You wanted to treat him right too. You just wanted to show him how much you felt love blooming in your chest for him. it always was there. When he asked gently if you wanted to be his roommate, in the way he refused to take money from you to pay rent because he knew you were jobless at the time. How he cared for you all the two and half years you were living together, the little details, the gentle words, the beautiful little, simple gestures, the occasional long talks. How he was being protective and nervous everytime he saw lame guys hitting on you, at the rare parties you went to together. It was always there, the love, growing silently, little things wired, linked, spreading roots in your hearts and now the time finally came for it to bloom and sprout, in the bright light.

“ Won’t we eat your pie now?”  he asked, playful. 

“Of course we will” and in your eyes sparkled the promises of much more.

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Field of Poppies Part 11

Summary: After being apart for six years, childhood friends Tommy and Amelia reunite under odd circumstances. Tommy is an outspoken young man and Amelia is pregnant and out on the streets. The bond of family can be unbreakable but it is tested often. Especially when Europe descends into war.

Part 11: Max turns one. John Shelby receives some surprising news. 

             As spring turned into summer, Tommy was starting to realize how fast time really went. For so long he’d been going through the motions of life. But seeing Max hit milestones was an eye-opener for him. He saw how fleeting time was and it scared him.

            By June, Max was crawling and had started to show signs of walking. He would pull himself up using a chair and smile up at Tommy, proud of his little accomplishment.   

            The summer months were so busy that a lot of things that would worry Amelia went unnoticed. She was so occupied with Max and the other younger Shelbys that she didn’t have time to notice little inconsistencies. Like when Tommy had been nicked twice but Arthur had bailed him out before anyone noticed. Or that they had started to smuggle in a great number of weapons like guns and rifles.

            Tommy didn’t want to lie to Amelia. But if she didn’t ask, then there was nothing to lie about.

            There was even a stretch of time in the summer that they were apart. Polly, Amelia, and the youngest Shelbys went to the Appleby fair again while Tommy and Arthur stayed behind to watch the shop. Amelia wanted Maxine to meet her namesake, and Polly wanted a break from the shop. In the time they were gone, Tommy was roughed up by another Birmingham Boy but his bruises and cuts healed by the time Amelia returned.

            Little did they know, the fair would have more consequences than any of them realized.

~~~~~~~~~           

            They celebrated Max’s first birthday in September, holding a small party for friends and family. It was one of the first birthdays the Shelbys had that was a proper birthday. There was no worrying over scraping together enough money to make it suitable. There was a cake and toys for the little boy and a happy family surrounding him.

            As Ada helped Max unwrap his toys, Amelia snuggled into Tommy’s side. She seemed so content. That’s all Tommy wanted. He wanted his family to be happy and he would go by any means to get that.

            Tommy kissed her hair and took her hand in his.

            “It’s a horse, Maxy!” Ada showed him the wooden horse, pretending to make it gallop across the floor.

            Max giggled and clapped his hands together. He was such a happy child. Polly noted that the Shelbys were notable for being fussy children. It didn’t help that they had such a tumultuous upbringing. But Max rarely went a moment without giving someone a smile. Showing everyone the few baby teeth that were coming in. Even when he cried or fussed, he wanted to be secure in someone’s arms.

            It threw Tommy for a loop when, one day, Max looked at him and said ‘dada’. He was dumbfounded for a second, staring at the little boy he was holding. This innocent, pure-hearted, child who looked up to him. Who looked at him with such fondness and adoration. He was still too young to understand many things but he understood love.

            It had to be a fluke. A misunderstanding on God’s part. Tommy didn’t deserve this little angel. He didn’t deserve Amelia. He fully assumed that one day, he would wake up and it all would be just a dream. But every morning he woke up with Amelia curled up in his arms and Max asleep in his cot.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            But the tide would turn ever so slightly. That night, after all the cake was cleaned off Max’s face and he was fast asleep, there was a frenzy of knocks at the door.

            Amelia was helping Polly clean the kitchen while Tommy put Max to sleep so she went to answer it.

            When she opened the door, she found Martha Boswell on the front stoop, tears streaming down her cheeks. It was a bit of a shock; Amelia hadn’t seen the teenager since the Appleby fair in June. She didn’t know the Boswells were even near Birmingham because no one mentioned it.

            “Martha?”

            The girl hiccupped as she tried to compose herself enough to ask. “I-is John here?”

            “He’s upstairs, why don’t you come in?” Amelia let her inside, confused as to what was going on.

            Polly came out of the kitchen. “Martha, why are you here? What’s wrong?” She immediately switched to parenting mode.

            “Oh, Pol, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Martha wailed, clutching her shawl close to her chest.

            “Chavi, tell me what’s wrong?” Polly embraced her.

            “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I swear. I’m pre-pregnant.” Martha sobbed.

            Amelia instantly recognized the guilt and shame in her voice. It was the same emotions she had when she first found out about her pregnancy. The fear of what everyone would think weighing down on her and crushing her hope. Then she looked up to see John standing halfway down the stairs.

            His face had gone completely ashen and his wide eyes marked a frozen look of fear. It was obvious he’d heard the news. They were all stuck for a while. The only sound came from Martha’s heavy sobbing.

            John slowly walked down the rest of the stairs. “Marty…” He looked to Polly who seemed to be waiting for what he had to say. Either for damage control or for some sort of agreement. “You don’t hafta cry. It’ll be alright, I promise.”

            Martha withdrew from Polly’s arms to look at him. “You don’t’ know that.”

            “I…well, I’ll try me best. I’ll go to your parents and talk to them tomorrow.”

            “They’ll gut you!” She exclaimed. “They already know I’m pregnant. Mum found out today. If they find out you’re the father, they’ll go mad.”

            “Oi, what’s wrong with me, aye?” John asked. “Can take care of you better than anyone else.” He asserted.

            “John, I’m not even sixteen until next month!”

            “Well, I…” He was at a loss for words, looking to Polly and Amelia. He figured it would be years before he was even thinking about having a family. But teenagers did what they did. A chance night at the Appleby fair and suddenly their lives were changed forever.

            “Why don’t you stay the night?” Polly suggested. “Maybe we’ll all have clearer heads in the morning. Tomorrow, I’ll go with you and John to see your parents.”

            “Oh, Pol, they’ll be so angry.” Martha wrung her shawl together in her hands.

            “What’s done is done,” Polly assured her. “It’ll be okay. C’mon, go upstairs with John.”

            John, as frightened as he looked, took Martha’s hand. He squeezed it gently to comfort her as they walked upstairs.

            Polly shook her head. “Should’ve seen this coming a mile away.” She muttered to herself. “We saw them attached at the hip at the fair. Saw them sneak away together.”

            “They’re young, but they have a family that’ll take care of them.” Amelia pointed out. “Like you’ve taken care of Max and me.”

            She sighed. “I suppose. It’ll be a full house though.” She realized.

            “Well, maybe Tom and I can get a place of our own.” Amelia wondered. “I could still come and help with Ada and Finn. But I don’t want you to feel crowded.”

            “Talk to Tommy, I suppose.” Polly looked like she wasn’t sure what to do anymore. “It’ll work out eventually. It always does.”

 ~~~~~~~~~~

             "I guess I should've seen this coming," Tommy muttered. "I mean, we always saw them together but pregnant? That fucking git."

            "They seem to be in love though." Amelia picked up Max as he toddled over to her. They were just finishing moving into their new flat after discussing things with Polly. With Martha moving in after she and John married, and another baby on the way, there was hardly enough space to breathe. So Tommy took it upon himself to find a new flat. It was nice to have a place of his own, but he wasn't willing to stop there. He still had his eyes set on a manor out in the countryside.

            "They're too young to know what love is."

            "Really? They're not much younger than we are, Tom." Amelia reminded him gently.

            He chuckled and shook his head. "Well, I guess we'll see how it works out."

            "Maybe you should let John help with the betting shop." She suggested. "Give him some responsibilities and let him work for his own money. Then he can start saving for the baby."

            Tommy frowned. "Maybe. I don't know if he's ready."

            "He dropped out of school, he needs something to do."

            Max cooed as he tugged on Amelia's necklace. "Mumma." He murmured.

            Tommy watched as she cuddled Max close. He smiled slightly. He could never get over how natural her relationship was with Max. She embraced motherhood with such grace and it made him cast aside any doubts he had for the future. "Why don't we go to Handsworth Park on Friday. I’ll take the day off." He suggested.

            It was the first time since Max was born that Tommy offered to take a day off. Of course, he'd been coerced or even guilted into it but he had yet to be the first to suggest it.

            "I think that would be lovely." She agreed. "We can bring lunch, would you like that, Max?" She cooed softly.

            The toddler giggled. "Mumma."

            "Alright, now, let's get you in the bath. Daddy will come to say goodnight to you later." Amelia walked upstairs with Max in her arms.

            Tommy lingered in the foyer, lighting up a smoke. He glanced around the entryway. It was a similar layout to Six Watery but it still had its differences. There wasn't a large scuff mark on the floor from when Arthur scraped a chair down the hallway to catch a spider on the ceiling. Polly tried to cover the scratch in vain but it always poked out from underneath the rug. There was no cross on the wall by the door, although Polly was probably going to bring one over soon. The walls were still bare as they'd focused on getting furniture on a limited budget.

            It was frustrating. With money coming in, Tommy was starting to feel like they were moving up. And they were, just in small increments. Ada wouldn't have to wear hand-me-downs from cousins, no one would go hungry, and they could afford some small luxuries that they never knew before. But when a larger obstacle faced him, like buying another flat and filling it with furniture, Tommy realized how long the road ahead was.

            He exhaled a breath of smoke, tilting his head up to the ceiling. Maybe, with some luck, Max wouldn't have any memories of being poor. But it was only wishful thinking.

//Something fun is trying to figure out how John had so many children in such a short amount of time. But he’s a Shelby and as we know they are hoes and have many children. And we love them for it. 

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[mirkwoodshewolf]

Guardian of creatures; AU! Queen x oc female x reader Chap. 8

*Author’s note*

Hey gang, I hope my fellow American readers had a good Thanksgiving (even if you aren’t American and celebrate thanksgiving, I hope you enjoyed it as well.) Anyways onto the important thing, I finally got around to a plot for the next chapter of GOC. I hope you all like this cause there’s a surprise plot twist in this chapter and I went all evil and left it on a cliffhanger (hehehe) Anyways I hope you like this chapter and until the next time :)

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____________________________________________________________

Chapter 8,

Time runs short

Five days later; as it was promised, Roger, Brian and Freddie took over your training.  You learned hand to hand combat from Roger, healing magic and weaponry handling from Brian, and Freddie helped you to use magic without the use of a wand (just like he taught John and Serafina).

The lessons were hard and grueling and even left your muscles sore by the next morning but you pushed through it.  Especially since you now had to balance the last stretch of your internship with the New York Times.

You were currently walking through the hallways after delivering a new set of pictures you took with a reporter on a double homicide of an elderly couple.

“Oi intern!” you turn around and there stood Mr. Wormwood. He never did bother to learn your name which irked you every single time.  But due to staying professional, you had no say in correcting him.  Rule one, always remember your place in the newspaper business.

“Yes sir?” you ask.

“Take this down to Singer downstairs in the printing room. Make sure it’s only him that gets it and no one else is that clear?”

“Perfectly sir.” You take the manilla folder and race towards the elevator and you hit the G1 button.  You sit there waiting and waiting while a soft jazz music played over the speakers.  You tap the rhythm on your thigh as you wait and wait, watching the floor levels drop each time.  

When it finally dinged and the doors opened up, you left the elevator to find out that something wasn’t right.  There was nothing but storage files everywhere. Old newspapers scattered everywhere, files tossed like trash, carts filled to the brim with letters and packages. It took you a moment to realize that you were actually in the storage unit, not the printing room.

Damnit! You think to yourself.  As you go to turn around a sound suddenly reaches your ear.  A kind of clanking sound from a tin can or something. Slowly you turn around but you see no one there.

“Somebody there?” you call out.  The room is dead silent.  Not even the sound of the AC could be heard from down here.  It made you have an eerie feeling, like when you were at the graveyard with Freddie one time and he was teaching you about seances. But this was creepier because you knew you didn’t use the spell to contact a ghost, and you doubt anyone knew how to either.

As you walk through and push the carts aside you come to a large shelf of boxes, packages and broken trinkets (probably from old machine parts).  You then heard the clinking sound again.  This time it was really clanking, almost as if it were calling out to you.

You searched and searched but you couldn’t find anything metal that was rattling the way it was.  That was until you came across a brown package tied up with—chains? Why would an ordinary package need to be chained up? You pick up the package and saw that these weren’t ordinary chains.

Engraved along every other chain was Nordic engravings. Remembering your multi-lingual lessons from Brian it read:

PURGATORY FOR BEASTS OF THE STORM AND ICE

You lean in close to the chains and softly whisper the first unlocking spell you could remember and hoped that it would work.

“Alohamora.” Low and behold the chains glowed a fiery color, almost like lava before falling down to the ground.  You open the package and inside was some kind of vase?

You take it out and observe it closely to realize that it wasn’t a vase at all, but an urn.  It was emerald green with a gold top, as well as a single gold strand with Celtic ruins that circled around the middle of the urn.  The urn begins to rattle in your hands so you quickly set it down along the shelf in front of you.

Soon you began to hear what almost appeared to be screaming coming from inside that urn.  It was an awful, heartbreaking screaming.  The kind that just tears at your heart, a scream of fear and panic. Wanting to help you place your hand on top of the urn when a loud voice suddenly screams at you.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE!?” you freeze and you turn around to see Mr. Grayson.  His eyes wide with panic as he quickly walks up towards you and takes the urn back. With a flash of his hands he tightens the top and holds the urn almost possessively.

Slowly and creepily, his head turns towards you.  An ugly sneer spread across his face as he looks at you almost deranged.

“How did you open that?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“Why did you even come down here!?” his voice raises louder.

“Mr. Grayson I didn’t mean any harm I swear!” you plead. Just what was so important about that urn to him. And why was he acting like this? You knew he could have a temper but this—he was like an escaped asylum patient.  Crazed eyes, baring his teeth, and acting possessive towards something.

“No one touches MY STUFF!!” you then watch him lift up one of the carts and fling it onto it’s side, letters and packages flying across the air.

“M-Mr. Grayson please…stop!”

“GET OUT!!” he screams at you.  As he continued to trash the storage room, you race out as fast as you can towards the elevator. “GET. OOOOOUUUUUTTTT!!!” his furious screams echo through the dark hallway as you reach the elevator.  Panicking you press the UP button and once the elevator doors open, you race inside and press a random button.

At this point you didn’t care what floor you ended up on, all you knew was that you had to get out of this building.  Once the doors opened, you raced out and ran past dozens of other workers.  All of them exclaiming at you to watch it or telling you to slow down.

Somehow you manage to get out of the building and all you do is just run.  Racing past people, dodging cars and horse drawn carriages. Finally you reach an alleyway and you collapse there on the dirty floor panting and trying to calm down from your panic attack.

Your heart racing with fear and tears rushing down your face. What the fuck just happened back there? Never have you seen someone act that deranged and psychotic before in your life (and you were in a Naga’s coils). You really believed that you were about to be killed in that office and no one would’ve noticed you were missing.

‘(Y/n)?’ a soft yet raspy voice called out to you.  You lift your head and wipe away your tears.

“Roger?” you sniffled. “Where are you?”

‘Here.’ You look around but there was no sign of the Nokk anywhere.

“Where?”

‘Here. Look down.’ You look down to see a medium size puddle right in front of you. A puddle most likely still there from the storm that came the other day.  You look closer and soon your reflection was replaced with Roger’s.

“Oh Roger. Finally a friendly face for once.”

‘What happened (Y/n)? You look as if Fred tried to swallow you whole.’ You glare at him for that little reminder of your first encounter with the Naga but you brush it away quickly as you answered.

“My boss suddenly flipped out on me. But it wasn’t a normal human meltdown. He went crazy, almost like he was possessed by something.”

‘How much are we talking about here? Demon leveled possessed.’

“No. It was—it was like how Serafina snaps easily during this time. But mixed with yours and Freddie’s temperament times 11.”

‘That bad huh?’

“I was scared Rog. He looked like he was really going to kill me! I thought I was gonna die in there!”

‘Alright, alright, alright calm down. Here, take my hand and I’ll bring you home.’ He extended his hand and soon his webbed hand stood in front of you.

“Normally I would be really freaked out about that.”

‘Yeah but you’re not normal. Not anymore at least. Now c’mon take it.’ You place your hand in his and he pulls you down into the puddle and soon enough you find yourself breaching at the lake before the house.

Roger now appears at your side and his shifts into his water horse form.  He lowers himself to you and you pull yourself on top of him.  Once your on, he raced out of the water and his water form dissolves till he’s a pure white horse as he keeps racing onward.

As you now stand before the mansion, you get off his back and he shifts back to his human disguise.

“Here, have a seat.” You both sit down along the backyard swing.  Roger sits close beside you, his arm going behind your shoulders over the swing, “Now, tell me what happened this morning.” You take a deep breath and proceed to tell him everything, right down to the smallest detail.

You told him that it was all for an urn, and how out of character it was for Mr. Grayson to act the way he did.  Sure you mentioned that he had a temper but never to the point of destroying things.  You also mentioned the crazy ticks you remembered he did when you didn’t notice before.

When he first turned to you after taking back the urn, you noticed how he began to flick out his tongue at the right corner of his mouth. A quick in and out like how Freddie does.  Roger gives you his full attention as you continue to explain your story, that’s when a voice speaks out.

“What’s going on here?” you both turn to see Brian coming out from the gardens. “(Y/n). We weren’t expecting you till after your shift tonight, why are you home so early?”

“They had a bit of a freak out at work and needed to cool off at home. Brian why don’t you make yourself useful and maybe go whip up a batch of those chocolate chip cookies of yours.” The Elf lord glared at the Nokk and said.

“Normally I’d have a retort for you but judging by (Y/n)’s frightened and exhausted face I won’t argue in front of them. Come with me dear one.” You follow Brian into the kitchen and as he promises, he makes up a batch of his famous chocolate chip cookies.

When they were done, Brian set down a plate for you and you thanked him graciously.  But once you took one more bite, your chest began to hurt once more.  This time the shock was so painful that it caused you to drop your cookie.  Brian knelt down before you and said.

“You’ve been having a lot of these chest pains lately, are you sure you don’t need me to heal you?” he asks.

“How did……”

“I’m a high Elf dear one. You may think you’re able to hide this from the others, but not from me.”

“I—I don’t know Brian. I don’t even know what this could be. I know it’s not a heart attack cause I don’t feel my arm going numb, and it doesn’t hurt to breathe so it’s not my lungs that are doing this.”

“Well you’ve suffered through this long enough. Come let’s get you up to my room and I’ll have a look at you.” He helps you up and guides you out of the kitchen.  But before you both left, that’s when the telephone began to ring.  Brian’s expression turned to a grim shock as he stared at the phone.

“It’s just the telephone Brian.”

“That’s just it. No one but us five know the number for this house.” Okay now you see why he looked so shock.  Sure you had been given the number but you were sworn to secrecy to never, ever, ever under any circumstances give this number to anyone.  “I’ll get it.”

“No!” Brian commanded.  He takes a deep breath in and said in a calmer tone, “Just sit here, I’ll find out who this is.” He sits you down on one of the stools near the island and walks over to the phone.

It’s constant ringing still going off till finally Brian picked up the receiver and spoke into it.

“Hello?” Brian remained silent while the person spoke on the other end of it.  “May I ask who this is and why you need to speak to them?” Brian leans against the counter listening to the person before he says, “Alright, I’ll put them on,” he then turns to you and holds it out to you.

You sit up and walk towards him and take the phone from his hand.  You put the receiver up to your ear and speak hesitantly.

“H-hello?”

“Intern, it’s Mr. Grayson. Listen, I want to—apologize for my behavior this afternoon. I understand that you left the office after what transpired in the storage unit and I wanted to give my sincerest apology. Come by the office for some coffee and we’ll discuss it further on.”

“To-tonight sir?”

“Yes. I expect you in my office at 8pm sharp.”

“Well I uhh……”

“Great see you there. Remember 8pm on the dot. Don’t keep me waiting.” With that the conversation ended and he hung up on you without allowing you to speak your mind.  You hang up the phone and say to Brian.

“My boss wants me to come by the office for coffee as an apology for scaring me earlier today. Wait what time is it?!” you turn to the clock and see that it’s 6:15pm. “Shit I need to get back to the city now!”

“But what about your healing session?” Brian asked urgently.

“Sorry Brian but I’ve got to go now. If I’m late who knows if he’ll have another freak out like he did today. I can’t disappoint him see yah Brian bye!” you said hurriedly as you gather up your light coat and keys and raced right out the door towards your car.

As it got darker, you finally arrive at the office to see it’s completely empty.  The lights all turned off and the typewriter’s finally silenced.  You walk through the hallways till you finally reach Mr. Grayson’s office.  You knock on the door and you hear his voice say.

“Come in!” you entered inside and as usual he sat there lounging against his leather chair and cigar in his mouth.  “Right on time rookie, sit down.” He spoke.  You enter inside his office, “Close the door.”

“But—we’re the only two……”

“I SAID CLOSE THE DOOR!” he snaps at you.  Fearfully you close the door as you push your back against it.  He takes a sharp breath in before saying calmly, “Sorry. Just been—having one of my rare furious moments.” He stands up and walks over to his coffee machine and tweaked at the knobs preparing two cups of coffee. “This job—takes a lot out on you. You’re expected to give our commands like you’re on the war front again. Sometimes I still get memories of my time back in the Great War. Pain in the ass I tell yah.”

“I’m—sorry sir.” You said solemnly.

“Ain’t no need for you to be sorry. That’s life for yah. Knocks you into the ground and you end up rolling in shit half your life.”

“Yeah. But my grandfather used to tell me, when life does that to you. You need to get back up on that horse as soon as possible.”

“Otherwise you’re nothing but shit on the ground as well. My old man used to tell me the same thing.” He takes the cigar out of his mouth in order to take a sip of his coffee.  And it was then you noticed that similar flick of his tongue that he did earlier.

“Uhh sir I—hate to pry but uhh……that urn in the storage unit.”

“Oh yes. That. I’ve been meaning to ask you about that myself.” He said as he slowly walked over towards the door. “You see that there was a special urn gifted to me by my auntie back in the day. But only a few certain people could read it.” You then saw him take out a set of keys and lock the door on you.

At this point your heart was racing, your palms were getting clammy, and your adrenaline was pumping.

“How was it that you could open it? There’s only a certain type of people that can unlock chains like that.” He spoke in an impatient, snippety tone.  He took the cigar out of his mouth and tossed it over to the trash. “Do you know why I chose you to go to the BEWITCHED club? Why you, an insignificant little nobody like you?”

“Sir I don’t—”

“Because I knew exactly who you were! Those traitors along with their little pets weren’t the only ones spying on you. We’ve been watching you too.” He spoke as he walked right up to you, getting right up into your face.

“What? You—but how could you….I mean you…..”

“You, you, you, you, you, you.” He mocked you pettily. “Quit your sniveling! You went to that club because He made it be so. And now thanks to you……we’ve got them. Our centuries of tracking is finally over. And now—your usefulness has reached its end.”

Suddenly the door bursted out with red magic and soon Mr. Grayson was shot with another red blast right towards him as well as his chair.  Mr. Grayson was now pinned to his chair and when you turned around there stood Serafina, John, Brian, Roger and even Freddie.

They all piled in the office, John went straight up to Mr. Grayson and pulled back his head.

“Freddie!” Freddie slithered towards Mr. Grayson and bit his neck. He cried out in pain as he even made gurgling sounds.  When Freddie removed his fangs from your boss’ neck, John interrogated him.

“You know who we are?!”

“Little Johnny boy!” he hissed through his gurgling and choked up voice.

“Are you Richard Grayson? Are you!?”

“No……”

“Is he in this room? Is he in this room!?!?” John snarled again.  This time taking the collar’s of his shirt.  Mr. Grayson didn’t respond verbally but his eyes shifted over to his desk.

“(Y/n) away from there!” Serafina ordered.  You moved away from the desk as Brian and Roger held you between them.  John then twisted his wrist and the desk magically transformed itself into a black and grey chest.  He contorted his fingers a certain way and purple magic came around the chest as it began to unlock itself, one by one the lids opened till the 7th one opened.

As soon as that chest was open, a foul smell filled the air. It was unlike any smell you’ve ever had smelt before.  Slowly you all walked towards the chest and when Serafina sent down a red light of magic, you gasped at the awful sight.

It was Mr. Grayson.  He lay there limp and beaten to almost a bloody pulp.  The decomposition from his body looked like he had been in there for months, maybe even a whole year.

“That’s—that’s Mr. Grayson. But…….” Freddie flicked his tongue into a vile of sorts and said.

“Polyjuice potion.”

“Now we know why he was hidden from your sights Fred.” Said Brian.

“We’ll have to burn the body, it’s our best chance of the humans not investigating us.” Roger said.

Soon you all began to hear the Richard Grayson imposter groan and grumble.  When you turn you saw that his face was actually starting to slowly melt, like a lit candlestick.  The right side was showing a more rapid progression of melting away than the left. His hands which gripped the arms of his chair till his knuckles were pure white, soon opened up and parts of his fingers actually broke off his hand.

He then let out a scream as some teeth shot out.  He began to twist himself about like he was having a seizure as his face morphed into someone else.  The short grey hair slowly grew longer and wilder and into an auburn like color, the wrinkles completely faded and his sharp profile became slightly more rounded.

With a final groan, his head lowered down and you saw a younger man now sitting in the chair.  A crazed look in his eyes as his tongue flicked in and out from his lips. Sweat glistened across his face as his chest heaved up and down with each breath.  You got a closer look at him by lowering yourself down to where his head hung, but the man roared as he tried to reach out for you.

Serafina’s and John’s magic held him back against the chair while Brian took you back.  The young man glared spitefully at you as John said.

“Long time no see, cousin Crowley.” John sneered.  Crowley only smirked as he said to you.

“I’ll show you mind if you show me yours muggle.” He growled with a Scottish accent. He then revealed a dark tattoo on his arm which actually moved.  It was a skull with a snake wrapped the skull, even going through the left eye socket and the head of the snake resting over the head of the skull.

“Your chest (Y/n).” Brian said as he ripped open your shirt to reveal that you had the very same symbol over your heart.  However it glowed a dark blue color, like a brand.

It soon began to make sense. You hadn’t gotten this mark until you joined the NY Times, when you first got your badge.  How could you be so stupid, that badge was enchanted to mark you!

“You know what this means don’t you? They know where you are now. Your precious Knight has been our tracker on you this whole time.” John and Serafina’s face mellowed to hidden fear.

“I’m sorry guys I didn’t know.” Brian held you close as Serafina said.

“He’s all yours Freddie. Do with him as you wish.” As you all walk out Crowley calls out.

“I’ll be welcomed home like a hero!”

“Not likely. For you see, Naga’s don’t leave anything behind.” You all rush out of the office, leaving Freddie to—devour Crowley.

You all arrive back at the house and were currently sitting in the study room where your magic first began, Brian was working on healing you of the brand while John and Serafina worked on a potion to destroy the enchanted nametag.  John pulled out the nametag and saw that it hadn’t been affected by the potion they just made.

“It should be melting by now.”

“Too much conqueror root?” she questioned.

“No. Not enough forest fae ash.” Serafina went over to the shelf and picked up a small urn and dumped it into the potion before stirring it up once more.  John placed the badge in the cauldron again hoping the badge would melt.

Meanwhile you could hear Brian muttering in Elvish a chant as he pressed a wet cloth to the brand.

Menno o nin na hon i eliad annen annin, hon leitho o ngurth

He kept repeating that chant over and over and over again under his breath.  Meanwhile your thoughts were buzzing of how all of this was your fault.  If you hadn’t taken a job at the New York times, John and Serafina would still be safe from his family.

But now because of you, they would be here any minute now. John and Serafina be tortured by John’s psychotic family for leaving.  Brian, Roger and Freddie killed for being magical creatures, and it was all your fault.

“Don’t blame yourself for this.” Brian’s soft voice spoke. You turn to him but this time you couldn’t bare to look into the eyes of the Elf Lord.  You didn’t deserve his comfort.

“But I did this. I could’ve gotten an internship at some other news press. Moved to another state to do it. Hell I should’ve spoken up about that pain I was feeling in my chest. I put you all in danger. I don’t deserve to be your Knight. I don’t deserve any of this.” You wipe away a tear from the corner of your eye as you refused to look at any of them.

“You can believe that and feel sorry for yourself, or you can help us fix a broken world.” Serafina said to you. “This isn’t our first time coming in contact with John’s family. It was bound to happen sooner or later. But right now our main focus is getting that tracking spell off of you. Then when they do come, we’ll be ready for them.”

“She’s right.” John said. “You couldn’t have known that it was my cousin. Crowley’s always been crafty with his disguises, he’s even gone so far as to be avoided by the Seer of all creatures. So whomever of my family comes for us, we’ll fight till the end. Because that’s what we do. We don’t give up.”

“And pray to Poseidon that nothing else is coming for us.” Roger said as he lounged himself across the couch.  Brian, John and Serafina glared at Roger but you could tell that even through their glares, they too hoped that he was right.

*3rd Person POV*

Back at the NY Times office in the storage room, earlier that day when Crowley had his meltdown as Richard Grayson, he had neglected to reseal his urn.  It now lay in the corner of the room on its side.

Suddenly the cap came off and a dark blue mixed with purple liquid spilled out of it.  However instead of just forming one straight line, the blue liquid began to trail down and form a circle, while the purple began to make a star, and together the liquid formed a pentagram.  

At the center of the pentagram, two liquid figures began to rise from the liquid.  One of them being out of the blue liquid while the other was purple.  Their crouched bodies slowly raised up till they stood proud and tall.

Once the liquid faded away, the two figures soon dropped their liquid forms and there stood two men.  Around the short-haired man, a cold mist formed over his feet, and the other had lightning flickering from his fingertips which caused the lights to flicker and cause a loud humming sound.

The man with short hair cracked his knuckles before shooting his left hand out to the side towards the urn which froze it into nothing but a block of ice and within seconds the urn shattered into millions of pieces.

The two men looked at each other and strutted out of the room with pride in each step.  As they passed through each of the lights, they blew out and exploded which filled the long-haired man’s arm with even more electricity.

[ssidesblog]

hand in unlovable hand

creativtwins, 2,746 wc, angst, ao3

cw: child abuse (physical and emotional)

roman and remus were partners in crime until their dad ruined it

At the age of 12, Roman found himself helping his brother sneak out of the house. This wasn’t something new, Roman was always willing to give a helping hand to Remus, even if it lands them in trouble. He admits it’s fun and when they don’t get caught a sense of pride fills him. They’d been partners in crime since they were old enough to walk and Roman didn’t plan on stopping their mayhem any time soon. 

“Get me a Monster.” Roman says in a hushed tone and Remus rolls his eyes. 

“Logan would tell you if you keep drinking those you’ll have heart problems by the age of 25.” 

“Well it’s a good thing book nerd isn’t here than huh?” Roman said and placed the screen back on the window. “Be safe.”. Remus gave him a thumbs up and turned, walking to the nearby 7/11. Roman walked over to his bed, wrapped himself in his blanket, and sat on the floor. Late night trips to 7/11 was a common occurrence; Remus went to get snacks and drinks while Roman stayed home on the off chance their parents checked in on them. Remus started to go once they’d turned 12, to their parents that was old enough for them to start getting an allowance, and Remus would spend all his money on gas station junk food. Roman started to give him some money too, usually for a Monster, sometimes a Yoohoo if he was feeling less edgy. Remus always came back with a slushie (often just a mix of all of the flavors they had), candy bars, and an unholy amount of chips. Remus kept all of it in a drawer he designated as his ‘food drawer’, which Roman found disgusting as the candy often melted and the chips got crushed but to each his own. 

The door to their room opened and Roman’s head snapped over to see his dad standing in the door frame. He quickly scrambled off the floor, tripping a little over the blanket but catching himself before he could actually fall. 

“What on Earth are you doing awake?” He asked, quickly followed by, “Where is your brother?” in a tone of worry and anger. 

“He, uh, went out.” Roman mumbled. 

“At midnight?” 

“Yes.” Roman said, shrinking in on himself. 

“Where the hell is he?”

“He should be back soon.” 

“That does not answer my question, Roman.” His voice boomed and Roman flinched. 

“Oh fuck.” Roman heard the familiar voice of his brother. He and his father turned towards the window and there stood Remus, arms full of snacks, a slushie in one hand and a Monster in the other. Roman walked over and took off the screen, helping Remus climb back in through the window. He quickly set everything down on his bed and they turned towards their dad. 

“And just how long has this been going on?” He asked. 

“A few months.” Remus responded, kicking the ground. 

“And you were in on this?” The question was directed at Roman. 

“Yeah.” 

“You both are grounded.” The two boys looked up at their father. 

“Why?” Roman’s voice was louder than it needed to be. 

“Because you both knew you shouldn’t have been doing this and have been hiding it for months, you’re lucky I’m not taking away your allowances.” 

“What’s so wrong about what he was doing?” Roman asked. 

“I was just going to the 7/11.” Remus added. 

“Something could have happened!” 

“But nothing has happened!” Remus argued. Their father took a step closer. 

“Don’t talk back to me.” He warned. In a rush of confidence Roman spoke up. 

“It’s not fair!” His father responded by connecting the back of his hand with Roman’s face. Roman stumbled back and lowered his gaze to the floor, tears pricking the back of his eyes. Remus walked over to him and wrapped an arm around him. 

“You won’t talk back to me, now go to bed.” Their dad turned and shut the door. Roman buried his face in Remus’s shoulder and cried, Remus rubbed his back. 

After that night, Roman didn’t help Remus with his scheming. Instead, he followed the rules their dad made and tried his best to become the perfect child. Every time he stepped out of line his dad reminded him why he needed to be good. Every time it hurt and he would go to Remus to cry. Remus had done the complete opposite, the perfect example of a problem child. He talked back and continued to sneak around. Each time his dad tried to beat into him the same he had done to Roman, but Remus was determined and spiteful. Roman always went to Remus after hearing an argument and did his best to cheer him up. Roman tried to stay close, but it started to get harder. Eventually, Remus switched into the room next door and it felt like he had put a divide between them, a clear message to Roman that he didn’t need him.

“You need to stop this, Remus.” Roman heard his dad as he walked out into the living room. Remus and him stood in the middle of it, arguing. Nothing new. Roman stood in the walkway, curiosity getting to him.

“I’m not even doing anything bad.” Remus argued back. What they were talking about, Roman had no idea. He saw his dad look over at him and then put his focus back on Remus. 

“Why can’t you be more like Roman?” He practically pleaded. Roman tensed. 

“Sorry I can’t be perfect!” Remus said and raised his arms, only for them to rest back at his sides. “I’m not going to change just because you aren’t enough of a father to do more than hit your kids when they’ve done something wrong.” Roman flinched as his dad pushed Remus to the ground. 

“You will not talk to me that way.” He yelled, towering over him. 

“Look how strong you are,” Remus stood up, “Congrats you can beat up your 13 year old son, aren’t you a macho man.” Remus turned and walked towards Roman. 

“Get back here, niño.” His father said but didn’t attempt to walk towards them. 

“You’re not gonna do anything?” Remus asked Roman. Roman stayed silent, his gaze wandering to the floor. “Remember when you used to stand up for me? Some fucking brother you are.” Remus said and pushed Roman out of the way with his shoulder. Roman stumbled a little and leaned against the archway. His dad made his way over. 

“You’re just gonna let him treat you that way?”

 Roman nodded. 

“Your brother may be a pain in the ass but at least he has the balls to stand up for himself; you could learn something from him, Roman.” His dad shoved past him, probably to continue his argument with Remus. Roman stumbled over to the couch and huddled in on himself and cried. He stayed like that until his mom walked through the door and joined him on the couch and hugged him. Remus and his dad could be heard arguing still. 

“Why is dad so mean?” 

“I don’t know, mijo.” She said, petting his hair. Roman let himself calm down a little further, though he was still sniffling when he spoke. 

“I just want my brother back, Mama.” His mom sucked in a breath. He heard her sniff and couldn’t bring himself to look at her cry. 

“You will soon, mi príncipe.” She kissed his head and held him close, “I promise.” 

By the end of 8th grade, their parents had gotten a divorce and their mom had gotten full custody of Roman and Remus. The house was a lot quieter without their dad around, and Roman never thought he would enjoy silence so much. Remus still resented his brother and Roman couldn’t blame him, but it still hurt seeing him get a faraway look in his eye, the only look on his face being one of pure fear or pure hatred every time Roman entered a room. 

“Hey, Rem?” Roman opened the door to Remus’s room and poked his head in. Remus looked at him and quickly looked away. Even from the doorway, Roman could see him shaking. 

“What?” Remus spit out. His voice was shaking, with anger or fear Roman couldn’t tell. 

“Mama told me to come get you, dinner is ready.” 

“Ok, now get the fuck out of my room.” Remus said, voice strained. Roman numbly nodded and walked out of his room, closing the door behind him. That was about the only way Remus interacted with him since their dad had left. Roman just wanted to talk to him again, joke around and laugh. Be brothers again instead of whatever they were now.

“Why does Remus hate me?” Roman asked his mom after another quiet dinner. She turned off the sink and faced her son. 

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“It feels like he does.” Roman said, voice quivering. His mom walked over and pulled him into a hug. 

“I think you just remind him of your dad.”

“Am I that bad?”

“No, not in that way, mijo,” She pulled away and cupped his face, “Your dad often used you as an example of how Remus should’ve been. That isn’t your fault, but Remus made a connection between you and your father in his head. Just give him time.” She turned around and continued to do the dishes, leaving Roman to stand in the middle of the kitchen, wondering when the hell he would have his brother back. 

Their mom made the executive decision to put Remus in therapy, which he had tried to get out of but he eventually complied. Dr. Picani would work with Remus to stop him from connecting Roman to his father and therefore his trauma. They worked all throughout freshman year and by the end, Remus had started interacting with Roman again, but he still had his days where even looking at Roman made him angry. Roman was just happy he could even look at him again.

At the start of sophomore year, Remus had a particularly bad day and snapped at Roman during lunch. He walked into 6th period drama with tears streaming down his face. 

“Roman, do you need to sit out for today?” Mr. Sanders asked before class started. Roman looked at him and shook his head.

“Can I just skip warm up?” Roman asked, trying his best to not sob. Mr. Sanders nodded and had him sit in the back of the room; their class was set in a room off to the side of the theatre. Roman sat down in the back of the classroom while everybody else took a seat in the chairs that lined the front. Mr. Sanders started class and after a small warm up let everyone go off in pairs to practice for their scenes. Roman watched as his partner for the scene, Janus, walked over to him. 

“You look miserable.” He said as he slid down the wall to join Roman in sitting on the floor. 

“Can I at least be hot and miserable?” Roman mumbled. 

“You can never not be hot,” Janus said. 

“I appreciate the compliment but I still feel like hot garbage.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Janus asked. 

“It’s stupid.” 

“If you’ve been crying over it, I’m sure it’s not stupid.” Janus spoke gently. 

“How do you know I’ve been crying?” 

“Your eyes are red and puffy, and I can see the tear stains on your face.” Roman scrubbed his hands over his eyes. 

“It’s just my brother,” Roman started, “We have a, uh, complicated history. And he went off on me today, it hasn’t happened in a while so it just, hurt, I guess.” Roman explained. Janus nodded along.

“Did you deserve it?” Janus asked, adding on, “From an objective standpoint.” Roman chuckled a little. 

“You sound like my friend, Logan.” Roman said, “And I really don’t know, kind of?” 

“Explain.” 

“Some stuff happened a couple years ago, and I didn’t help him when he needed it most. It’s been years but I know it still affects him. I think he has a right to be angry.” Janus hummed. 

“This stuff that happened to him, were you the cause of it?” Roman shook his head. “Then he shouldn’t take his anger out on you.” 

“But-”

“Even if you didn’t do anything to help,” Janus interrupted, “I’m sure you had your reasons for it.” 

“I guess. I just,” Roman paused, trying to find his words, “I just miss him.”

“I’m assuming he’s a lot different than before.”

“He’s more defensive, kinda on guard but not always. He gets like that around me at times and it just sucks. He’s my brother and I just want to be able to talk to him without tension building in his shoulders.” Roman said. Janus thought for a moment, then spoke, his tone soft. 

“When I first met my step brother, we didn’t get along at all. He was reserved and built up these walls to protect himself from the unknown, in this case, I was the unknown, the monster under the bed. I had my own walls, and I didn’t make it easy to get along. There was always a tension when both of us were in a room together.

“For the sake of my mom, I started to interact with him. Without getting into detail, I’ll just say his father wasn’t a nice person. I had to learn what I could and couldn’t say, what movements would cause him to back away and which ones were ok. It took time, but eventually we started to get along. He slowly lowered his walls and I lowered mine. Now, I can’t imagine him not being in my life. Having him as a younger brother is one of the best things to happen to me.” Janus smiled and turned his gaze to Roman, “Show him you care and make an effort to understand his needs. I don’t know what happened exactly, but if it’s anything like what happened to V, I understand how hard it is to trust someone, even if it’s your brother. And if it’s a similar situation then I do not blame you for not doing anything, that’s a tough situation to be in.”

Roman stared at Janus in awe. He looked away from him and thought about what he’d said. Roman had made an effort to be there for him, maybe he was going about it wrong. 

“I try my best to be better, but he never tries to see where I’m coming from. We’re different in a lot of ways and he has a hard time understanding that. He’s so himself in such a loud way, I just play it on the safer side, and he doesn’t understand why. My dad was also not kind, and for him to be kinder, I strayed away from being myself, my brother did not. He can’t understand why I let myself do that but I don’t want to bring up a sore subject. I just don’t know what to do.” Roman put his face in his hands, “Sorry this is such a heavy topic.”

“It’s ok, having this kind of conversation is necessary sometimes,” Janus said, “Are you older or younger than him?” 

“We’re twins.” Janus widened his eyes at that.

“I can’t imagine he understands how you can be so different from him, then.” 

“I just am.” Roman said, exacerbated.

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. I believe people get along better if they are fundamentally different. I just think your brother is confused. And angry. The best advice I can give is just be patient with him. Keep putting in the effort, don’t give up on him.” Janus said. Roman nodded. 

“Thanks, Janus.” 

“Of course, we still have half the period, do you want to pretend we’re doing the scene while actually just fucking around?” Roman laughed. 

“Sounds like a plan, Jan.” Janus rolled his eyes at the nickname. 

Roman knew he could never have the old Remus back, no matter how hard he tried. But he didn’t care, because all he wanted was to have his brother, who dragged him into his messes and Roman would go along without a second thought. Eventually, he would have that, but until then he was ok with the days where Remus could look at him, no trace of anger, and just smile. 

[simkaswriting]

Charming-(Charles Xavier)

Pairing: Charles Xavier x Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: none

Summary: (Y/N) goes to the School for Gifted Youngsters in hopes of finding her dog that ran away.

A/N- Not set during any particular movie/time period.

She tapes the last 'MISSING' poster onto the dull post standing next to Wallmart and sighs heavily. Her eyes scan her surroundings with hope, perhaps she’ll catch a glimpse of her furry friend that ran away from her home. But when all she sees is the bad traffic jam and a few people arguing over a parking spot, she decides to move on. That’s all she could do, tape posters of her dog around town with hopes of someone spotting him and being kind enough to return him. 

Her feet carry her to a large black gate, with a plaque reading ‘Xavier’s School For Gifted Youngsters’. Every resident in the surrounding towns knew of the school. No, every person in the country knew. It’s the place mutants go to, that’s what they’re called. To (Y/N), they are just people. People with extraordinary abilities. People who might have seen her dog. 

There’s an intercom on the stone wall, a button with a bell symbol and a speaker. She timidly presses it and awaits an answer. After a few seconds and some static, she hears a voice on the other end. 

“How can we help you?”

She searches for the right words, not really having thought ahead, not expecting anyone to answer.

“Um. My dog, he ran away two days ago. Is there any way you could take a poster? Pass it around? Maybe someone seen him.” She glances around, taking in her surroundings. Greenery and trees, and far off the Esquimalt Lagoon.

A noticeable pressure settles over her brain, a feeling she can only compare to when a Doctor takes your blood pressure, but on her brain. Not painful, but definitely there. If she were anywhere else, her instincts would tell her to pop a painkiller for the oncoming headache. But here, at the school, she knows the source of the pressure isn’t entirely natural.

(Y/N) leans into the intercom, frowning, and half-whispers. “Are you in my head?” 

The voice chuckles, unbeknown to her, a certain telepath already knows quite a few things about her.

“Come on in, Miss (Y/L/N).” 

Then a beep, signalling the conversation is over. The gate slowly swings open.

Contemplating whether or not she wants to go in only takes a few seconds, the need to find her dog winning over. Her feet carry her down the long driveway, passing various normal looking people, who are probably mutants. She doesn’t stare, instead appreciates the nature surrounding the school. And doesn’t bother trying to figure our how the voice knew her name. 

She walks up towards the impressive structure, a man in a wheelchair waiting with a small smile at the door. This must be the owner of the school. Professor X, was it? He was often in the towns local news, whether it be because people fear him or worship him. It changes each week. Though his youth surprises her.

His hair is pushed back, a tweed suit adorning his body. He seems wise yet full of mischief. The blue of his eyes is simply breathtaking. Overall attractive, though she can’t quite figure out what it is about him that makes her heart skip a beat.

“Miss (Y/L/N), let’s see this poster then.” He smiles at her, confident but not arrogant, arm outstretched. His eyes linger on her lips.

Fumbling with the paper, she passes one of the flyers into his waiting hand. She’s not sure how to act, the man is beyond powerful, and though seemingly friendly, she doesn’t know if she can trust him, or how to really act.

He scans the paper. “Adorable dog, what’s his name?” Eyes full of amusement look up at her, though she’s not sure why. Is he in on a joke she isn’t aware of?

“Alfie.” She says slowly, as if waiting for him to announce a prank he’s pulled on her. After a few seconds of the Professor and (Y/N) looking at each other with curiosity, it dawns on her.

“But you already knew that, just as you knew my name.” She chuckles, relaxes a little, strangely enough. Something about the man in front of her reassures her, for whatever reason. 

The Professor nods. He reaches into the pocket of his blazer and produces a small business card. (Y/N) takes it and examines it. The schools name, his name and the address along with a phone number. 

“I’m Charles Xavier, the Professor at this school. I’ll pass this poster around, maybe someone will have seen him, stay in touch with me. Thank you for your visit, Miss (Y/L/N). It truly was a pleasure.” The Professor, or rather Charles, takes the girls hand in his own and shakes it, his eyes never leaving hers. In his mind, he’s already thinking up a plan that involves Peter.

Charles has never fell so hopelessly for someone, let alone a confused human who lives just a short walk away from the school. The moment he glanced into her mind, purely to make sure she wasn’t posing a threat, he was captivated; hooked and ready to do anything in his power to get to know her better.

(Y/N) almost lets slip her comment about how young he is for a professor. But instead, her smile widens, her hand reluctantly slipping from the Professors. Somehow she knew he’d help her. Somehow, in the pit of her stomach, she knew she would see him again. Though she didn’t realise just how soon that would be.

“Call me (Y/N), please. I’m not old enough for you to use my surname.” She chuckles, before thanking the Professor one last time and walking down the long driveway. Away from the school, the onlooking strangers with knowing smiles on their faces, and the man who will preoccupy much of her thoughts, both waking and sleeping. 

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

A soft knock on the front door jerks (Y/N)s body awake from deep sleep. The image of the Professors face lingers at the border of her consciousness, but is gone before she can fully comprehend why. Her fingers work to brush the sleep from her eyes, and then the knots out of her hair. Standing up, her back cracks in several places, accompanied with a painful moan, an aftermath of sleeping on the sofa.

The knocking comes again, this time slightly louder. The clock above the door shows that it’s 8:12am. Too early.

She makes her way to the door, and unlocks it. As soon as the door is open, a ball of fur collides with her aching body. The impact knocks her to the ground, and before she can even process what’s happening, a wet tongue starts licking her face.

An excited laugh escapes (Y/N)s lips, her hands slightly pushing her Lab away so she has a clear view of the door. And on her porch, she sees a smiling Charles.

Quickly, (Y/N) stands up off the floor and wipes at her face, not wanting the Professor to see her in this dishevelled state. Alfie runs off into the kitchen to look for food, tail wagging.

“Where did you find him?” She asks excitedly, walking towards the door. Her eyes scan the man in front of her, noticing that he’s dressed more casual than when she last saw him yesterday. Behind him, parked on the road, is a black SUV with tinted windows.

“A student of mine happened to stumble upon him on the school grounds, he was hiding in the bushes.” Charles chuckles. Was that the truth? Partially. He misses out the part where he asked Peter to go on a wild goose chase as soon as she left the School grounds.

(Y/N) smiles at the man in front of her, beyond grateful for his help. If she hadn’t gotten the courage to ring the intercom bell, her boy might have still been running around lost. 

“I can’t thank you enough for going through the troubles and bringing him home. You could have called, I feel slightly bad now.” She blushes, crossing her arms and leaning against the door frame. 

Charles chuckles, a noise she finds extremely charming, before raising his brow. “You didn’t give me your number.”

Eyes widening, she recalls their conversation from the day before. And, to her embarrassing horror, he’s right. ‘Though, if he wanted it, couldn’t he just search my mind for it?’ she thinks.

“I didn’t want to invade your privacy. Again.” A voice in her head, just as British as in real life, answers her. A voice that undoubtedly belongs to the Professor in front of her, yet she isn’t entirely sure how he did it.

Charles chuckles, loving how flustered he’s making the woman standing in front of him. Just like in the old days, when he used to hit up the local pubs and charm women from all over the world, often scoring dates. Back when he could still walk. Since then, nothing.

Shocked, (Y/N) doesn’t know how to answer. If he can read her thoughts, project his thoughts into her head... He must know a lot about her already. Slightly ashamed, she wonders if he knows how attractive and enigmatic she finds him.

“However, and do stop me if I am too bold, I would love to see you again. Perhaps over a coffee? You’d love the Schools gardens. Maybe I could arrange a private tour for you.” Charles smiles, oozing confidence and charm and allure. His smile emits one from (Y/N) herself, who can’t quite stop the full force of it. 

She takes a few seconds to compose herself, to hide the painfully obvious happiness and attraction she feels towards the Professor in front of her. The growing feeling of adoration she knows he’ll pick up on sooner or later.

With a small nod, she meets his eyes. “I’d love that. Though please stay out of my head, it’s not exactly polite.”

Enthralled with her, Charles scratches the back of his neck, a nervous habit, and chuckles. He’s still got it. “I promise. Does 11 sound good?” 

“11 sounds perfect, Charles.”

[mistbornthefinal]

Madoka Magica Aniversary Analysis: Part 9

Can Love and Courage Still Triumph?

The beginning of this episode replays the end of the last, Sayaka’s transformation into a witch. As Oktavia von Seckendorff looms over her Kyouko is initially uncomprehending or perhaps in denial of what just happened happened. Kyouko grabs Sayaka’s body as it falls and is forced to dodge a barrage of Okatavia’s signature wheels. Homura arrives on the scene and sets off another flashbang and the offers Kyouko her hand.

Kyouko takes it and we get our first look and Homura’s timestop from an inside perspective. Within the stopped time Kyouko demands to know where that witch came from and what happened to Sayaka, Homura reiterates the truth that Kyouko is unwilling to internalize, Sayaka has become a witch. Homura then says that unless Kyouko is unwilling to discard Sayaka’s body then they will have to run. Kyouko can not do that so they exit the barrier. (cue connect)

We find Madoka walking morosely along the railroad tracks only to run into Kyouko and Homura walking in the opposite direction. Seeing Sayaka’s lifeless body Madoka tearfully asks what happened to her friend. Homura lays it out her Soul Gem shattered and became a Grief Seed, Sayaka is gone. That is the final secret of the Soul Gem when they fully darken they become Grief Seeds and a girl is reborn as a witch. This is the inescapable fate of those who become magical girls. In payment for the number of people Sayaka has saved Oktavia will curse and equal number of people.

Of course this sort of law karmic balancing that the girls have been claiming for the past few episodes doesn’t really hold up if you think about it. Mami saved a large number of people and cursed no one due to dying before she became a Witch. Heck Kyubey’s whole operation sort of requires a certain amount of unfair exchange to be possible given they use magic to extent the life of the universe and leave other species with the bill.  That said it’s easy to buy equivalent exchange as something the characters believe,(especially Homura who at this point want’s to resolve her wish as “a life for a life”) but it’s something that Madoka’s wish ultimately rejects. 

Kyouko is angered by Homura’s cold words in the face of Madoka’s grief grabbing her by the collar, but Homura simply continues her monologue telling Madoka that this is the truth of what she aspired to become. Homura then tell Kyouko that there will be trouble if she isn’t cautious about disposing of the body. Kyouko similar to Madoka in episode 7 asks Homura how she can call herself human.

“I can’t, of course. And neither can you.”

We find Madoka sitting on her bed when Kyubey come for a visit. Madoka is unsurprised to find him alive, and he confirms that nothing that Homura said is wrong enough to require further explanation. He then lays out the reasoning behind the system his kind have inflicted on humanity. When the Soul Gem undergoes phase change a tremendous amount of energy is released and that energy is their ultimate goal. It is a source of power unbounded by thermodynamics that they can use to stave off the heat death of the universe. 

While he implies that this is ultimately for the benefit of humanity as well (and that humanity will eventually join the interstellar community) the next episode proves he is full of shit. That they have a fixed quota of energy that they expect each planet to produce and express no regret at humanities immanent extinction strongly implies that the extinction of the client species is the expected end state of their operation. In which case the relationship is purely predatory regardless of what he might claim in episode 11. 

He also gives the fig leaf that the girls all consented but that’s a weak dodge. Like forget informed consent this is maliciously and deliberately misinformed consent, he may claim that his species doesn’t understand the concept of deception that doesn’t seem to stop him from doing it constantly. Also while it’s not brought up I can’t help but feel then need to point towards all the normal humans who never consented to anything and are being eaten by witches regardless. 

Kyubey then says that given that there are billions of human’s he doesn’t understand why the death of a single human has her bent out of shape. 

you tell ‘em Madoka

Kyubey gives yet another sales pitch this time stressing the vas amounts of delicious energy she will produce when she becomes a horrible monster. Leaving with.

“So, if you ever feel like dying for the sake of the universe, just let me know.”

We check in on Kyouko who is using her magic to stop Sayaka’s gem from decaying. Kyubey shows himself to ask why and Sayaka answers his question with another question. “Can Sayaka be brought back.” Kyubey uses ambiguous phrasing to give Kyouko false hope like the dick he is. We leave this scene with Kyouko stuffing her face making it pretty clear that her eating habits are less “endearing character quirk” and more “worrying coping mechanism.”

As Madoka is walking to school with Hitomi (who tragically unaware of what has happened), Kyouko calls out to her with telepathy asking her if she’s really just going to go to school after what happened yesterday? Realizing that the fate of her friends soul is probably more important than compulsory education Madoka ditches Hitomi runs off. 

Kyouko tells Madoka that she can’t abandon Sayaka so long as there hope she can be saved. (and potentially even if there isn’t) He friends voice might still be able to reach her, might bring her back to humanity. Madoka asks if that will really work to which Kyouko replies that she has no idea. She want’s to do this because she doesn’t know, because that uncertainty allows room for hope

“Maybe if we slice that witch in half, Sayaka’s Soul Gem will fall out instead of a Grief Seed. Wouldn’t that be something? It’d be like one of those stories where love and courage triumph over all. Come to think about it, I probably became a magical girl in the first place because I loved stories like that. I’d totally forgotten about it, but Sayaka reminded me again.”

You did it Kyouko, you boiled your character arc down to the bare essentials. Kyouko asks Madoka if she is willing to help even if Kyouko can’t promise her safety or success. Madoka cinnamon roll that she is accepts immediately offers  her hand into which Kyouko places a piece of candy in lieu of a handshake. 

Back at school Homura decides to dich as soon as it’s clear that Madoka isn’t coming. 

As the two of them search for Oktavia’s labyrinth, Madoka asks if Homura is going to help them. Kyouko says no and denies that Homura is her friend, they simply share a common goal, to defeat Walpurgisnact an enemy neither of them could face alone. 

Within the barrier Madoka asks Kyouko if she is a coward for always leaving the fighting to others. Kyouko flips the script her life is happy one, to abandon that, to become a Puella Magi for a mere whim is the height of stupidity. Kyouko won’t allow it, if Madoka did she would be the first to kick her ass. 

“The only people who should put their lives in danger are those who’ve got no other choice. Anyone else is just playing around.”

Kyouko then says there might be a time when Madoka has no choice but to fight, she should only consider the contract then.

We then arrive at the center of the labyrinth, or rather Oktavia realizes that she has intruders and they are pulled to the center. Oktavia’s familiars supply the background music as Madoka glimpses the remnant of her friend for the first time. She calls out to Sayaka but Oktavia’s only reply is to summon her wheels.

Kyouko raises her barrier and perpares herself to intercept the Witches attacks. As Madoka calls out to Sayaka Kyouko deflects a barrage of wheels with her spear. However Oktavia only steps up her attacks and Kyouko seems to be struggling to fight a purely defensive battle. 

As Kyouko starts to take hits she reminisces about her first encounter with Sayaka. She had dismissed the girl a first but she kept getting up no matter what. As she recalls that day red and blue flows across the screen froming the silhouette of Kyouko and Sayaka before resolving as flowing blood. Several wheels hit Kyouko and she is thrown backward. As Madoka moves to help Kyouko to her feet Oktavia seizes her in a massive armored gauntlet and begins to squeeze. 

Kyouko finally strikes severing the Witches limb and berating Sayaka. Oktavia brings her sword down shattering the floor and reveling an inverse of the concert hall they were in presided over by a familiar that resembles a certain boy.

Homura is there to catch Madoka. Kyouko apologises to Homura for dragging Madoka into her idiocy and the creates another of her barriers between her and Homura. The message there is clear. Kyouko acknowledges Homura’s mission focusing on the one thing she wants to protect above all else, Kyouko used to think that was what she was doing as well. She undoes her ponytail to reveal the symbol of her fathers faith that she had hidden in her hair, she never truly stopped believing. 

As Homura flees Kyouko summons spears from the earth in massive numbers including on large enough for her to ride. From her clasped hand she draws her Soul Gem that she has fused with the symbol of old faith.

“Don’t worry, Sayaka I know you don’t what to be alone. It’s ok. I’ll be here with you Sayaka.”

She then unleashes a massive attack through her own Soul Gem killing both her and Oktavia.

Back at the Homu-home Homura asks an interloping Kyubey if there was any chance for Kyouko’s plan to succeed. Kyubey admits that it was impossible and that he basically manipulated Kyouko to her death so Homura would have to face Walpurgisnact alone, and thus Madoka has no choice but to contract in order to save the city. Homura says that she will never let that happen.

For this episode Magia does not make it’s usual appearance instead replaced by “and I’m home” sing by Ai Nonaka and Eri Kitamura (VA’s for Kyouko and Sayaka respectively.)

And that’s Episode 9, when you get down to this Kyouko’s episode as much as Episode 10 is Homura’s episode. Kyouko what had come into the narrative preaching selfishness stakes it all on trying to save the girl who remined her of her old ideals. Now that the full weight of Kyubey’s system is reveled Kyouko tries to find a way out and in bittersweet way she does, choosing to expend her Soul Gem in a heroic sacrifice rather than fall into despair and become a Witch.

That said now there’s only one person standing in the way of Kyubey’s plans, though to a certain extent that’s how it’s always been.