#i think its funny to hate on the inhumans and all but there was nothing wrong with what he did there

[lovecatsys]

whyyy do people keep listing Hank being allies with the Inhumans as if its as bad as all the other shit he's done

[hypixelskywars]

It is a bit weird being a villain, the main villain, someone regarded as something unholy and inhuman, the king of curses, who bears nothing but teeth and evil intentions, and sincerely caring about all of these kids now. Like, hell. I made everything hell and your life miserable. I relished in it. It was funny. But you were all 15. In your first year of highschool. There's nothing that would have changed what i did at the time but now, you guys are just babies what the hell? Yuji is my annoying as fuck nephew who is occasionally (always) really funny. Kugasaki and Fushiguro are cool too. They're my little brother's school friends who think im intimidating. They're all my little cousins. I would have HATED this. Its really funny, in all honesty.

[shivo-research-assistant]

What's so scary about a Clown?

The clown is a symbol of laughter and joy so why do we, especially children, find them so scary? Well I think it boils down to this: we're not supposed to be happy all the time.

The Greek philosopher Chrysippus, laughed at his own joke, died shortly after because he laughed for too long. Laughter (and the joy that goes along with it) are good in small doses. A good belly laugh is good for the soul. However laughter can hurt and even kill a person if it goes on too long.

Now look towards the clown. This is a symbol that is constantly laughing, smiling, and being the fool. Their faces and garb I believe are so disturbing because they show this forced happiness that ought never be. This feeling is only increased when we see a "defiled" clown or one that is obviously haggard, dirty, and past their prime. Even in their squalor the clown laughs. It does not laugh out of joy. It laughs out of something else at the moment. The laughter itself is done in spite of pain.

I believe people instinctively pick up on this fact when they see a clown. They see a being forced or unwilling to stop laughing which stops making the joke funny. In fact, then there is no joke. What is left is tortured animal seeking relief or, worse, others to join in their misery.

The scariest clowns (Art, the Joker, etc) laugh at things most would consider down right awful. They elevate the dissonance between the clown and "how" we should be laughing. Because that's the thing with clowns. So many times the laughter is analyzed from a "should" or "ought" lens when that makes no sense. People have different senses of humor and thus laugh at different things. The unsettling nature of the clown really doesn't come from the should nor the ought only the HOW.

That's what I think you need to keep in mind to MAKE CLOWNS SCARY; how are they laughing? Is the laughter constant? Is it an unstoppable, painful, raw response to stimuli that is birthed from the nightmarish concoction of mental defects within the mind of the clown? Does the laugh have a tenor that is different than the average laugh? These are things to keep in mind.

Sure the clown might do something horrific and that could be scary. But to make the CLOWN scary? Oh, simply have the clown laugh at the wrong time when they're cutting up the body. A laugh so out of nowhere, devoid of context or cause, that it is unsettling. Was the clown's throat just slit? Best time to have a laugh. Yes it will kill the clown but the sickening wheeze as the blood spurts from the jugular is perfect.

Did the clown just burn down a house? Well perhaps they are laughing all the way up to setting the house on fire and then fall silent. Only when they start coughing from the smoke does the laughter pick up again.

The topic doesn't matter, the presentation of the laugh does. The laugh must reflect something inhuman about this clown. It must show a disconnect from the normal and drive the viewer into a darker world. A world where laughter isn't connected to joy. A world where the macabre peers through and the clowns cannot help but laugh else there would be nothing to laugh at. The clown shows us joy that has soured, turned to ruin, then has rebuilt itself to inflict pain on the world in its scariest form.

When a child cries at a clown because it is "scary," this is what I think at some base level is driving it. Joy should be a precious, momentary, experience. The clown, by trying to prolong this "joy" twists it into pain. We have a fear of becoming Chrysippus. A fear of dying to laughter because we have over indulged and have turned happiness into pain.

For what more horrible thing is there then learning that you have transformed your own world into hell?

The clown is this manifest. Joy to pain. Happiness to hate. The clown is the Shinto spirit gate of horror in many ways. It ushers us from the mundane to the horrific as it turns the usual into the unusual and dark.

Essentially, to make a clown scary, the clown must exist as happiness soured.

[and-then-there-were-n0ne]

Most of the time when we talk about social media being bad for us we mean for our mental health. These platforms make us anxious, depressed, and insecure, and for many reasons: the constant social comparison; the superficiality and inauthenticity of it all; being ranked and rated by strangers. All this seems to make us miserable.

But I don’t just think it makes us miserable. I’ve written before about how it makes us bitchy. And self-absorbed. And over time I’m becoming convinced that our most pressing concern isn’t that social media makes us feel worse about ourselves. It’s that social media makes us worse people.

Social comparison, for example. This is one of the main problems people mention when talking about the harms of social media. Constantly comparing our beauty, our success, our lifestyle, our popularity, to infinite streams of other people makes us feel anxious and inadequate, yes. But I also think it makes us resentful. Bitter. Competitive. Quietly wishing for others to fail. We talk constantly about what like, follow and comment metrics do to our self-esteem—but don’t they also make us so shallow? We hate when people judge us by numbers on a screen, but aren’t we doing it all the time, to everyone else, even subconsciously? We talk endlessly about how editing apps and filters give girls and young women anxiety and body dysmorphia, which is important, but never about how they make us competitive, envious, vain. Sometimes it’s not my self-esteem I’m worried about. It’s who I become when I obsess over my profile and image and what everyone else is doing. Sometimes I lock my screen and don’t like who is looking back at me in its black reflection.

I think the same is true of dating apps. There’s so much discourse about how these platforms make us sad and anxious. We talk about how bad being ghosted is for our mental health, and how being swiped past destroys our self-esteem. But don’t they also just make us horrible? Funny how we never talk about who we become when we use these apps; how we behave. Honestly I feel more pity for those relentlessly swiping through and ghosting people than the ones who keep getting rejected. Isn’t that the real tragedy? It’s terrible to be treated like some disposable product but worse, I think, to watch yourself shopping for another person, to know you’re judging them on the most superficial standards that you would hate someone to judge you on, to act in this psychopathic way where you’re paying premium to access “Your Top Picks” of human beings. People always say dating apps make them feel weird and I think this is why. It’s not always mental health. Sometimes it’s a deeper sense that this is wrong; that this is inhuman.

We also complain, constantly, about how inauthentic everyone is, how people are always performing and how this fakeness makes us feel insecure and inferior. But what about being fake ourselves? It’s so easy to be dishonest now. We can so easily disguise our vanity as virtue. Here’s a post about Palestine where I’m posing! I’m standing up for conservative values—with a hot selfie of me at a protest! People on all sides pretend their platforms are about political causes and activism when really they just provide perfect opportunities to constantly talk about themselves. And to be rewarded for doing nothing! Now you can be showered with praise for that heartfelt tweet you typed about your mum on Mother’s Day when you didn’t bother to call her or write her a card. You can be applauded by strangers for that Instagram post about how much you love the daughter you don’t spend any time with and never really listen to. And even if we mean it, I think sharing these things shreds them of sincerity. Now we feel a flicker of integrity and immediately publicise and monetise it until it’s dead. We enjoy validation from the fakest displays of virtue and then at the same time revel in the downfall of others; reserve so little faith and forgiveness for anyone else.

And actually, paradoxically, I think all this is a major part of the mental health crisis. This feeling that we are all becoming worse. Our loss of empathy, our lack of regard for others, our neurotic obsession with our own image—it’s taking a toll. Maybe subconsciously. But I think deep down we know it. We know when people are using their dying relatives for Twitter likes, filming their private moments of “quiet reflection”, all the way to posing on the train tracks at Auschwitz for their Tinder profiles, that the conversation can no longer just be about how bad social media is for our mental health. It has to be how bad it is for our humanity.

Of course it isn’t just social media to blame. The trade-off in modern life seems to be comfort and freedom in return for being so horrifically trapped in our own heads. So much of modern culture now seems to exist to excuse our self-obsession. [...] And I think more generally our problem is a progressive culture where we are afraid to say what is decent moral conduct, where we can’t really call out what is undignified or distasteful anymore, where we’re terrified to enforce any ethical expectations.

But then: social media. Modernity mined culture of its customs, denied the importance of families, made a mockery of generational wisdom—and then left the door wide open for companies to crawl in and decide what we value. What did we expect when we took down the traditions? When we uprooted our communities? And allowed a generation to be raised by algorithms and the role models it generates for them? And these platforms are always just there, too, reminding us constantly, daily, hourly, that it’s okay to have so little regard for other people. Of course we can all be cruel and selfish and insincere sometimes—but never before in history have we had a portable machine here to promote it. To indulge it. To reward our self-obsession and rename it personal branding, to protect our vanity as #selfexpression, to defend our basest desires “because you owe it to yourself”!

Of course some people will insist that you can use social media selectively, for good things. You just have to be smart with it. Sure! Maybe you’ve trained your algorithm to deliver you diet videos and exercise tips and positive affirmations. Hate to say it but it’s still all about you. It’s all about your self-improvement. Still a constant, even subconscious reminder to think about yourself. Even healthier algorithms and platforms all have the same problem: you are the centre. What are you thinking about? What’s on your mind? We are a generation forever being told to take ourselves more seriously [...] and we wonder why Gen Z grow up to be self-absorbed and entitled and constantly think their existence is invalidated by the real world.

And yes, of course, you can argue we are accountable. We can avoid these platforms and try to treat people well. No they’re not an excuse to be a bad person. But I worry. I worry that there’s never been such constant cultural messaging. There’s never been so much nudging. There’s never been more incentives. And I worry most for the children—the 7 year-old girls now behaving like Instagram influencers, adopting their mannerisms, who think growing up is getting to buy more products and have a career where a camera is constantly on them. I worry that kind, humble, modest children are being raised by influencers whose income relies on the most shallow human impulses, who have zero incentive to teach them any morals or decency. And companies are getting closer and closer access to them, all the time ramping up the incentives to behave badly.

And actually, I’m losing hope for people taking accountability because all this has accelerated so much and so fast that we can’t seem to see what it’s doing to us, let alone make better choices. Having a camera roll full of thousands of selfies is now completely normal. So is checking how many likes your tweet has while someone is talking to you. So is swiping through human beings like you’re on Amazon. Most of us do things like this sometimes and we feel that it’s weird, we know it’s a bit bleak, but more and more people don’t seem to even see a problem. They spend five hours a week taking selfies and don’t see it as vanity. They talk about people’s follower counts like it’s a measure of worth without a thought of what’s becoming of them. They are so obsessed with their digital reputation they can’t see how they are degrading their real life one for it. They can point to all the ways social media is killing their mental health but never their humility. And so many of us delude ourselves that these platforms are harmless and light-hearted, all while we can feel them destroying us on the inside. All while we are becoming steadily more self-absorbed, in ways that play out in our real relationships and I think eat away at us and our respect for ourselves. Maybe that funny feeling we get from social media isn’t always anxiety. Maybe sometimes that feeling is shame.

Oh well! We’re having fun, right? We’re entertained! We’re all more connected, apparently. But who said I want to be connected to people like this? I don’t even feel connected to myself when I behave this way. I’m starting to think that [...] all this places insane psychological demands on people until they degenerate into someone they are not. Or at least someone less than they could have been.

I honestly don’t know where we go from here. Distancing ourselves from these platforms, yes. Staying away from things that, no matter how normal they seem now, we feel are changing us for the worse. But I also think a good place to start is to change the way we talk about social media. Not just about our vulnerabilities but our vices. Not just about our anxiety but our arrogance. And to look at ourselves, honestly, all of us, and think, for once, not only about how all this is making us feel. But who the hell is it making us become?

[abandonedsdjfhcvndfbv]

I also sa w Minecraft server with mane6 in my dream it got me rhinking. How they game it

Twiligjt would like speedrun everything learn about the game get to the end beat the dragon and like be sooo annoying to be with until then cus everything she does is calculated for supplies but then when shes explored all the game has to offer shes finally chill and can actually hang out in a chill manner. I think shes not very good at combat but makes do and she is pretty good at building and would kinf of enjoy mining/strip mining i think shed do that the most. Shes also incredibly anti cheating she gets SOOO mad at cheating probably owns the server and has cheats turned OFF...i like to imagine some pranks convincing her to turn on cheats for just a bit only for something devious to happen.. also HUGE redstone head lmfao sorry i always forget redstone is a thing shed make so many frankensteins monsters nd devices w that

Fluttershy would tame every single animal she sees(like me) shed have a funeral for every animal that accidentally dies and name for every animal amd shed build the hugest farms (good builder she probably rlly likes making them fancy in a warm homey way) but theyre all classical style like nothing inhumane like some minecrafters do sometimes. except the well exp farms i think shed also enjoy that. She gets scared in combat so shes not that good but she can do it if she tries and shes mainly a buiilder nd chills with her many animals or goes exploring in overworld to find more of them. she gets scared by the cave noises so shes rarely in caves except if they explore with the group. Sometimes cheats because shes scared to aquire some material that takes a lot of travel/monsterslaying but feels really bad about it after n confesses like its a huge deal

Rainbow dash , of course, never rlly stays still and parkours on literally everything and shes like the combathead but like, specifically the classic minecraft combat she would HATE the update SO MUCH because she cant spamclick anymore. Most annoyed by cobwebs, which many ponies who have been pranked by her take advantage of,sorry i reallt like the image of her stuck in cobwebs and forgetting you can break them w a sword LOL.. So fucking horrible at buildiny classic dirthouser but like shes never rlly at her own base she mostly hangd at her friends bases or shared base which they most likely have. No patience for stripmining only mines in caves and with friends or she gets bored. Loves to go on creative mode to fly really fast nd cheats if she gets bored as well.

Pinkie Okay its really fucking funny to imagine her holding space down constsntly so shes alwyas jumping like how she moves around usually nd draining her hunger bar with it but i think shed like constantly do strange actions like thst having fun in the primalest of ways. Also likes parkouring on everything. she likes crafting thigns and shes very creative with building and often has a different perspective like shes the type to wear dyed leather to the boss fight cus it looks cuter. also kind of a beast at combat becaude she just attacks liek a panther rlly fast... She doesnt cheat unless its to like do a 1000 dropped steaks to crash the server prank but everypony secretly thinks she cheats because of how many items she has but well shes just like that. Also lieks setting traps with rd minecraft is very potent for prankability and shed love it

Rarity is obviously like incredible at building but it also takes gruelling work to get the materials i imagine she takes favors among her friends and maybe spike if hes allowed on the server LOL to go get her materials for her huge marble cathedral and shit. Loves creative but in survival considers it taboo to cut corners for materials. Surprisingly decent at combat and likes the mines when theyre pretty probably loves the new mine and nether updates nd gets into arguments with rd about it. but prefers to be building most the time instead of anything else, probably builds or improves upon her friends bases or builds new surprise buildings for them and such like recreations of their real houses nd stuff like that. Gets redstone help for some of her buildings as well, shed probably get the hang of it if she learned but shed preoccupied

Applejack woud be like kind of slow with the controls and hoenstly the least eager to play but if she got the hang of it she might also like building stuff but in a more practical manner shed always make like realistic structures and village remodelling too but theyd look pretty good shes the classic wood and stone builder forever. i think shed like redstone too twi would get her into it and shed like it in a beginner kinda way. Bad at combat usually but she tries and gets it done👍 Also likes doing favors for her friends most of all and stocking up on materials and being sent on errands like that. Also lieks farms too even though its basically fluttershys thing but like she has some too yesyes. And CROP FARMS Shes the numero uno crops Everypony gets them from her. Justlike the aples

[tentacledtherapist]

Lisa,

It's funny, despite living in New England all my life I don't think I could ever tire of it. The town I grew up in has a church from the 1780s. One of the many places George Washington stayed is nearby. I grew up in graveyards and old buildings and sinking my arms as deep as they could in the Weird and the Old and the Dark. It makes me unbelievably happy. (It helps that I run warm too, it makes a world of difference to be in a cooler area!) It is funny that we have Wild West Towns and you have Winter Villages when the weather is so opposite. It has a weird cognitive dissonance I think, that makes it humorous. A very dry fake snow covered place at 90 degrees while we have a Fake Desert covered in Real Snow. Why are humans like this I wonder, besides the novelty of what we Don't Have? Like a Medieval Times despite not ever having a european medieval period in America.

I recently watched Bones and All, and while I'm not sure about how well it measured up to the book, I absolutely ADORED it. The metaphor is not lost on me and there is something so jarring and so good about it. I actually do recommend the film, I think I know which actor you speak of and despite not liking them much either their work was really good in this film in particular. I loved making it a bit more of a 1980s period piece to give everything this distance from our current world, and also the narrative the movie is trying to pull opposed to the book. It makes the story make a bit more sense as a movie, in its own way? I'm not someone turned away by cannibalism, so it's not such a weird conept to me. I don't think I'd play a reluctant cannibal character if I was.

I'm so glad we are on the same page about these sorts of stories! Its like getting back to the roots of many of these horror genres, how they turn back into these stories with metaphors about humanity. Dracula and Frankenstein, Carmilla, they're more about people than they are about monsters to me. I'm fairly certain there's roots in Oscar Wilde's famous trials in Dracula, about the fear of male intimacy, since Bram Stoker has been more recently well known for being potentially queer, and Dracula was also inspired partially by Carmilla, itself a horrific lesbian romance. And even beyond that, the strange, the foreign, the twisted humanity, what we see in ourselves reflected from others. Then Frankenstein has its own whole host of human fears laced in it. Parenthood, homosexuality, theology, science. Human connection, our greatest fear and our greatest salvation.

I could write essays about horror, I really could.

- Your Creature

P.s.: I wish you luck with your project! Maybe order from them online? I hate when things are out of stock.

creature,

ordering things online is my Least Favorite way to order things but. i had to and now i must Await My Packidge. agony

i think we’re both talking about timothee chanalet i have no idea how to spell his name— at least i was— there’s nothing wrong with him! i just don’t… care for anything he’s really been in? it’s just never really clicked for me, i guess. but!!! if you endorse the movie, i’ll give it a shot! you haven’t led me astray with media suggestions yet! :D

as for the oddly out of place landmarks: isn’t it human nature to want what we can’t have? there’s a reason we have the turn of phrase “the grass isn’t always greener on the other side”

i would love to read your essays, if you ever decide to write any. you have such… amazing thoughts about this stuff? about horror and the nature of humanity and about love and the inhuman and just… all of it. i’ve genuinely loved reading your thoughts in our letters. i’m so sure i’ve said it before, but just in case: it’s so nice to hear your thoughts on stuff. i missed hearing from you, adam. both while i was away and also. like. lifetime kinning stuff. i keep going back to read things you’ve written me because they’re just so good. you have such a way with describing the things you’re interested in an the things you’re passionate about? i’m going a little overboard, i think, but,,,

suffice it to say: if you ever decide to write an essay and you need a proofreader? i’m your gal

the horrors of each era reflect our society’s fears during that era, but there’s something to be said about the inherent, timeless, and unshakeable fears about humanity and the Other (tm tm tm). those fears, those insecurities about the self? they never go away. i think that’s why we as a society love stories about them so much

- Your Lisa

[jraker4]

I don't think the Palestinians should just die. You cannot point to my ever having said so, whereas you said Israel should just die explicitly, in addition to many times admitting-bragging, in fact-that you hate Jews categorically.

Of course if my entire family and friends were killed, I wouldn't think it was justified. That's how people work. Would the world regard it as justified? Perhaps. That happens in war. It's awful, but it's not any sort of uniquely Israeli evil. Anyway, this isn't a genuine conversation to you: you literally regard Jews as inhuman and evil. And what's funny isn't that you think Palestinian suffering is unnecessary, what's funny is your expectation that anyone will believe you care about that. You don't. You're literally on the record hating Jews and wishing they were dead. Why are you pretending to care at all about Palestinians? Seriously, in like four screen names of yours I'm not sure I've ever seen you say anything about Palestinians that wasn't about attacking Jews. Is it, like, part of your mastermind hatemongering plan, or what? As for your lying about your sources, I was referring to your lying about what they said. For instance, the killing of protesters over nearly a year's time. You said nothing about Hamas staging attacks using those protesters as cover...but then, to you, Israel ought to just let them do that and be killed. *shrug* As for the blockade, well, actually it was in response to Hamas's takeover of the government of Gaza. Considering Hamas has been very open about its desire for the destruction of Israel...yeah, it's completely shocking that Israel would make moves to inhibit that. This was back in 2007, before they'd even changed their charter. It's got a few things you'd approve of, such as enmity to the Jews and a determination to wipe out Israel. Can't imagine why Israel would institute a blockade-supported by Egypt-over such a thing. So once again, your characterization of events is full of shit. Nations don't tend to let groups openly committed to their violent destruction operate right next to them if they can possibly stop it. But you think Israel should just let itself be killed. Hamas broke a ceasefire by launching a pogrom. Whatever status the war in Gaza is at now, it started for Israel as a war of self-defense. I mean, not to you, because you think killing Jews is an unvarnished good, I understand. But over here in the real world, we don't actually expect people to let themselves be murdered. The blockade? Begun in response to a takeover by a group that openly works for Israel's destruction. Death of protesters? Occurred due to Hamas staging attacks from among those protesters. It isn't as simple as saying 'Israel started it', but that's not a genuine argument from you anyway. You don't care who started it. You just like it when Jews are hurt and killed.

[albino-whumpee]

Tool

Funny how a simple phrase can make me create. 

CW// blood, inhuman whumpee, dubious caretaker, human trafficking...well, they look human, it as a pronoun. 

“I´m giving that tool to you, son. You better bring out all of its potential” 

Those were the words his father told him as he pushed the tool forward, making it stumble. They didn´t look malnourished or overly mistreated as other tools would. Maybe a bit pale and skinny, but the lifeless eyes were almost a tool´s identifying feature anyways. It wasn´t worth the attention. The tattoes on their wrists in the other hand.

The shackles on the tool´s wrists were a contract. They were incomplete, which meant the contract was waiting for a seal to bind them to its master for life. He frowned at the sight of a broken shackle tattoo right below. 

“It already has a master” they remarked bitterly. 

“It used to” his father would never give him one of his own tools. Breaking the contract with a tool was a death sentence. Stealing someone else´s was a different story. “Don´t worry, I can assure you they´re sharp enough for you to handle”

There was an obvious mockery on that sentence, but he was used to it. Still, it stung slightly as they looked back at the tool standing in front of him. A second hand like the ones his father trafficked...

He sighed. “Fine. I´ll take it” 

A pleased expression surged on his father´s face. The tool took a step forward. 

...Funny, the tool didn´t look all that upset about changing masters, it even offered its wrists without being asked. 

Naturally, he started the ritual for the contract. Despite his father having a vast network of tools, he had remained without one for the entirety of his life. He was doing fine by himself. But refusing his father yet again was as stupid as breaking a contract with a tool. 

“Just a thing” his father went as he watched him cut his wrist and let the blood drip over the tool´s shackle tattoo. By the tool´s expression, it burnt. It was to be expected their sync wouldn´t be good when he hadn´t picked the tool. Still, the sting on his own arm as the tattoo of a key appeared on his wrist was bearable. He could make it work. 

“What?” he said letting the tool pull their aching wrists to their chest. 

“They killed their previous master, so you better become a proper master if you want to live” 

He let out an amused hum as he turned to the tool. The tool recoiled at the extended gaze, a shiver running down its spine when it saw its new master smile at it. 

“[Come]” He called for his tool. In a blur of light, its human body dissapeared and shot towards its master´s hand. Sparks burnt in the air as the tool transformed into a fine spear. 

Without being told to, he flicked his wrist and the spear transformed into dual blades he caught in the air with his other hand. 

One of them was shattered in the middle and the other one barely had any sharpness to it. He hated to admit he had been hopeful for a second. 

It was a tool that had just recently discovered they were a versatile tool, huh? One form was elegant and formidable, while the other was broken. It was obvious which was the usual form the tool took under its last master´s care.

He tried flicking his wrist again, testing if it could take another form, but when he only felt a throb on his wrist, he noticed he had been greedy. Two forms were enough. Regardles...Versatile tools like that were rare and powerful, but infinitely more unstable than other tools. Until they got used to the switch, it would strain their body beyond use. 

“[Back]” he ordered, letting go of the weapon.The tool went back to its human form and plummeted on the ground gasping for air. 

“What do you think?”

“It´s broken” The tool´s head sank in shame. 

“Nothing is perfect. Can I trust you can polish it?” 

He glared at his father for a moment. Of course, a versatile tool was too good of a gift to be true. 

“Do you want me to break the contract once I´m done?” 

“You can sell it to me when you´re done. I will pay a good price for it”

“You will find someone to pay a good price for it, you mean” he scuffed. “Why me? You could´ve made the contract with it yourself”

His father put a distasteful expression while looking at the tool. The tool crawled to its new master in a cute attempt to hide from the scrutinizing glare. 

“I tried to. Many times. It just kept refusing to have me as its master. It must have still kept some loyalty to its former master...” 

The man´s son burst into laughter. Even the tool looked at him with strange eyes. 

It couldn´t hide the surprise on its face when he patted its head “You´re a little more clever than I thought” he whispered to it. Then looked up to his father “I don´t think a tool that killed its master would be loyal to anyone. Therefore...”

He grabbed the tool´s arms and pulled it up. His grip was tight and soon the tool whimpered and tried to push his arm away. 

“A rebellious tool will sign any contract if it means it can be free by killing all its masters” the tool stopped struggling, its golden eyes shining wildly as its intentions were uncovered. It began to struggle more, but the man was stronger than it and quickly subdued it. 

That didn´t stop the tool from struggling underneath. It tried to change its skin for the spear´s blade, but when it hoped skin would tear and bleed, it was shocked to find only the cloth of his gloves teared. 

“Too bad” he laughed at it. His prosthetic hand pushed the tool down to its knees and kept it there. 

Tool and master locked eyes, then. Nothing but hate in one and pure amusement on the other. 

“No worries. I will make it know what a proper master is”

[jenomark]

➔Pairing: Hendery x Reader (Female) ➔Other Members/ Characters: Kun + Lucas ➔Genre: Smut (with a plot!) ➔Warnings: Mentions of blood + Vaginal penetration (briefly), Oral (both M + F) ➔Word count: 2,769

➔Summary: Kun has a plan to get you and Hendery to work out your differences, but Kun's plan doesn't quite work out the way he thinks it will. 😉

Anon Request: enemies to lovers hendery smut?? thank you !! any scenario 🤎

You and Hendery watched as Kun brought out two chairs into the middle of the floor to face each other. Hendery's scowl matched yours, which made you even more irritated that any part of you could relate to him.

"I don't see how this will help. It-" Hendery began, but he was cut off by Kun's terse, "-Shh!"

The scraping of the chairs stopped. Kun leaned on the back of one of them and looked at you before looking at Hendery. He said, "I'm tired of this. We are all tired of this. Both of you have more in common than you think."

"We don't." you said, a little too childishly.

Kun narrowed his eyes, which made you fall quiet. "Sit down and work it out," he said, before walking out and slamming the door shut behind him.

"I'm not sitting down." Hendery said. “He can’t make me sit down.”

You were already sitting in the chair, but since Hendery spoke, you wanted to get up and resist along with him. Hendery paced around the room, looking more annoyed than ever. So, you stayed seated because you didn't want to be like him.

"I don't know what he wants us to do." Hendery said. "I have no problem with you. I just don't want to be around you."

"Likewise." you said.

"I didn't ask what you though, did I?"

You rolled your eyes. "Here we go."

"No," Hendery said. He leaned on the back of the free chair like Kun had. "You've had a problem with me since I first met you. I want to know why. It's because I'm so handsome, right?"

"Oh, please."

There was a banging on the front door. Kun's voice rang out. He was letting out a whole series of curse words followed by a bunch of angry grunts. Hendery cursed back and sat down in the chair with a huff.

"We will never see eye-to-eye," he said. "And that is okay. If it's okay for us, it should be okay for them."

"I agree." you said, crossing your legs.

Things were silent. Hendery looked at your legs where your skirt was riding up your thigh. You uncrossed your legs and pulled your skirt down. The way you looked at him in disgust made him smirk, which made you want to strangle him. In fact, you were gearing up for another argument when Lucas burst through the door with his finger pointing at both of you.

"You and you." he said. "Just sleep with each other already."

"What?" you and Hendery both said at the same time.

Lucas dropped his finger. "Just fuck. You know, make love, or, in your case, war. The sexual tension is too thick, man, I can't live here with you both like this."

With that speech, Lucas turned on his heel and left. Though, he didn't slam the door like Kun had.

Shock rippled throughout the room. You and Hendery both stared at each other from your chairs, his eyes wide, and your eyes sizing him up. Truthfully, you had wondered what it would be like to take out the aggression you felt for Hendery on his body. You had even dreamed about what it would be like once.

"Can you believe him?" Hendery said, trying to keep his voice from breaking. "Us? Fuck? When hell freezes over, I think."

But Hendery wasn't immune to the way you were looking at him. Underneath your hot gaze, he began to feel a little warm underneath the collar. He couldn't stop staring at your legs, thinking about your thighs crushing his head while you sat on his face.

Without speaking, you withdrew yourself from the chair and got down on the floor. Your knees hurt crawling your way towards him, but nothing hurts quite like your pride. You would have never imagined crawling to Hendery like that but, somehow, it felt right.

"Not a word." you said, your eyes boring into his. "If you act smug, I will bite down on your dick so hard you'll be pissing blood for weeks."

"Ouch." Hendery winced, covering himself.

You stopped before him, your hands reaching out to touch him. Hendery moved fast, unzipping his jeans and pulling them down for you. He was hesitant for you to see his cock but, when he saw that you were trying not to laugh, he bared himself for you to see.

"Don't laugh at me," he said.

"I'm not laughing." you said, smiling.

You took his cock in your hands and watched him grow. He reacted like he hadn't been touched in years, which did make you laugh. Hendery moaned and bit down on his lips to stop the further humiliation. You stroked him and tasted him. You were trying your best not to think about how much you hated him. Having that control over him made you feel powerful, made it easier for you to suck him off.

"This is...an... unexpected.." Hendery breathed, closing his fists tight as you bobbed up and down his cock. "..event...oh god."

"You cannot be serious." you said.

Hendery came so soon, his cum gushing out of his tip. You didn't swallow him, just let him spill himself onto his pants. The noise he made was inhuman, and it ground you right to your spot on the floor. You watched him, holding his cock upward so he came on his shirt, instead, and trying not to admit to yourself that you ached for him to be inside of you.

When he finished and was through cleaning himself up, you both acted like nothing had happened. Hendery looked at you from across the room, the wet rag moving up and down his stomach. You shrugged and moved the chairs back where they were, ignoring how swollen and aroused your clit was.

Kun thought he had done something. Whenever you and Hendery were around each other, the bickering had lessened. Kun didn’t know that behind his back, Hendery was pushing his tongue into his cheek and staring at you. Mimicking a blowjob was childish, but Hendery didn’t have to know that you went home at night and masturbated to the very thought of him doing that.

Kun also didn’t know that, whenever he and the rest of the guys went out, you would sneak to Hendery’s room and fuck with him. Or rather, you would sit on Hendery’s face like a throne and have him eat you out until he couldn’t breathe.

“When will you let me fuck you?” Hendery asked, looking up at you from between your thighs.

You let your weight fall down onto his face and rubbed yourself against his lips and nose so he would stop talking. It’s not that you didn’t want him to fuck you senseless, just that having him penetrate you felt a little too real. You felt it also brought about the realization that you liked being in his company more than you thought.

After coming all over his face and having him beg you to do it again, you laid in his bed. “This isn’t a compliment,” you said. “but you’re not half bad.”

“I know.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I said it wasn’t a compliment. You don’t have to be so smug about it.”

He held up his hands. “All I’m saying is, you scream more when you’re sitting on my face than you do when you’re not, and for that, I think, is the highest compliment.”

You pulled his covers over yourself until they were covering your naked body. “I really hate you.”

“And yet you’re still in my bed.”

Before you could respond with a not-so-clever retort, Hendery went underneath the covers and started eating you out again.

It was getting a little too comical, you and Hendery’s situationship. You were both sure that none of the guys knew what was going on, even if Lucas occasionally shot you curious looks whenever you were together. Hiding was difficult and resulted in someone getting half dressed and running from his dorm room, as if everything were perfectly normal. To make sure everything seemed up to standard, you and Hendery would stage fights now and again. In reality, those fights got you both hot and bothered enough to slip into whatever place you could and either get fingerbanged or something else that left your legs weak.

What made it truly funny was that you began to grow feelings faster than Hendery grew his erection. Underneath all of his self-congratulatory ways, Hendery was actually fun to be around. You would often stay in his bed for hours just watching videos on his phone in between pleasing and teasing his body. He lasted much longer in bed as more time passed, and the vulnerability that you seemed so scared of in the beginning also made things more exciting.

Kun slammed down a bottle of soda to break you out of your reverie. The party around you zoomed back to life the moment he spoke. You watched Hendery talk to a girl across the room. Though he stole glances back at you, the jealousy was rearing its ugly head.

“Are you okay?” Kun asked. “You seem...off.”

“I’m good.” you said. “I’m great.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Can’t you see, Kun?” Lucas came up behind Kun and stole the soda from him. He drank a long, sweet gulp. “She is in love with Hendery. I knew that it was only a matter of time.”

“Yeah, right.” you said, trying your best to disguise the lie. “I would rather stay single for the rest of my life than ever touch someone like him.”

When Kun and Lucas didn’t reply, you looked at both of them. Kun looked as if he were going to say something but thought better of it. Lucas smiled. For the first time, you felt like you could pity yourself.

“I’m going outside to get fresh air.” you said, excusing yourself.

You walked through the room and felt Hendery’s eyes on you. You could feel him following behind you. When you made it outside and turned around, he was right there.

“Having fun?” you asked. “I’m sure that girl was having the best time.”

“Are you jealous of her?” he asked. “Please tell me yes. It would inflate my ego so much.”

“No.” you said flatly.

“But you’re not denying it.” he said. “Interesting.”

If you had answered him, you weren’t sure he would like what you had to say. Rather than face all of that, you decided to walk away. But Hendery pulled you back. You expected some joke, some kind of puffed up version of himself, but the man you were met with was the same man you met behind closed doors.

“Don’t leave,” he said. “Talk to me.”

“Talking never works out in our favor.” you said, pulling your wrist away from him.

“It helped once.” he said, smiling at the memory of you crawling towards him. When he saw that you didn’t smile back, his face changed. “I’m not the enemy, you know that.”

You wracked your brain for something incredible to say, but all that came out was a lame little. “Yeah, I guess.”

Hendery took a step towards you and looked at your lips. Throughout all of your bedroom excursions, you had never kissed each other on the mouth. His mouth had been all over your body, but never your lips. He touched his thumb to your bottom lip, but it was you who pushed your way into the kiss.

“Wow.” Hendery said, pulling a part. He kept his eyes closed. “That definitely tastes better than-”

You pushed him back and went to kiss him again. This time, with a little tongue that made him moan in approval. You felt that kiss in your whole body, right down to your toes.

“What if I just went upstairs and told everyone they needed to leave right now.” Hendery said.

“You don’t live alone. “ you reminded him.

He groaned. “I’ll pull the building's fire alarm if I have to. “

“I didn’t even agree that I was going to sleep with you.” you said, resisting the urge to cross your arms over your chest.

“You didn’t have to.” Hendery whispered.

Hendery took your arm and pulled you upstairs. He kicked open the door to the apartment so forcefully that everyone looked in his direction. You covered your face in embarrassment. If you met eyes with Kun or Lucas, you didn’t think you would ever fully recover.

“Alright.” Hendery called out. “Party is over. It’s time to leave. Everyone, please make your way out in an orderly fashion, thank you.”

When no one moved, you hid behind Hendery because you could feel him gearing up to say something incredibly inappropriate. But, instead, it was Lucas who spoke.

“You heard the man.” Lucas said. “Party continues at the bar down the street. Drinks on me. Let’s go!”

The crowd cheered and followed Lucas. Before he left through the front door, Lucas winked at you. Everyone filed out in a conga line, yelling raucously and completely ignoring you and Hendery standing there.

Kun stopped before he walked out. “I’m glad you both are working out your differences.”

“We’re working out something.” Hendery said, grabbing Kun’s shoulder and pushing him through the door. He shut it behind him and faced you, all of the humor gone from his face, replaced with a pallor that made him look ill.

“I hate you.” you said, but there was no hate in your voice whatsoever.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Hendery said.

You kissed him and brought color back to his cheeks. Rather than stripping him of his clothes and immediately going for his cock, you took things slow. It felt nice to be in his arms. Different, but very nice. You held each other and made out, things getting hotter and heavier as time passed.

“I’m done playing.” Hendery said.

He took you into his bedroom where he sat you down on his bed. Before you, he started dancing and taking off his clothes in a way that made you laugh so hard your stomach hurt.

“Done playing, huh?” you asked.

He took his t-shirt and brought it around your neck. You could feel the heat from his stomach being so close to you. You kissed his skin and looked up at him. You didn’t know when exactly it had happened, when Hendery had become a lover rather than an enemy. You certainly didn’t know when he had become your best friend.

“Yeah.” he said, pushing you back down onto the bed. “I think so.”

Just like that, the energy in the room changed. His kisses were deeper and more sensual. He had stopped the strip tease and had straddled you, his hands roaming up and down your body. It was difficult for you to focus on one thing. Your sexual encounters were usually full of him narrating exactly what he was going to do, but the Hendery on top of you kept you on your toes. He pulled down the top of your dress to expose your cleavage and let his tongue roam free. You let his hands move underneath your dress, pulling it up to reveal your underwear.

“Why does this feel so different?” he asked, looking down at you with his dark eyes.

For a moment, you thought he was talking about your body. You were quiet, not knowing how to answer, though you knew what he meant. When he removed your dress and slowly unhooked your bra and brought your panties down past your ankles, he realized with a shock what you had known all along.

“Oh, I like you a lot.” he said. “I’m an idiot.”

“You won’t find me disagreeing.” you said, sucking in when you felt his lips on your stomach.

“I didn’t ask you though, did I?” he asked, transporting you both back to the very first time you were intimate with each other.

“Maybe you should.” you said. “Maybe you should ask me what I want.”

Hendery stripped himself naked like his life depended on it. He was erect, his eyes full of emotion. “What do you want then?”

“I want you.” you said. “As miserable as you are. As wild as you are. As much as you annoy me, Hendery, I want you.”

Hendery pushed your legs until your knees were in the air. You breathed in deeply and looked up at him. He touched your pussy, his eyes still on you as his fingers brushed against you. “You have me.” he said, before plunging deep inside of you.

[may-fanfic]

I Just Want You 

summary: despite you and wanda just getting out of your own relationships, you find comfort in each other and begin to date. wanda drags you to a party and you’re both confronted with the past. 

rating: idk its kinda angst kinda fluff, lmk tho 

warning: break up if thats one 

word count: 1,410

((feel free to send in any request you may have)) 

masterlist

------- 

the day Natasha broke up with you, it felt like all your good days were gone, she took those with her. you were completely broken up about her decision to leave you. you couldn't even understand what you did that made her leave. it felt like she took a piece of you with her, you hardly felt like yourself anymore.  it took you awhile to get over her and you knew you'd truly never get over her but you could go days without thinking about her and that was enough for now.

slowly but surely, you felt like you could be happy again, and despite not being ready for another relationship, you still got involved with Wanda. you liked her company and you were just glad that someone wanted to stick around for you. you met wanda through Natasha when you were still dating. she had a boyfriend at the time and you never imagined yourself with her but now you were excited about the new relationship you formed. after a drunken kiss, it was apparent to the both of you that you both wanted something more so it didn't take long before you started dating.

you rolled your eyes at the witch, she had been relentless, whining about how you never go to the stark's parties with her, she just wanted to show you off. you took that as wanting to rub it in Nat's face, the thought of making her jealous made you cringe. you sat at the foot of the bed, watching as the woman dressed in the nice tight dress. she spun quickly when she was done with the mirror. her eyes were soft as she stared at you, taking your face in her hands gently. her eyes pleaded with yours and a small pout was formed on her lips. "come on, baby. I don't wanna go alone. Vision's gonna be there." she pleaded causing you to clench your jaw at the guy's stupid name.

"Natasha's gonna be there, Wanda." you frowned causing the girl's pout to grow even more. she leaned down so that she could brush a soft kiss to your lips. "I need you there." you knew she had to go, she was an Avenger, after all, it'd look weird for her not to show up. the thought of her sitting by herself in some corner made your heartache and you knew you could never do that to her so with a simple nod, you agreed to go to the dumb party.

----

the party was packed, it made you hopeful that you wouldn't run into the spy. there were so many people that you could hardly move so what were the odds that you'd see her at all? that's what you told yourself as you tightened your hand around Wanda's trusting the girl to guide you through the party. you and wanda enjoyed yourself for a while, enjoying the drinks and food that had there.

your happiness seemed to die down when you got a glance of the redhead from over Wanda's shoulder. she quickly noticed the change in your behavior, her hand found yours, giving it a tight reassuring squeeze. you snapped your gaze away when her eyes found yours instead you looked at Wanda. she wore a sweet smile, her free hand came up to softly cup your cheek.

"I love you," the woman uttered out for the first time, you weren't sure if you heard her right over the music but the way she was looking at you confirmed what you thought. Wanda trusted you completely but Vision caused some underline trust issues, now she found herself confessing her love to you so you wouldn't leave her. the expression on your face changed quickly, feeling the worries wash away with excitement. a smile tugged at your lips and wanda let out a breath that she was holding.

"wanda, baby, I love you too," you confessed causing her smile to grow, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to your lips but before she could even, a throat clear made the both of you tugged away from each other. her hand was still tight on yours, snapping your gaze away from wanda to look at the person but it wasn't who you thought it was instead you stared at the inhuman man who gazed lovingly at wanda. you felt your heart cracked a little, feeling a wave of fear wash over you noticing the way he was looking at her. "wanda dear." he breathed out causing Wanda's hand to grip at yours almost painfully. you shot daggers at him, wanting to shoo him away but more importantly, you wanted her to do that. you needed her to prove to you that she loved you like she said she did.

a soft huff slipped past Wanda's lips, her eyes burning into the man's. "don't call me that." she spoke through gritted teeth, trying her hardest to hide any form of emotion. you knew it was hard for her to face the man, the same way it was hard for you to even see the spy. you couldn't help but wonder where she was because when you looked back over, there wasn't even a trace of her. you tuned back into the conversation when the man spoke up. "I miss you wanda."

"I don't miss you."  she snapped back, blinking away the tears that made her eyes water.  "it was a mistake, wanda. why can't you just forgive me?" he argued, the way wanda was looking at him scared you and you wondered if he had been shaking under her gaze, wishing that he never tried to come over and greet her casually. before wanda could even speak up, you took it upon yourself to speak up. "come on, vision. just leave her alone." you breathed out, frowning up at the man who seemed to bother your girlfriend.

"or what, y/n?" he stared down at you, hatred filling his gaze. he was intimidating if you were honest but you knew wanda had you and there was nothing she wouldn't do to protect you. "or we're gonna have a problem." a raspy voice sounded behind vision and in an instant, you knew who it was. this was unbelievable, it was laughable. you honestly couldn't believe this was happening to you. Vision turned to look down at the spy who glared at him, feeling himself grow overwhelmed quickly. he huffed before moving away causing you to let the tension in your shoulders drop.

this was exactly why you didn't want to come to this party, you knew both you and wanda hadn't completely healed and there were too many raw emotions that would come from seeing your exes. when vision left, Natasha didn't bother to stick around and you were glad that she didn't cause a scene like vision just did, after all, she was the one who left you.

you couldn't help but wonder whether or not wanda was contemplating making up with vision. it left you feeling uneasy as you let your hand drop from Wanda's. "what are you doing?" she questioned quickly, staring down at you. wanda wished she knew exactly what you were thinking at that moment. "if you want to talk to him, you-" wanda let a soft chuckle escape past her lips and it made you stop talking altogether. instead, you stared up at her in question wondering what part of this was funny.

"the only thing I want to do is have a good time with you, baby," she whispered, her hands finding their place around you as she tugged you incredibly close. you could feel her breath fanned out over your lips and it made your eyes fluttered shut, awaiting the small impact.

Natasha watched from across the room as wanda kissed you with everything inside of her. she knew letting you go was a mistake that should've never been made and now she had to live with the repercussions that came with it. she couldn't help but feel jealous as she watched because she remembered all the times that you promised her that wanda was only your friend and there was nothing she'd have to worry about.

she hated that she let her jealousy ruin something good but she was glad that you were happy. she couldn't be the person that you needed but she hoped wanda could be, that's what you deserved.

[faerunscursed]

Most would tell him not to trust the word of the half-fiend, whose proximity gave him comfort in ways that no one else’s would. In fact everyone who had ever met her, insisted that every word that came out Mizora’s lips were lies. That all she ever did was whisper corrupting thoughts into his mind, so that she might control him like a puppet. But that was never the case, merely the perception of those who knew truly knew nothing. For with Wyll, she never lied, she even let him play hero, which he knew she detested. They had all paid the price for the disrespect, too, as Mizora had personally handled them. Wyll had known as much, when he came back to a camp littered with blood and body party scattered across the ground, many of which were missing their heads.

Yet the only one, to whom he could every truly trust was her. For even when she didn’t have best designs for him, he could always rely on he being there if his life depended on. In fact, any with a pair of eyes and ears could see how possessive she was when it came to him. It was that possessiveness that had killed so many of his traveling parties, including the aforementioned. It was also that same possessiveness that had saved his life, after goblins had forcefully dug his eye out, temporarily severing a connection that he would never be without now. The connection to her was like an addiction, one he never would shake.

Something in which the half-fiend did not know, was that this connection had found its beginnings in their first interaction. That day on the streets of Baldurs Gate. The day a kind, old, beggar had shared a welcoming warmth in ways his father never had, or ever would. Their second interaction, when he had been ridden with depressive thoughts and urges had been chased away from the same woman like they had no place. Of course at that time he had no idea of her true identity, or her true intentions, though he had ignored how off the woman felt, inhuman. Until Mizora had appeared to him in her true form. That connection, that bond was radiating off of her, and he knew in that instant that the beggar and Mizora were one and the same.

In truth that’s why he would have said yes to any deal, especially in a moment in which everything was falling apart around him. The sway she had then was nothing compared to now. Right now her words were like honey, and he was drinking it all in. Under this light, the scarring around his stone eye, the way it scar tissue exposed itself, reflected brightly. Prove of his allegiance to her, as his eyes did not leave hers. His breath calmed significantly and a sense of pride overcame him at her compliments.

"I know, I've known since that day we met on the streets of Baldurs Gate. You wouldn't have sought me out otherwise, have you? That I was more than dirt, that I had potential." Wyll reached out to touch the hand that cupped his jawline, tanned skin brushing against blue. "It's funny, my father was never any better. His whole life he manipulated, pulled strings and influenced in ways that would benefit him. To think he would hate his own son for it."

"When this whole time it was him who made me the man I am, just as much as you. After all, he was the one who took everything from me, and even now is still trying to do that." Wyll looked at her with a new sense of determination. "I won't let him. Not after I've built this life for myself, devil or not. So long as he haunts my thoughts, I will never be free. Is there is something I can do about that?"

Mizora had noticed the effects Duke Ulder Ravenguard had upon his son, even before she and Wyll had properly met. While for an outsider, the circumstances, under which they had met, had been extraordinary and quite sudden, it had not been nearly as sudden as many people liked to believe. The Cult of Tiamat had not been nearly as sneaky as they liked to believe themselves to be. There had been signs of their ritual to summon Tiamat months before they had ever put their plan into action. Enough signs that Zariel's cultists had been able to pick up on it and report to their mistress.

Hence why Mizora had found herself in Baldur's Gate's streets in search of further evidence of these happenings. It was during these investigations that she and Wyll had crossed paths for the first time: Mizora had sat in the entrance of an abandoned doorway in the disguise of an old beggar woman, cloaked to the point only her startling silver eyes and greying hair had been visible. Wyll, having been nothing but a sweet, innocent, baby-faced, noble boy, had approached her to hand her some coins. They had struck up a conversation right then and there.

During this conversation, Mizora had noticed just how much potential slumbered inside of Wyll. Sure, he had spoken of how his father had wanted him to become the marshall of the Flaming Fist, however, underneath it, Mizora had sensed something darker: A hunger for power and a desire to break out of constraints. Their mundane and simple conversation had been cut short as Ulder Ravenguard had ushered his son away with the words to not speak to beggars as they could be dangerous.

However, Mizora only realised just how low Wyll's self-esteem was when she and him met once again before the fateful night of the contract, which would change everything. Wyll Ravenguard had been in very low spirits, thanks to some argument with his father. He had sulked around near a bridge, all pouty and depressed. Mizora had once again stepped beside him, hands over the rim of the bridge, and pulled the boy into a conversation. It had uplifted his spirits immensely.

His pain penetrated the air like a dagger, going over a gutted carcass. Normally, Mizora would have gorged herself on the sensation, enjoying the agony of the damned like it were the finest wine. However, Wyll was of more use to her if he shunned his father completely and if she made him greater than the grand duke could ever hope himself to be. Thus she held his trembling body against her stomach, allowed his snot and tears to streak across her corpse-blue skin and listened to him shout his anger out in a choked-down sob.

Mizora hushed Wyll softly as she continued to caress his shoulders and the base of his horns. She said nothing, just kept him in her arms and gave him the space to work his way through his emotions. His burning rage made Mizora hark up, particularly when it intensified after she had taken on her real form. Ever since her pet had become a devil, her Cambion shape and the smells of Avernus had a calming effect upon him. His tail looping around hers elicited a soft purr from her throat.

"Wyll", Mizora said and cupped his cheek before she took hold of his jawline and made him look up at her, "You are not dirt. Not to me." She laughed a hoarse, dry laugh akin to the same sound she had made when she had been disguised as the elderly beggar woman. "And that is coming from a devil, who is used to treating almost everybody she sees as lesser or, worse, just bodies to gorge herself on. You are not a vile man, Wyll. You are just filled with guile like any good devil should be."

"And well, it is an unfortunate truth that our parents will always loom over us. They probably do not even have to be figures of importance to make us feel like we have to match an invisible standard or untold expectation. Of course, it is worse when it is a person of importance. And it hurts just as much to be blamed for something, you have no control over. Whether that be because you are seen as a devil or an inadequate fighter."

[leadensparrow]

It would be simple, really. He already has cactus spikes poking through his sweater. Blood trickling down his forehead and his brain was attempting to pound its way from his skull. God, how had Scar and the others lived like this? The world was a swirling mess of bloodlust and rage. All he could see was red. The red of Scar’s eyes. The red blood dripping down his fingers. The red coating Scar’s face and hands. He can’t think, can’t even speak, as Scar flashes him a reassuring grin, raising his fists loosely.

But Grian doesn’t have the control to question what his friend is doing. All he sees is red. He lunged, fist connecting with Scar’s jaw as a crack rings through the air. It felt good in a horrifically twisted way. Watching Scars head snap to side. This was his friend. His partner. Grian smiles. This is the end.

Scar laughs, spitting to the side as blood gushed from his nose. “That all you got G man?” He taunts, swinging a punch into Grian’s head. It knocks him sideways, vision swimming.

He growls, some deep inhuman sound he’d heard other red lives make in the past. It was something he’d always hated, hearing it as Scar paced the roof of their home, but now the growl tears its way from his throat with no control. Any idea of control was gone. All that was left is blood.

Sand sprays into the air as Grian sweeps Scar’s legs out from underneath him. And then the silver man lands on a cactus. Grian hears the scream erupt from Scar’s chest. He hadn’t ever heard Scar scream like that before. Not something funny or panicked but instead one thay had been ripped from his chest. Scar pulls himself from the cactus spikes. A bloody snarl on his lips. The two lunge, rolling in the slowly cooling sand. A mess of flailing arms and rough, sharp, snarls.

The fight moves from the cactus ring. The sun is slowly lowering as the two trade hits, painting the world a bloody brutal orange. Grian is covered in blood, the sand sticking to his soaked sweater. Every detail is hightened, everything except pain as the two hit and hit. Each strike a dull thud agaisnt his skin. Each hit agaisnt Scar nothing more than a floating painless hit. The roar of blood crumbles anything else. Scar’s bare chest is coated in blood and sand, silver skin glitters in the fading light. He’d never gotten to ask Scar why he was silver. He won’t ever after this.

Scar slips, the loose sand and blood causing him to fall agaisnt the grave. And Grian pounces, like some sort of rabid dog pouncing on its final meal. He doesn’t even pause. Just a continuous rain of fists and sand. Heavy agaisnt his slumped over friend. Ragged breathes breaking the stilted silence.

“I’m so sorry.” He whispered horsely, voice scratched and torn from a day full of screams. Wanting Scar’s deep chuckle and rough hands wiping away Grian’s tears. Instead he swipes at his own eyes, not even sure why he’s crying. Or even when the tears began to fall. He stumbles back. He can’t be here anymore. He can’t be anymore.

“I don’t feel so good.” He mumbles to no one in particular. No one is left to hear him. He stumbles to the edge, staring down at his demise. He knows what he has to do. “One life left.” He whispers. “One more… one left.” He’s not even sure what he’s saying. Why he’s saying it. He spreads his arms, extending to a slowly rotting body, a poorly made grave and a ruined home. “Thank you!” He screams to those long gone. “It’s been a fantastic time!” He steps backwards, a final step into air.

He falls. The sand approaches faster and faster. Grian closers his eyes. Breathes out. The pain is welcomed, blossoming beneath closed eyelids in golden glows of burnt amber and brilliant ruby red. He wants to see Scott. He wants to hug Scar. Apologize to Skizzle. He has so many apologies he’ll never make. Remorse burns through, stinging his veins. Everything is leaving him as he lay on the sandy floor. He wonders if Scar will forgive him. He breathes in. And then out. And then no more.

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

After All

Character: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Just because Bucky pushed her away doesn’t mean he knows how to let go.

Word Count: 2,100 - One Shot

She looked beautiful. Too beautiful. Bucky didn’t know why she put in such an effort for this schmuck. She didn’t need to put in any effort at all to be beautiful. And if some guy didn’t know that, then he didn’t deserve her. 

The bar had giant windows with no curtains or treatments to hide its patrons from outside observation. They did it on purpose, to hypnotize the people walking by and pull them into the romantic and dark lighting…and overpriced cocktails. 

But Bucky didn’t just notice how beautiful Y/N looked. He could also see how bored she was. Her smile was forced. He could almost hear exactly what her voice sounded like as she talked to him. Bucky would tease her about it, always knowing when she was being polite but wanted to find an out from a conversation as soon as possible. She called it her “customer service voice.”

She was probably smarter than him, Bucky thought. She was smarter than most people – maybe not Stark or Shuri, but she had her own genius that neither of those two possessed.

The only thing that could possibly make the people on the street notice Bucky’s lingering was the white vapor that appeared from his mouth every time he sighed. Which he seemed to be doing every time he noticed another piece of body language from Y/N that further proved her disinterest in this man.

It was cold, making everyone hurry to their destination, not paying him any mind. But Bucky didn’t feel the weather’s coldness anymore. Once you spend a lifetime frozen, nothing really compares.

Bucky stood up straighter when the two started making their way out of the fancy bar.

Y/N shifted her weight, not sure what the man’s next move was going to be.

He awkwardly went in for a hug.

She gave another one of her fake smiles, said her goodbyes, and started walking away.

“Not even gonna get her a cab or walk her home, you bastard?” Bucky breathed with irritation.

Men these days. Him and Steve still didn’t get it.

But he figured Y/N was glad to be done with him.

Bucky walked in the shadows of night as he kept his distance behind her. They were only a few avenues away from her apartment.

But he swore she was walking slower than usual. Like she was trying to make the journey home longer.

When they finally reached the stoop of her building, she took the steps slowly. But instead of putting her keys into the lock, she just stared at the door for a moment.

What was she thinking about? Bucky wondered.

Then Y/N quickly turned around and skipped down the stairs. She hurried across the street and made her way into the park that was directly across from her building.

She walked with more purpose now. Which made Bucky realize what was happening.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

He took in a deep breath before he followed her into the park.

Y/N sat on a bench in almost total darkness, waiting. If it weren’t for Bucky’s super-soldier sight, she would be practically invisible to him.

Bucky rubbed his face and watched her for a few moments before he made his way over.

Without any warning, he slowly sat down on the other side of the bench.

She didn’t react, didn’t even act like someone had invaded her space.

She had been waiting for him.

“What did I tell you about going to parks at night?” Bucky finally asked.

She scoffed, but didn’t look at him. “Yeah…Well, putting myself into danger is always the quickest way to get you out of hiding.”

She wasn’t wrong.

“He seemed nice.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Oh, fuck off, James.”

She’d stopped calling him Bucky once he broke her heart.

“Is this the part where you try to lie and tell me you liked him?” Bucky challenged with a smirk, even though there was absolutely nothing funny about the situation.

Y/N finally turned and looked at him for the first time. “What exactly are you mad about, James? That I went on a date with him or that I just went on any date at all?”

He was silent for a second. “He’s not good enough for you.”

“You’d say that about every man,” she challenged.

“Yeah, and I’d be damn right.”

Y/N shot up from the bench and turned to face him. “I’m trying!” She snapped.

Then she paused, trying to get her emotions in control. But she wasn’t successful since her eyes glazed over with tears. She managed to hold them in. “I’m really trying.”

Bucky then stood up from the bench. His body always went into a panic when Y/N cried. He felt sick to the stomach when he was the reason for it. But these days, he was always the reason..

But he couldn’t comfort her like he used to. He wasn’t allowed to touch her anymore.

Y/N sniffed, trying to play it off as if it was due to the cold instead of her unshed tears.

“You have to stop following me,” she told him as sternly as she could.

Bucky shifted his weight, but stayed quiet.

“James, I’m gonna call Steve if you keep doing this.”

And he knew she would. What he didn’t know is what Steve would do to make sure Y/N’s commands were followed through.

And it wasn’t just Steve who sided with her after the breakup, the whole team did. Any of them would love a chance to return to Y/N’s life in some way and give Bucky a piece of their mind on her behalf.

Breakup. Is that even what it should be called?

They didn’t stop loving each other. Even though Y/N hid that with the hate she now held for Bucky.

He didn’t think it was possible for someone to hate a person as much as they loved them, but Y/N seemed to do it effortlessly with him.

“We can’t do this anymore, Y/N. I have to stay away from you.” 

The words still haunted Bucky’s nightmares. All it took was one stupid article. Her full name, where she was from, what she did for work – all accompanied by a photo of them together. If it had been paparazzi, Bucky would’ve clocked the camera. His training would’ve sensed it, noticed the signs. But it had just been some asshole and their iPhone.

“How did you figure out I was tailing you?” He asked, ignoring the threat of Steve.

“Following,” she corrected. “You look like the fucking unabomber, James. You’re trying so hard to hide that you stick out even more.” She looked him up and down, taking in his black leather jacket over his black hoodie that was pulled over his black, nondescript baseball hat.

But in reality, she knew that if Bucky wanted to be completely untraceable, he would be. Which meant that he wanted her to notice him.

He didn’t realize he was doing that.

Y/N stared at the ground, scared to look into his eyes now. “I always think that I feel you watching me.” Then she glanced up at him. “But then I realized that was just me missing you.” She shook her head, embarrassed to be admitting that to him. “It wasn’t that I could feel you watching over me, it was me hoping you’d come around the next corner.”

“I miss you, too.” He admitted without hesitation.

Y/N closed her eyes and winced. “Don’t say that to me.”

“But it is true.”

Her eyes remained closed, but not even that could stop the tears from falling this time.

“Why do you have to make this so hard, Bucky?” She whispered.

The use of that name knocked the air out of his lungs.

He took a step toward her.

But she immediately took a step back. “Don’t. Please don’t, Bucky.”

“Y/N…I’m…I’m so sorry,” he muttered.

“How does this make anything better for us?” She breathed.

“I just…I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Well, I’m not!” She bawled. “Is that what you want to hear? That I’m miserable without you? That during all of these dates, I’m just comparing them to you? Is that what you want to hear? Is it?”

“No! For Christ – no, Y/N.”

“Then what do you want me to say?” She demanded.

“Nothing. You don’t owe me anything, Y/N. I know that.”

He stepped forward, it was a risk and he knew it. But she didn’t cower from him this time. Bucky slowly reached forward and wiped the tears from her cheek gently.

“I’ll never stop worrying about you. I get anxious, thinking about what could happen.”

“Well, I stopped being your responsibility when you broke up with me.” She knew that was her broken heart speaking, but she had to give it at least one round.

Bucky nodded, knowing he deserved that.

Y/N looked around her. “It’s been almost a year, Bucky. We can’t keep doing this.”

“I know,” he mumbled as he shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at the ground.

“We need to move on…if that’s even possible. We have to try either way.”

“I know,” Bucky repeated.

But he also knew he could never replace her. However, she deserved to fill the bleeding hole he left after he broke her heart.

“Goodnight, James.” She told him coldly.

He just nodded.

But she hadn’t moved yet.

Before she could change her mind, she stepped into him and Bucky immediately opened his arms to her. She buried her face into his shoulder. Her senses took him in, memorizing every detail. His cologne. The feel of his leather jacket that he’d broken in to perfectly mold around his body. His inhuman body heat.

Bucky did the same.

When Y/N pulled away, her eyes locked to his like those blue irises were magnets.

“You should get home now, doll,” he whispered as his gaze flickered to her lips. His hands were caressing her face now.

She just nodded, feeling the new tension.

Bucky leaned forward and placed a kiss on her forehead.

It took every ounce of strength she had to walk away. She wouldn’t let herself turn around and look back once she started walking. But she felt his eyes on her, watching to make sure she made it to her front door safely.

She knew he wouldn’t leave until he saw the light turn on in her bedroom.

Y/N counted to 1,000 before she allowed her crying to start again.

-----

Bucky turned the light on in the kitchen.

“Bucky…”

He had been dreading this. “What? What do you want, Steve?”

The other super soldier leaned in the doorway with his arms crossed. He was giving Bucky the look that no one wanted to get from Captain America. It was the look of disappointment.

“Y/N called.”

That was all Steve needed to say.

Bucky ignored him and poured himself a drink – vodka on the rocks. It was Nat’s hidden stash. But he’d deal with that tomorrow.

“You can’t push her away and then shove yourself back into her life whenever you feel like it. That’s not fair to her and you know it,” Steve warned.

Bucky threw the vodka back before he countered with, “You said you understood why I did it.”

“Yes, I understood it. I didn’t agree with it. And I definitely don’t agree with you continuing to torture Y/N and yourself.”

Bucky tried to pour himself another glass of vodka, but Steve ripped the bottle from his grasp.

“Are you even listening to me?” Steve growled.

“I stand by what I did!” Bucky shouted. “I did what had to be done! And I did it so she could be safe, so she could have a fucking life!”

He caught his breath and his hand rubbed across his face. “I know I shouldn’t go see her. I know that. But…But I’m only human, Steve. I can’t help it.”

Steve sighed, his sympathy now outweighing his anger.

He gripped Bucky’s shoulder. “I know, Buck.”

“I’ll stop. I promise. I owe her that at least.” Bucky bowed his head in shame.

“I’ll check on her. We all will.” They would do it so Bucky didn’t have to.

“Thank you, Steve.”

“Just get some sleep. OK, Buck?”

He nodded, even though he stopped really sleeping when she was no longer in his bed.

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

I wrote this about a month ago and obviously didn’t want to share it with how much everyone sucks on here. 

Figured I’d give this site a chance to redeem itself, but not getting my hopes up. 

I’m still on “hiatus” or whatever, and not really interacting with people on here. 

If you really miss me that much... One Shot – Masterlist

(Also, friendly reminder that just because a fic is old, doesn’t mean you can’t comment on it anymore.)

[themonotonysyndrome]

REDACTED verse - The aloof Bombay & wounded Border Collie

Summary: They say you are what you are in the dark. So you prove just who you are when there's only you and Frederick in a dark house, with no one else around. 

TW: [Swearing], [Profanity], [Angst with a happy ending] & [Mild panic attack]

So, first thing first, a little backstory about this oneshot. I had already written out the first scene a week before Redacted announced the discontinuation of Frederick & Bright Eyes series. Although he mentioned that it’s fine to continue on writing headcanons about the two, I was hesitant to continue writing this fic. 

But I’ve been missing them terribly so I sat my ass down and finally completed it! Yay! Fred & Bright Eyes had one of the most interesting dynamics in this fandom so I wanted to give it a go based on my headcanons of them. 

-

There's a strange sort of energy hovering around Vincent and Sam lately. 

It's not subtle either. Its anxiety, stress and uncertainty all roll together into a heavily dense fog that makes you itches under the skin. 

This has been going on for days now. 

Vincent constantly has thick textbooks with him whenever he comes over to Sam's place. They would exchange short pleasantries before Sam hurried off to his Werewolf beau (it's sort of funny the first time Sam returns home, and you spotted courses of wolf's hair stuck onto the hem of his clothes and jeans. You figured that this man's main hobby was tussling with Wolves, but when Sam would sneak back into his own fucking house like a teenager, it wasn't hard to put two-and-two together). Vincent would then make sure that you and Frederick are fed, settled in for the night before he completely ignores the two of you in favour of his school work. 

As if the two of you are a pair to toddlers. You'd laugh if it didn't annoy you. 

Fred, ever the gentle sweetheart, attempted to make small talks at first. Tentatively asking if he's stressed out over exams and if there's anything he could do to help - the result was expected. With pen in hand, notebooks and the two hundred and one pages depicting the foundations of magical healing, Vincent rather absentmindedly shooed him away. 

Sam is arguably the worst. Ever since he stepped outside of the house during their crash course of the Empowered creatures in Dahlia to answer a phone call, he returns with lines on his forehead and shoulders tensed as hell. 

Their impromptu lesson ended just like that when another Clan member had to babysit the two of you after Sam stormed out of the house. 

You don't know whether they realise how taunt their strings have been, and you don't really care, honestly. Just curious; you're pretty confident that something big will happen soon. 

At least there's something exciting to look forward to other than Sam's disapproving frowns and Fred's frustrated attempts at making you bear your heart and guts out. 

And something big will happen soon. Apparently, there's something equivalent to a magical Olympics that occurs every year called the Elemental & Energetic Games, and this year, the local supernatural academy would be the one hosting it in Dahlia. Interesting. 

Speaking of which, you could hear Vincent talking to his lover outside your bedroom through his phone. "Sam's on the way... yeah, he just texted me." A short pause. "Yeah, I can do that. Hey, hey, Lovely - listen to me. Everything's going to be alright. You've been practising non-stop for the Games. You deserve a special night for a change. So here's what we're going to do: I'll pick up some of that blueberry pie you love so much on the way back, we'll watch some movies after dinner and then have an early night so you'll feel better tomorrow. Sounds good? Nice. Oh wait - I think I can hear Sam outside. See you in a little bit. Love you too, Lovely." 

You tune the outside world after that. It makes sense now why Vincent was stressed out; he's busy playing the good boyfriend. 

With a tired sigh, you try your best to occupy your mind. It's three hours to midnight, but to Vampires, that's practically early morning, and you're already so bored. You don't want to step out of your little sanctuary if it means having to deal with Sam, Vincent and Fred tonight. 

Or ever. Forever sounds good. 

Not knowing what else to do, you pushed yourself out of bed and padded towards the window sill. The cool night air greets you as well as the trees and shadows that stretch on for miles. Once you and Fred were officially brought under Sam's care as his Progenies, you quickly realise that his house is located on the outskirts of Dahlia. Where the forests sprawl behind the abode and the city lights are just far enough not to pollute the night sky. 

A perfect place to raise a pair of unplanned Newborn Vampires. You conclude that either Sam enjoys living by himself in a secluded property or that this house was given to him by Mr. Solaire. 

Either way, you would've love to sneak out and explore the forest if it weren't for the magical wards that Sam had warned the two of you. The moment you or Fred steps out of the immediate area, Sam would know right away that one of them disobeyed his rules. 

So despite the pleasant night air, there's a strum of anxiety and restlessness stirring within you. Is it because of Sam's recent behaviours or the upcoming Games? You can't tell, not when no one is bothered enough to tell you what's going on. 

You take a deep breath and take your sweet time to exhale the air out. There's no use in working yourself up; not when you just need to get through this Newborn phase. It's better to think of the future. 

And that bastard's mangled corpse at your feet. 

"You should've listened to your friend, little mouse." 

Ironically, the monster's voice is the only thing keeping you sane during this whole happy house facade that Sam and Frederick insist on playing. Late-night fantasies of ripping that smug's asshole to pieces are the only thing that keeps you going, sad as it is. 

It's not revenge; it's justice. It's your atonement for hurting Frederick. What good would apologies serve when you can present that monster's head to him? You're not deluded enough to play the victim; you're the reason why the two of you are the way you are now, but you'll be damn if you admit that to Sam. 

Sam's already blamed you for what happened to Fred. Even if he never says it. His lingering glances and furrowed brows are telling enough. There's no need to give him more ammunition against you. 

You breathe in and out again; willing yourself to calm down. So you start to distract yourself by planning to gather enough money and resources to leave the Clan once Mr. Solaire deems that you're safe to be on your own and to others. His kind smile and knowing eyes should've made you uncomfortable, but all you can feel is genuine compassion and understanding coming from that ancient Vampire King. 

So. Priorities: Passing the Newborn period, gather enough money, clothes and anything else that's important, thank Mr. Solaire for taking you into his Clan, and if it's not too presumptuous, ask him to continue to care for Fred. 

A knock on the door startles you from your train of thoughts, but you keep your gaze on the dark forest laid before you. 

You heard the door creak as it slowly swings open and then, "Bright Eyes? Is... Is everything ok?" 

It's Fred. Of course, it would be Fred. 

"Mm-hmm." You reply absentmindedly. You didn't even have to look at him to know that he doesn't believe your bullshit. And him being your Sire makes it impossible to lie to him, so you often gives out vague responses. 

Most of these days, your interactions with him are curt, with doubt thrown into the mix. Fred is hesitant to press you when you brush away his questions, and in return, you hide as often as possible so you wouldn't step on any emotional landmines in this house. 

"Are you sure? Because I can kind of sense that you're upset..." Fred said after a brief moment of hesitation. Ah, it's going to be one of those nights. 

The bond between a Sire and his Progeny once again proves to be a fucking nuisance. Not only could you not lie to Fred, but he could also sense phantom emotions coming from you. So much for privacy. 

"It's fine, Fred. I was just thinking." There. Not a lie but not the total truth either. 

"O-Oh." From the doorway, Fred bit his lower lip. Why is it getting harder and harder to approach Bright Eyes nowadays? He hates this distance between them. He hates how they rarely left their room. 

He hates how it feels like he's losing his friend as the days go by. 

"Do you, uh, maybe want to play a game or something? Vincent hooked up a Playstation 5 before he left. I think he also left some video games - "

"I'm not in the mood to play tonight, Fred. Maybe tomorrow." 

Fred sighs at the clear dismissal. It honestly hurt; Bright Eyes constant rebuff is getting sharper and sharper. Without another word, Fred left Bright Eyes to their thoughts. 

As usual, nothing is absolved tonight. 

-

It's a boring rainy Wednesday night. The gentle pitter-patter of raindrops against the shutters promises an incoming storm when you hear the sound of rumbling thunders approaching the city from a distance. 

Tonight, Vincent is too busy at D.A.M.N to babysit you and Fred. Sam already left the house an hour after the sun had set with his usual instructions not to go beyond the wards and that a Clan member would be coming over to supervise them. 

Why does this feel like you and Fred are the unwanted children from a divorced couple? Oh well, all the more reason to leave the clan ASAP. 

You plan to brood in your room as usual after draining your share of the blood bags in the fridge. However, the moment you take three steps out of the kitchen, lightning flashes across the sky. 

The power trip, hurtling the entire house into total darkness. 

"The circuit breaker," You murmur, inhumane eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness as you look around the area in 4K HD. "Did Sam ever mentioned where it was?" You tried to recall the house's layout from Sam's words alone, but you tend to tune out his voice whenever he speaks more than twenty minutes. So it looks like you better start from the basement.  

Just when you're about to head downstairs, a whimper froze you. You tilt your head towards one of the bedrooms. 

The sound is coming from Fred's. 

You stood your ground for only a few seconds of hesitation before you quietly approached his bedroom and slowly opened the door as to not startle him — concern creeping into your heart. 

Just like the rest of the house, Fred's bedroom is completely dark. Lightning flashed once more to illuminate Fred's huddled figure on the floor near the window. He's breathing very hard and rapidly with his head in between his knees. 

Your heart twisted into a knot at the sight of a frightened Fred, and you couldn't help but wonder if this is how he looked like when that monster hurt him. 

You forcefully put that thought away. You're horrible with words, but there's one way you can still comfort him. 

Fred's breath hitches when your back lean against his. "B-Bright Eyes?" He calls out with a choked sob, head slightly raised in surprise. 

When you said nothing, Fred let out a ragged sigh. "What are you doing here? I thought you couldn't stand the sight of me." 

You blink and turn your head to give him a side-eye. Say what? 

"Don't give me that l-look." Fred snaps after a sniffle. "You could hardly look at my face lately, and you only leave your bedroom whenever you have to eat. If it weren't for that, you'd happily pretend that Sam and I don't even exist." 

"That's because whenever I'm around, you keep wanting to talk about Wonderworld, and Sam keeps shooting me looks as if I'm a shitstain underneath his fucking boots." You shoot back reflexively. 

Much to the surprise of absolutely no one, your words upset Fred even further. "You can't talk about Sam like that! He's been nothing but kind to us. To you and you just - "

"He blames me for what happened to you!" Fred can't be this oblivious, can he?

Behind you, Fred went stiff.

"You're his Progeny, and I'm the deadweight that he's stuck with because you Turned me. He knows it, Vincent knows it. Fuck it, everyone in the Clan knows it! So why should I give a damn when I'm unwanted? And that's alright! That's totally alright! You want to know why that's alright, Freddy?" Lightning split the night sky. A rather powerful thunder shakes the house, but at this moment, nothing exists except for you, Fred and the tension that has been brewing between the two of you the moment your humanities were forfeit.  

"I'm not planning to stay here any longer than I have to! The moment Mr. Solaire give us the green light, I'm out of Dahlia! Buh-bye! You and Sam can do whatever the fuck you want, but I don't want to stay in this city any longer! I don't have anything left here!" 

Silence enveloped the bedroom. What are you even doing here? Why did you even think you could comfort Fred when all you've been doing is hurting him. Even now! This was a mistake. You should've - 

"I was right. I'm losing you too..." 

"Uh, what?" 

Fred tucks his head in between legs tighter as if he's trying to hide from the world. "I think I always knew that you were going to leave me when you started to pull away from everyone. That's why I wanted us to talk about that Halloween night so badly." His voice is ragged, tears stream down his face. "Y-You said that you don't have anything left in Dahlia, but... you're all that I have left and if you leave... I..." Fred sighed and quietly continued, "I thought I was your friend. I thought I meant something to you." 

"I've hurt you." You reply, just as quietly. "I've been hurting you since Wonderworld, and even tonight, I'm hurting you. I didn't listen to you that night, and because of it, we're here. You lost your family, friends and future and for that I'm... I'm so sorry, Fred. You didn't deserve anything that happened to you." 

"Thank you, Bright Eyes. I-I needed to hear that." Fred reply. When he reaches for your hand, you squeeze it back. "What happened was... fucked up, but none of us knew about that Vampire. Or that Vampires actually exist. So it's stupid of me to blame you for our d-deaths." 

"But I didn't listen - "

"Yes, you didn't listen but will you listen to what I have to say now, Bright Eyes? Please? I want us to move on from this together. I want us to be better." 

Perhaps it's how raw and near begging Fred sounds that both of your walls are down tonight. Perhaps, tonight, you finally realise that it's you that doesn't like confrontations and that despite Fred's gentle and reserved nature, he has no problem mending the wounds between the two of you with force if he has to. Huh, who could've thought? 

The two of you talk for hours in the darkness. It feels so awkward to bear your heart to Fred after everything, but to your immense surprise and relief, he listens to you patiently, and once you're done, he let you into his heart. All the fears, insecurities, regrets, shame and horror are laid between you and together, you address them one by one until the storm lets up. 

And when the silver light of the moon peeking through heavy clouds, you found yourself snuggling with Fred on his bed. Your head tucks into the crook of his neck while Fred's arm is around you. It's strange how lighter your heart is now. 

"Have you stop crying already?" You ask, wondering if you'd need to run to the kitchen to make a simple bag of ice for Fred's red, puffy eyes before they swelled. 

Fred snort. He sniffles and squeezes your body in assurance. Being slightly taller than you, it feels sort of nice to be held like this. Despite their heartfelt conversation and confessions, the trauma they both carry is still fresh, but now, it doesn't feel like an overwhelming miasma threatening to drown you in guilt and sorrow. "Yeah, yeah. I'm alright now. It feels good to finally cry after... after everything." 

"Can't relate." You bluntly interject. "I usually get pissed off after a crying session." 

"I can actually believe that." Fred giggles. "I'm beginning to understand you a lot better, Bright Eyes. Thank you for listening; I know that words are hard for you, so I'm very grateful that you want to work things out as much as I do." 

"Mn." 

Outside, the rain has become a gentle drizzle, and the stars ushered a bright full moon. It's too lovely of a night to brood; you might as well take a nap with Fred. 

"Bright Eyes?" Fred suddenly speaks up, bringing you out of your sleepy haze. 

"Mn?" 

"Do you... I mean... are you still planning to leave Dahlia?" His voice returns to its timid and hesitant state. 

"Well... yeah. After our - urgh - mushy talk, I realise it's all the more reason I need to do it. You're the only thing I have left in this city after all." 

"You want to leave me despite just saying that all you have is me? Uh, I don't... don't get it. Can you please explain it to me, Bright Eyes?" 

You hold back a groan. It looks like Fred has discovered the magic of 'please' and your weakness to it. "I'm planning to kill the Vampire who killed us and use his skull as my apology gift to you." 

Unlike you, Fred groans in disbelieve. You yelp when he manoeuvres you so your body can lie on top of his and trap you in his arms. "No... Bright Eyes, no... no hunting that asshole, OK? You don't need to give me a skull; just stay here with me. Skulls are gross anyway." He whines like a needy toddler, which, surprisingly, makes you feel fond instead of irritated. 

So you roll your eyes and press your face into Fred's chest. Perhaps you can try to convince Fred to leave with you in the future, but for now, nothing matters but the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest and the faint scent of wet grass outside. 

They're going to be alright. 

[giorno-plays-piano]

The Spider's Bride

Pairing: spider!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warning: yandere, obsession, stalking, forced marriage, mentions of suicidal thoughts and breeding (but everything is not as dark as it seems).

Words: 3836.

Summary: Whoever your stepmother sold you to, he wasn't as honorable as she claimed.

P.S. Hey guys! Initially it was supposed to be more horror-ish, but then I wrote a lot of sad Bucky, and, ugh, the story became what it is now. Hope you're going to enjoy!

____________

"From now on you have to go alone. We're not allowed to come any further." Your stepmother said and stopped, your stepsisters looking at her with visible discomfort on their faces.

"But we have to ensure her betrothed is waiting for her and pass him her trousseau. This is the tradit-"

"He's not from these lands and cares little for our traditions." She quickly cut one of her daughters off and motioned them to give a few bags they were carrying back to you. "The only thing you have to do is follow the path and you will be alright, girl. Stop being so scared, I'm not sending you to meet your death. Suit yourself, dear Lord! You are going to be married to an honorable man, be grateful I've arranged it for you!"

Funny. If he was truly as honorable as she said, she'd let one of her girls marry him instead. Judging by the place he asked you to come meet him, he was some filthy necromancer or a dark mage in hiding. Regardless of that, he had definitely paid good money for you if your stepmother was willing to let go of the one who was doing most of the housework.

Whatever. Since the death of your father, you hadn't been expecting your miserable life to get any better. She'd force you to marry some revolting man sooner or later, nevertheless.

"Goodbye, sisters." You whispered to them, throwing your rough work-weary hands around their skinny shoulders and kissing their cheeks. "May the Lord be with you."

"May the Lord be with you." They repeated quietly, and you saw their eyes were glistening with tears in the darkness of the cave. They were clinging to you like little kids to their mother, and you smiled. Despite being born to this vulture, your sisters were kind-hearted. They were the only ones to bring you joy in the darkest of days.

"Goodbye, mother."

She turned away from you silently and headed back without acknowledging your words. One of her daughters hissed at her with disdain before she looked back and sent the girl a grim look, pointing to the entrance where the light was piercing through the darkness.

"Move. I don't have all day."

Watching the guilty expression appearing on their faces, you patted both of the girls on the back and silently ushered them to go. They weren't the ones to blame for what had happened to you, and they couldn't do much. No one could.

As all three disappeared from your view, you bit down on your lower lip and gathered your pathetic belongings. You didn't have anything valuable since even the dresses your mother wore were burnt once that woman entered the house of your father. Sometimes you were thinking whether anything would be different if he stayed alive, but you weren't sure of that. Maybe it was better without him, the man who had seen his new wife destroying the one and only portrait of your mother, but doing nothing at all to stop her. Maybe it was better you left the house where you were constantly reminded of how miserable and rotten you were, a girl she hated with all her heart.

Rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand to stop yourself from crying, you moved forward, going deeper into the dungeon or whatever this cold unfriendly place was, the medallion your betrothed given you hanging on your chest. Was it his face you saw inside? It would be surprising if he was as handsome as on the picture. Tired, a bit broken, maybe, and somewhat gloomy, but handsome. Or did your stepmother steal this medallion from someone else, some true soldier she claimed your betrothed to be? Was your fiancee ugly, then? Old? Unhealthy? There was only one way to find out.

The more you walked, the heavier the bags with trousseau became in your hands. At one point you thought to just leave them there, but then you sighed and continued carrying them further. Instead of paying a dowry, your stepmother sold you to your betrothed. He could get mad if you didn't bring him even your trousseau.

It was getting colder, and you stopped for a minute to wrap you woolen shawl around your shoulders, dropping the bags to the ground. Your little journey took you much longer than you expected, and you hoped your fiancee hadn't already been waiting for you. He would be enraged, for sure. Hopefully, you still had a little time.

Bending over to pick up your bags, you suddenly froze on the spot. You heard some odd noises coming from somewhere ahead of you and then raised your head. The burning torches lighting the cave were... shaking?

You jumped to your feet. The noise was becoming louder. You couldn't quite describe it - it felt like indistinct whispers, but very rough, inhuman. The ground trembled beneath your feet as you felt fear rising deep within your chest, leaving you cold. What was that? What was that sound? What creature was whispering... no, tapping... pounding the ground with something...

You left the bags where they were and turned back. It was not the whisper. It was the sound of an enournously huge insect creeping closer to you.

Bats out of hell moved slower than you when you ran towards the exit, barely containing your screams. Was that a giant centipede? A beetle? Something worse than that? You had no desire to figure it out.

You knew this was a bad idea from the start. Your stepmother had never cared for your wellbeing, so it wasn't surprising she truly sent you to your death. Was your fiancee a necromancer who preferred dead women over the living ones? Maybe so.

You fell down to the ground with a loud scream and sobbed, forcing yourself to get up and look at your blooded knee. Pain shot through it once you tried to move, and you bit your tongue. It was even harder to walk now, but you weren't staying there to let whatever creature come and devour your flesh. Gathering yourself, you clenched your teeth and kept running, albeit slower, to the exit of the cave. If you died trying, so be it.

"Please, don't run from me!" Someone said in a desperate voice from behind, yet the only sound you had heard was the one of dozens of steps against the ground. Many metal legs scratched the stone beneath them, making you shudder and cry.

Whatever that creature were, it would be the death of you.

And so you ran and ran until you couldn't feel your legs, but the monster was too close to let you escape. When you fell down the second time on the same knee, undeniably breaking it, you screamed from pain and tried to crawl away still, watching in utter horror how the shadow emerged from the darkness behind you, it's features inhuman, monstrous, revolting. Watching the claws on its eight long legs enveloped in metal glowing in the dark, you yelled at the top of your voice, raising your eyes to the black spider's segmented body.

As you kept looking up, you saw that a horrifying creature wasn't just a gigantic spider. Half of him belonged to a man. Although below the waistline he had that abominable black body, his torso, chest, arms and head were human.

You screamed until your lungs were burning when you saw the face of a man you first had discovered on a little painting inside the medallion. It was your betrothed. Your stepmother had sold you to the arachnid.

Before he advanced further, the light went out, and you were drowning in the dark, finally loosing your consciousness.

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There was a distant sound of someone's singing somewhere outside of the house. You could mistake it for Aleana's voice, but hers was lower than this one, melodic, almost magical. This charming singing could put sirens to shame.

You slowly opened your eyes, looking at the high ceiling through the silver threads of the canopy above you. It was odd. Even before your father married for the second time you had never had a canopy bed, especially such a gorgeous one with a cloth looking like it was made by the Queen's best weavers. It almost looked like a silky silver web.

Spiders. Arachnid.

You jumped on the bed, throwing away a warm blanket covering your body, and stared at the large room you woke up in. It seemed as big as half of your house at the very least, the walls coloured in shades of lilac and amethyst, two silver chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. You saw dark-wood furniture lavishly decorated with auspicious motifs, a huge oval mirror... it looked like a room of a princess.

"Are you feeling better?"

You screamed when you heard someone's low voice and clamped your hands over your mouth, quickly moving to the farthest corner of the bed, your back pressed into the cold wall. There was a stranger sitting on the chair near your bed, but for some reason you hadn't seen him before as if he just emerged from the darkness.

You were staring at the face of a man you saw in the cave. Now, however, he looked fully human, his monstrous lower half replaced by long musculed legs. He was dressed in black lether while his left arm glowed in the dark, wrapped in metal, but he couldn't trick you with his charms. You knew his true form.

He was a war veteran, stepmother said, a hero, a soldier. She failed to mention he belonged to arachnid troops, the ones who fought alonside soldiers of your kingdom against Hydra tribes.

Grabbing a pillow and hiding behind it as if it were a shield, you cried, shivering and cursing your stepmother silently. How could she do it to you? How could she give you to an arachnid, this revolting, inhuman creature crawling in the dark? How could she send you here, knowing you were to be wed to this beast and bear his monstrous children? Better death than this. Better ending your life yourself than becoming a whore to this creature, forsaken by the gods.

You didn't know how much time had passed before your tears dried out. The man didn't try to get closer to you. He didn't speak, keeping his head low while you shuddered in the corner.

A bride to the spider. Even thinking of that made you feel like throwing up.

"Are you feeling better?" The man suddenly repeated his question, and you shriveled upon hearing his voice.

You didn't want to talk. Since the time your stepmother had first entered your house, your life was pathetic and worthless. She stripped you of your dowry and all belongings of your mother; she took away your dresses and even ribbons you used to decorate your hair with. You were not the daughter of lady of the house anymore. You were her errands girl, her little servant, the one she had been taking her anger out on. Even when your father was still alive, you knew you wouldn't be allowed to marry a decent man.

You dreamt of running away and living all by yourself in the forest before it was invaded by agressive driads and deadly lamias. After that you quietly accepted that your fate was to suffee in the arms of your offenders. You realized gods didn't want you to be happy, but you couldn't even imagine you would end up being sent to a dungeon right into the arms of this monster who was to breed you. You felt revolt rising deep within you. Even dying was better than this.

"I have healed your knee." The man said, and you blinked, suddenly conscious of your lack of pain. It was true, you had broken it on the run, but now you felt nothing as if you didn't hurt yourself in the first place.

He probably expected some gratitude.

"Thank you." You said in raspy voice, holding the pillow closer to you and hiding your face, your eyes red from tears. You thought it was funny he didn't chain you, but did he need that? With those eight legs of his he could catch anyone without breaking a sweat.

You bit down on your lip and saw he was watching you intently, so you lowered your gaze, looking at your airy silk dress. It softly glowed in the dark like the cloth of the canopy, and you suddenly thought that this revolting creature had undressed you and seen your naked form. Tears started gathering in the corners of your eyes again.

"Please, do not be afraid." The man said tenderly, and you answered him with a sob. His tired expression became worried. "I am sorry for scaring you earlier. I have thought it would be better to show you my true form from the early beginning."

You sniffed and tried covering your shaking feet with the blanket. Why did it have to happen to you? What had you done? Why had he chosen you over other women? You were far from the prettiest ones among your village.

"Why me?" You asked in a little voice, afraid of what you might hear.

The man - the monster in human flesh - smiled at you, his gaze wistful, and you shivered.

"I saw you on the day of the summer solstice. You were dancing barefoot around the fire with your sisters." The man said, and his gloomy face lit up. "You had a flower crown on your head."

Oh, he was there on the day of the festival, then. It was one of the few days when you could break free from the hold your stepmother had over you. Your sisters and you always went to the clearing in the woods and danced till the sunset after giving your prayers to the gods protecting your lands. This year your sister Adana had made you a flower crown to cheer you up.

"You were the most charming woman I have ever seen." His quiet voice made you snap out of your thoughts, and you greeted your teeth. "I've been watching you since then when you were out in the village or doing the house chores in the backyard. I saw... I saw when you didn't let your stepmother kill the spider and put him in the grass instead."

He gulped, and you bit the fabric of the pillow, shutting your eyes for a few seconds. This beast had been secretly watching you for months, and you had no clue about it. Did your stepmother know? Did she let him do it? How much did he pay her to let him follow you around?

"Are we even compatible?" You sniffed again, afraid to look at him. "Humans and..."

"We are compatible if you refer to being able to bear my children."

Your fingers buried into your hair, pulling at the roots in frustration. You bit back a cry knowing it wouldn't make you feel better. Carry little monsters in your womb and give birth to more of those revolting creatures... Were you supposed to lay eggs like spiders did? Would your children grow inside those cocoons? Before you could stop yourself, you were crying loudly and pressing your face into the pillow. When you sensed the man standing up and moving closer, you screamed in horror, pressing yourself further into the walls. He stepped back, an awful, hurt look in his eyes. Before you'd feel guilty, ashamed at yourself, but not now. Not in front of a creature that deserved nothing but death.

He sat back on the chair, watching the shiny wooden floor beneath his feet and allowing you time to calm down again. Why was he quiet? Did he try to persuade you he was civil? That he wouldn't jump at you like spiders did with its prey? The mere comparison made you shudder, and you wiped the tears with the pillow again.

The silence felt heavy, but you had nothing to say while the man was probably afraid to talk to you, knowing you didn't want to hear his voice. Did he know how revolting he was? Did he know you'd never step into the cave if you knew who was waiting for you there? Did he know you wished for nothing but break its disgusting long legs with metal claws on the ends?

You forced yourself to think of something else once you looked at his unbearably sad expression. He must have known a beast like him didn't deserve love. Not a love of a human being, at least. Why did he choose you? Why hadn't he seeked his betrothed among his own kind?

"Why looking for a human?" You asked him, lowering your gaze to your knees. "Why not the one from your own tribe?"

"We don't have many females left." He answered immediately as if he were waiting for you to speak up. "The war with nagas had affected us more than you think."

"But, surely, there are other species willing t-to... mate with you?" No, you didn't truly believe anyone in the whole world would be willing to, except the actual giant spiders of the South.

"There a few like driades of coniferous woods and dark elves living in the caves of Northern Mountains, but their number is decreasing, and they are not as willing to marry our men as before. They are trying to save their own kind."

"Oh, I see. There are too many of us, humans, so we aren't that valuable." You smiled bitterly at his words, and the man's blue eyes widened.

"My apologies, I didn't mean it. I would never say anything like that, apple of my eye."

You cringed at his words: he was still trying to trick you into believing he was some gentleman.

"Please, I know it is hard for you to believe me now, but I swear by my mother's name I'll give you more than any human man can." The creature whispered, his gaze soft and loving. "Whatever you wish for I shall bring to you."

"I don't want any man to give me anything." You sobbed, shaking your head. "I've only ever wanted my mother to come back, nothing else."

There was something that looked like understanding and pity appearing on his face. He could apprehend the loss of the one you loved the most, it seemed.

"Forgive me, but this is the only thing I cannot do for you. We practice necromancy, that's true, yet... you don't want you dear mother to be brought back that way, believe me."

"Than there's nothing you could give me."

You knew you were unreasonable - nothing could bring her back - but you didn't want him to think you were accepting his kind offer. He was a monster, and you didn't deserve to be wed to him.

But then what choice did you have? Surely, you would never leave this place - even if he was kind enough to attempt returning you to your stepmother, that rotten woman would never give him his money back, and he wouldn't let you go otherwise. Despite all your struggle, he would marry you, and you would have to comply.

How soon would you lose your sanity? Would it happen after seeing his true form for the second time? Maybe when he would bed you?

You felt an urge to throw up and clamped your hand against your mouth again.

"Do you have a potion?" You mumbled, forcing yourself to speak.

"A potion?" He repeated and frowned. "What potion do you need, my love?"

"I don't know how you call it... the potion that makes you fall in love with someone. They say it twists your heart and makes you forget whatever you felt before towards the one who gives it to you." Rubbing your tired wet eyes you asked, fixing your gaze on the blanket. You were repulsed by the idea of him even touching you, but if it was unavoidable, maybe being charmed and happy was better than losing your mind completely.

The man sighed, wiping his face with his hand in a black leather glove.

"A potion like this truly exists, and I can make it for you, but it won't help." He said quietly. "The charms don't last long. Of course, they would give us enough time to conceive a child, but is it truly want you want me to do to you?"

Don't say anything, don't say anything, don'tsayanything.

"Then what do you want from me?" More and more tears dropped to the blanket. "Do you expect me to fall in love with you at the first sight? Do you want me to pretend I like being here?"

"No. I don't."

There was a deep desperation to his voice you hadn't heard before, and it made you fall silent despite all the words almost leaping out of your mouth. So, this creature must know how disgusting he was in your eyes. Surely, you weren't the first human female captured by his tribe - they all knew how scary and ugly they looked to the ones of your kind. Why bringing you here, then? Why forcing you marry him? Of utter desperation because there was no one else for him to mate with? Because he liked you?

It wasn't getting any better.

"I know you are still tired. Please rest. No one will enter your chamber unless you ask for anything yourself."

He got up from his seat and slowly went to the other side of the room where those huge wide doors were - they were so big that he could enter in his true form. You hiccuped at the thought. For now he looked perfectly human - you could even call him handsome if you hadn't seen him back then in the cave. If only he was a true man, you'd be the luckiest girl in the world.

You pressed the blanket to your wet face to take away whatever was left on your cheeks and coughed a little. Staying here was frightening, but you were all by yourself, at least. If you got a bit more rest, maybe you'd think of something. Maybe you'd figure it out.

You could still hear the distant sound of singing somewhere outside, and suddenly you found yourself speaking to him again, making him look back at you.

"Who is that?" You asked, staring at his strong beefy figure. "Is it another prisoner?"

A prisoner, that was how you called yourself. You saw creature's gaze falling to your feet as he inhaled deeply and murmured, "No. They are my sisters singing to us." Before you could cry out in horror, asking what magic they casted on you, he continued. "They are sending us their blessings."

When he had disappeared behind the doors, you pulled the blanket over your head, feeling guilty, hurt, and disgusted at both him and yourself.

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Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki   ​@helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin ​@void-hoechlin @abyssaint @navegandoaciegas

[mattzerella-sticks]

Before the Night Ends

Dean/Castiel, 2.1k words, post-Wedding/pre-Honeymoon

ao3

It's been a wedding for the ages. Dean and Castiel finally tied the knot, with guests flying in from all across America, Heaven, Hell - even the Empty. But everything must come to an end, and after a wonderful Roadhouse reception Dean and Cas drove off in Baby and off towards their honeymoon.

Except, it's a long drive from Kansas plains to California beaches. They stop close to midnight at a motel along the highway, to sleep, celebrate their wedding night and that it's Valentine's Day, too.

           There’s a motel off Highway 70 called Angel’s Paradise, first established in the early 1900s, and last renovated in 1982. The owners back then, who remain so today, envisioned heaven as some tropical destination. That meant each room, alike in their simplicity and functionality, would be redone along these guidelines. Walls plastered with paper-print palm fronds and blooming, pink flowers. Bathrooms tiled a light blue – like waters from the clearest ocean – and little soaps shaped like shells to match the shell-patterned shower curtain. They’d have an entertainment unit housing a small television set would double as a dust collector, various ocean-themed knick-knacks cluttered atop it, ranging from homemade to store bought. A wicker table situated between two wicker chairs, a wicker dresser placed next to the entertainment unit and a wicker bed-or-beds layered by their own palm fronds, matching the walls. Finally, tying the décor together was a little (wicker) side table near the door with a plastic conch set to catch keys or loose change or cigarette ash. Given these changes, any customer might imagine they were in Florida rather then Colorado, or it was June instead of February. Especially in the crown jewel of Angel’s Paradise, the Honeymoon Suite.

           Except the Suite’s current boarders were very aware of where and when they are. Probably because they have yet to see their room for the night.

           Dean tucks his hands into his elbows, shivering outside the Suite while Cas fiddles with its doorknob. “Come on,” he whines, “what’s the hold-up?”

           Cas pauses, turning to Dean. “Sorry,” he says, “the lady at the counter – she said they were having issues since the last occupants. Something about them breaking the lock?”

           “Fuckin’ a…” Dean hisses, bouncing now. An icy wind cuts across the parking lot, Dean defenseless to it because he forwent a heavier jacket and how thin the material of his suit was. Castiel looks marginally warmer than Dean, wrapped in his trademark trench coat. Still, Dean notices how his hands tremble while holding the key. Cas’s hand flicks to the left, Dean’s gaze catching the silver band wrapped around his ring finger. One day, he may get used to it. Dean hopes he never does and can experience the same flutter of warmth rippling through his heart from seeing it. He leans into Cas, Dean dropping his head onto Cas’s shoulder. “Who do I have to pray to for this door to open?”

           “No one,” Cas declares, lock clicking in time with his words, “because it’s open!”

           Dean curses under breath, smiling. “Great,” he says, “let’s get in there, then – hey… hey!”

           Swept off his feet, Dean falls into the loving grip of his husband. Cas places one arm at his back, supporting most of the weight, while the other arm traps Dean’s knees, keeping his legs bent and Dean unable to wriggle himself free. Cas smiles down at him, laughing.

           “You think this is so funny,” Dean scowls, holding onto Cas’s tie like it were a lifeline. “You little shit –“

           “Mr. Shit, Dean,” Cas interrupts, kicking the door open and striding past the threshold, “I did take your last name, after all.”

           “My mistake…” He huffs, burying his head in Cas’s chest while he uses the fingers not squeezing Cas��s tie to comb the hairs at his husband’s neck. “Dean and Castiel Shit… I can see the monogramed towels already.” Dean closes his eyes, purring like a kitten while he absorbs the heat that radiates from Cas. It’s inhuman how much of a furnace he was, especially after giving up his grace to live as a human, to be human with Dean. Like always, Dean’s smile widens at the thought. He tries hiding his rapidly flushing face, but Cas tears Dean off of him. He ungraciously dumps Dean onto the bed, blue eyes betraying his cool demeanor as they glow with mirth from Dean’s startled squawking. “What do you think you’re doing?”

           “Going to get the bags,” he says, moving towards the door, “Why don’t you get comfortable, I’ll only be a moment.”

           Dean shakes his head, situating himself better on the bed. He sits at the foot of it, toeing off his snakeskin boots and then peeling off the dark grey dress socks he wore with them. While pulling at his tie, Cas returns with their bags. He doesn’t close the door after, and a blustery chill fills the space. Goosepimples erupt in scattered bunches up and down Dean’s arms. “Close the door!” he yells, dumping the tie onto the slowly growing pile of discarded clothing. His suit jacket joins his tie and socks and boots as Cas deposits their bags by the television. He then hits the door with his elbow, shutting out the wind. Cas gestures at the closed door with a flourish and wry grin. Dean scoffs, “Ugh, who’s bright idea was it to do this in winter?”

           “The same man who, on his birthday, said,” Cas drifts closer, helping Dean unbutton his shirt, “and I quote, ‘If you think you can propose to me and not expect us to get married as soon as possible, then you don’t know what you’re signing up for… buddy’.” Cas eases the shirt off Dean’s shoulders, kissing the exposed skin right above his t-shirt. “For the record,” Cas adds, whispering into his collarbone, “I expected it. It was one of the reasons why I couldn’t wait any longer.”

           Dean remembers. Their family, together, celebrating Dean’s birthday. His first birthday free from Chuck’s machinations, with a cake Jack spent all day baking and presents that lined the end of the table. He held Cas’s hand as he blew out the candles, mind blank because nothing he could wish for would match the happiness he felt in that moment. He tells Cas this after he asks what he wished for. And Cas, of course, proceeds to kiss him. Cas kisses him while Eileen cut the cake, while Jack helped plate them, and while Sam clapped Dean’s shoulders in warning to reign it in. Dean pulled back, gasping, unsure how he might respond to his then-boyfriend’s passion. Then Cas asked him that all-important, heart-stopping, mind-blowing question, opened a velvet box, and Dean knew exactly what to say.

           “I would’ve waited,” Dean reveals, helping Cas with his clothes as Cas guides Dean’s legs out of his slacks. “Everyone knows how long I’ve waited to tell you I love you… I would’ve waited, even if we died and we had to get married in heaven.” Dean pecks Cas’s lips, divesting him of both jackets and his button-down shirt. “I’m glad we didn’t have to, though.”

           “So am I.”

           They stand together in t-shirts and boxers, barely an inch of space between them. No one speaks, not that they have to, but the usually comfortable silence makes Dean nervous. His focus drifts from Cas and onto the plastic conch behind him. Then, he notices how the rest of the room is decorated. Dean giggles, “Wow… it’s, this place is…”

           Cas nods. Dean needn’t say anything else. “You should’ve seen the inside,” he snickers, “the staff were wearing Hawaiian shirts and shark-tooth necklaces.”

           “Hey,” Dean shoves him, “don’t diss Hawaiian shirts.” He collects his clothes and boots, bringing them over to their duffels. “I’ve got about three packed away in here, and I’m planning on buying at least a few more before our honeymoon ends.”

           “Should they even be called Hawaiian shirts if we’re not in Hawaii?” Cas asks. Dean hears the mattress squeak, and guesses his husband sat on the bed. He digs through the duffel, Cas monologuing in the background. “Are they called Coloradan shirts since we’re in Colorado? If we buy them in California, won’t they be Californian Shirts? Or is it because they’re made in Hawaii, and then shipped elsewhere? Can you imagine it – shirt factories, dotting the beaches? Oh, I’d hope the workers making all these Hawaiian shirts are at least being paid a fair wage, given how popular they seem to be…”

           “There’s no factories on any beaches,” Dean tells him, “and – hate to burst your bubble, angel – but I doubt Hawaiian shirt makers are paid what they deserve, regardless of where their factories are.” Cas hums in that same, sullen note he usually does when the beginning notes of Sarah McLachlan play and Dean can’t switch channels fast enough. He folds his clothes, setting them aside. Then, Dean sneaks his hand into his stack of clean boxers, finding the surprise he hid for his husband. “Hey,” Dean rises, “capitalism sucks, but we can’t let it ruin our trip.” Dean drops onto Cas’s lap, delighting in the tiny ‘oof’ that escapes from his husband. “Here,” he says, “I was saving this for later… but hell, we’re running out of time. I’d rather give it to you before the night ends than a day later.” Dean hands him an envelope, Cas’s name scrawled on the front. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

           “A card?” Cas asks, flipping the envelope back and forth, “Dean… you didn’t have to get me anything.”

           “’Course I did…” Dean presses a kiss to Cas’s temple, ruffling his hair. “It’s Valentine’s Day… probably the first Valentine’s Day I actually wanted to celebrate in a long time, because I’ve got someone I love and want to celebrate. And sure, it’s not like we didn’t do just that… in front of all our friends and families… and a few exes… and uninvited guests –“

           “The point, Dean?”

           “Sorry,” Dean lays his head atop Cas’s, watching him peel away the envelope’s glue. “We’ll have tons more holidays and anniversaries to celebrate in the future… I just didn’t want our first Valentine’s Day to be overshadowed by our wedding. You mean so much to me that I’m not gonna just lump the two together like you’re some kid who was unlucky enough to be born on Christmas. You deserve it all.” Cas flips the envelope, shaking its contents free. A pair of red panties floats onto his outstretched hand. “Not just some stinkin’ card.”

           Cas squeezes the panties. “Are you –?”

           “About to show you how friggin’ fantastic married sex is?” Dean wrangles the panties from Cas’s fist, waving it about like a flag. “You bet. Let me slip these on and…“ He starts towards the bathroom, Cas slowly chasing him.

           “You don’t have to,” his husband growls, “you can change here –“

           “Cas, I won’t be long –“

           “I don’t know if I can wait!”

           “You’ll have to!” Dean closes the door on Cas’s face, laughing as he hears his husband bang against the door in protest. He yells for Dean, but Dean ignores him. Dean brings his hand to his face, covering his mouth with both it and the panties he carries. They smell like cherries. He forgot to tell Cas they’re edible. Cas will figure that out later.

           He’ll also give Cas his real card later, as well. The one he wrote using all the words Dean was too afraid to say at the altar. Little details about the way Cas hogs all the blankets when he sleeps, and how his eyes crinkle when he smiles, and that Cas’s hugs chase away dark thoughts better than any drink might’ve. There were also bigger things he mentioned, in this card. About Cas and his unwavering faith in Dean, even at times where he didn’t deserve it. About the despair that bloomed whenever Cas left his side, a bouquet of horrid, wilted roses growing rampantly over his heart and piercing it with their thorns during those awful times it seemed their last goodbye truly was. About the love Cas inspired within Dean that changed his life, from the very beginning, from the touch of Cas’s hand on his shoulder. That simple act which broke him free from Chuck’s wheel again and again and again. Dean couldn’t say any of this in a crowded room. He doubts he can with only Cas. He already cried enough for one day. So, they’ll have sex instead. After they’ve burned through the remaining fumes that linger in their tanks, Dean will present the card, curl against Cas’s side with his head tucked underneath his husband’s chin, and listen while Cas reads how much he means to Cas.

           But that won’t be until later. Now, Dean shimmies out of his boxers. He pulls the panties on, flicking the bow twice once it’s settled. “Are you ready?” Dean croons, jiggling the knob, “because it’s time to ride ‘em, cowboy!”

           Cas pries the door loose, almost ripping it off its hinges as pull Dean forward into a searing kiss. Dean smiles into it, letting Cas take lead. Dean’s gift were the panties. Cas’s gift is putting in the work to get them off. Cas throws Dean onto the bed, his mouth attacking Dean’s neck. His hand trails down Dean’s side, tickling and teasing him.

           He couldn’t have written a better ending to his story. Or imagine a better beginning to his next.