#it could also be him trapped by his son finally having a tether to the night kingdom by blood

[quotidianish]

The problem of evil

[sunnysideprincess]

Last few days have been wild lol, had a cystectomy, finally met my cousin's husband and now people are asking me to get married and have a baby before "it's too late", so I wrote this instead of punching them

no actual cheating happens here

Steve Rogers is a respectable married man. But he's called in by Virginia Potts, told Tiberus Stone's husband needs a bodyguard and it's fine, he's fine. He can take the heat of a family known to sell weapons to death and destruction. Except the husband is Tony fucking Stark, a man who is so obviously trapped. A trophy for Tiberus like his mother was to his father. And while Stone gets to sleep around, Tony's kept on a chokehold by his own father, uncle and husband. He's a writhing chrysalis trying to evolve, trying to break free. And Steve is helplessly in love with those furious doe eyes looking at him with all the rage as he stops him from trying to sneak away. Again and again. But he is also in love with his husband for seven years. So there's nothing to be found here.

"It's for your own safety," he tries to tell Tony. But the man won't listen. He throws a punch, two. Accuses him for being his husband's spy. Steve assures him he's not. He tells him Miss Potts picked him. And that pulls Tony up short. Leeches the anger out and leaves sharp confusion instead.

"Pepper sent you?" And Steve is a respectable married man. But if those eyes don't stop looking at him with all the curious wonder of a predator, he doesn't know what would happen. All he knows is that he'll end up long buried.

There's a change. Where Tony's rage and struggle pulled Steve in like a depraved blackhole, his gentleness and wit tethers something inside Steve. Keeps him coming back. Tony is a genius. But he's not a psychopath like Stone, not a greedy bastard like Stane, not a businessman like his father. He has hopes and dreams that could save the world. He sees a future that's bright and green. And Steve is a respectable married man headed for ruin.

Steve tells Bucky he would be late. He tells him he's got priorities and his husband says nothing, just nods and kisses his cheek.

He should have known.

He finds Bucky beside James Rhodes, doned up in his Soldier regalia.

"I'm assigning Barnes to Tony's guard."

"We have Rogers."

"Well we've also got Ten Rings coming after him."

There's that. Even Howard Stark doesn't want his son dead. And though there's an ugly scowl on Stane's face he doesn't like, Steve is more worried about deciphering Bucky's blank stare and the gentle flex of his metal limb.

Things go differently this time around. Tony meets Bucky not with fury, but a gentle curiousity. Like he's trying to peek through the icy winds of a storm. He picks and prods at him like a cat sniffing a new scratch post. Asks about the arm. About the metal. About the joints. And the connectors. But never about how he lost the weighted piece of flesh in the first place.

Steve is torn between pulling them apart and asking Bucky to say something.

But Bucky has his back to him. And Tony's eyes are sharp as ever.

"You're lucky my Rhodeybear warned me about you. Or you would gotten the same treatment as him."

Steve can put it on paper. He won't even have to look to know Bucky's interest at that. He always loves it when someone shoves at Steve's immovable strength.

"I punched him. Twice," Tony explains, and like an automated machine Steve defends himself.

"It didn't hurt."

Bucky snorts, shakes his head and throws him a look which tucks the message home. We'll talk later.

"You came back all bruised like a peach."

"Oh," Tony breathes and then blushes. "Well, that's an image."

"I want him," he mourns to Bucky on the sparring mat. Once Bucky has beaten him senseless, gotten the rage of betrayal out of his system. Once Steve learns that he is a respectable married man. But he can learn to be not. "I want him for both of us."

It takes time. Bucky is wary. Skittish around this other guy.

There is Stane and his obvious displeasure. There is Ten Rings and their looming threat. There is Tony himself, pulling away, haunted by a sad, guilty shadow.

"I'm married. And so are you." There is that and more under. There is Stone and his pride. Bruises marking Tony's skin. There is rage boiling up inside Steve, checked by a cold press of Bucky's hand over his neck.

There is too much. And too little.

But when Bucky falls, Steve isn't there. He is trapped behind the rubble after someone blew up the building. He is trapped and worried about the old lady with him, calling for her son and her daughter, bleeding from her torso.

He isn't there. Yet when he gets home, Bucky is there with his fury and rage, his eyes dark and lips warm as he lunges at Steve.

"He's a fucking idiot," he snarls and Steve grins. "He's gonna get himself killed!"

After, Bucky tells him the story.

"He just fucking jumped in after the kid. Wearing a goddamn tom ford suit like it's armor. Ten Rings wanted him alive so of course they stopped shooting. Only saving grace is that I was there. Picked them off one by one."

"And now?"

"Fuck you, Rogers."

"You already did."

"Shut up. We gotta genius to save."

Now, Steve and Bucky are both respectable married men. But they are also known to be a little bit rotten on the inside.

[calissarowan]

Thoughts on Fairy Ogron?

Ooh…now, and feel free to correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m going to go ahead and guess that this question was brought on by @1v31182m5’s incredible art and au, right? I keep meaning to reblog that; it’s just the coolest thing ever! In fact, I did while writing this.

So…if we’re talking about that au? I love it. Especially her art to demonstrate it. I saw it in the Discord server, asked, ‘Is there context?’ and almost shrieked with joy when she said yes, it’s an au. I love a good au. The idea of Ogron being made into a fairy is amazing, and I gotta say, slightly disturbing in a way, because I suppose it would be changing his very magical essence without his choice, which just makes it hit all the harder! I love angst, don’t judge me. If he’s a fairy, then I suppose he’d in all likelihood have to start using light magic, as dark magic is seldom compatible with fairies, at least according to the show, but this is an au, so I’m happy to be corrected! I’m quite sure he’d struggle with that, plus, he’d be in serious distress, and so positive emotions might not even be attainable. Which would basically render him powerless, other than his wings, which, having been talking in the Discord server, he would apparently not want to use, at least to start with, which I’m totally on board with. A guy that devoted his life to taking out every Earth fairy, suddenly using their method of transportation? Yeah, no, least of all with a guy as stubborn as Ogron. I love him, but we all know he’d sooner walk across the Sun than be wrong or do something he didn’t want to. But I adore this au, am actively praying that Mary posts more about it because I need this in my life. (Seriously praying.)

Moving on, because you got me going and I will ramble until the cows have come home so many times that now it’s their kids coming and going, if we’re just talking about Ogron just…being born a fairy, I guess? That would be crazy complicated, because then he’d be hunting his own people. I’ve seen a fair few fics where that’s more or less the case, at least two where he’s actually Morgana’s son, which I liked, but it felt complex. But Morgana’s kids never make sense. But I can see him being born a fairy, and I think Ogron’s emotional state has perhaps always lent itself more towards dark magic, which a fairy would never perform, so maybe he would have wanted to become a wizard, which nobody was okay with, so he had to stay a fairy, with magic that he knew didn’t suit him, and, getting into it now and just rambling like it’s a backstory, he grew to hate his wings, because they were keeping him tethered to the light magic he struggled so hard to wield, and as he felt more and more alienated, the more negative his emotions became, so his choice was either to use dark magic and use his emotions, or to watch his magic dry to a trickle and die out. So, since nobody would let him change, he figured out a way to remove his wings himself, and became a wizard the hard way. The White Circles channelled fairy powers, so it’d make sense they could take someone’s wings and let them change their magic, so he asked Morgana to do it, but when she refused, feeling trapped, he took a White Circle and did it himself. His dark magic was so wild and untrained that the spell twisted the Circle, corrupting it, but it worked, and he managed to strip himself of his wings. Of course, Tir Na N’og would have been very, very angry about what he’d done, so he probably had to go into hiding, but with years of repressed negative emotions finally able to surge to the surface, he was damn hard to stop. Eventually, he started being able to steal the wings of others, seeing it as just after they decided what magic he could or couldn’t use. He was sick of living his life in fear of them, of making choices based on what they told him, so the fairy hunt came about. Also, in this idea, I think he’d have two long scars down his back, because he really did just tear his wings out with that spell, it wasn’t perfected, and he always keeps them covered up, because he hates being reminded of what he was. Please note that this is not my new backstory for Ogron, but I do like it, a lot, and I might use it in a fic where Yllidith really doesn’t fit in.

And finally, getting a mention is if Ogron became a fairy by his own free will. Not a lot in my head here, but I’m covering all the bases. Au, angsty past, and this. Ogron might at some point reform, and as his emotions became more and more positive, dark magic might become harder, or perhaps even feel like a trigger for past trauma, so he’d choose to avoid it, and maybe at some point, it just feels hard using his wizard magic, so he decides to become a fairy. I think people would think it was strange, and the Earth fairies would have mixed feelings, because why should he be allowed to bear wings, after what he did to them, but also, if he’s got wings, he’s not coming after theirs, right, so it’s probably fine… I think he’d be pretty nervous about having wings, since he knows how vulnerable they are, and at some point, for karmic reasons, I’m pretty sure he gets a broken wing, just so he knows how it feels. I’m sorry, I’m being mean, but the angst is just too good to pass up. He’ll be fine, don’t worry!

Thank you for the awesome ask! I honestly got a bit nervous about coming up with stuff to say, but rambling saved me again! I’m actually so in love with the fairy Ogron backstory I just made up…I may have to use that somewhere. As always, feel free to send in asks; I love them! And, since my little backstory spoke to me so much…here!

Have a picture of fairy Ogron! I love his wings so much…I originally thought purple and grey, but something about the sort of sunrise colours actually works so well. Not that he wouldn’t change their colour if he got the chance. He would. He tried. The best he can do is dress as goth as possible. I figure his fairy powers would be much the same as his wizard abilities, i.e. absorbing magic, but he can’t easily summon his powers using light magic, so it’s weak.

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

whimsicallyenchantedrose

Season 2 Rewatch Drabbles--2x21-2x22 Second Star to the Right ... And Straight on Til Morning

Summary:  A series of 100-500 word drabbles to accompany my    rewatch of season 2 of Once Upon a Time as an attempt to finally jump    start the muse again.  There will be a drabble–either a deleted scene, a    “fix it” fic or a character musing for each episode of the season.  Focus will be on Emma, Henry, the Charmings and Killian–with an emphasis on the very beginnings of Captain Swan’s epic love story, as soon as a certain dashing pirate makes his appearance.  

Word Count: 766 (why did I think I could stick to a word count again?)

@jrob64​  @anmylica​   @booksteaandtoomuchtv

Other Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (17.5) (18) (19) (20) (22)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hook stood at the wheel of the Jolly Roger looking out at the horizon as he sailed determinedly out of Storybrooke.

They’d all gone mad.  All of them, even Swan.  What manner of fools these heroes were.  Willing to risk all of their lives–the lives of everyone in the town–for the miniscule chance of saving the Evil Queen, of all people.

The Evil Queen whom they should rightly want to see dead for her part in trapping her in this strange little town in the first place.

He’d returned to town with Greg and Tamara, seduced by their vow to help him kill his Crocodile once and for all, but it had been the work of mere moments to realize the pair were blithering idiots, mindless zealots for a cause they didn’t understand at the behest of a master they didn’t even know.

When they’d revealed the full extent of their plan to him–destroying the town and everyone not born in this land, he’d realized he’d been an utter fool to throw in his lot with them.  Aye, their plan would kill the Dark One, but it would also kill everyone else in this town, including him.

Including Swan.  How she’d so thoroughly gotten under his skin, even after she’d betrayed him–twice: once on the beanstalk and then again when she locked him in a broom closet in New York–he didn’t know.  All he knew for sure was that she’d been right.

The two of them understood each other.  There was some manner of tether connecting her to him, one that he hardly had time to ponder with the end of the word staring him in the face.

For a split second he’d actually considered staying the course, letting the failsafe do its job and ridding the world of the Dark One forever.

But then he’d remembered the conversation he’d had with Regina in the mines. Do you ever think this constant pursuit of revenge is the reason we have no one to care for us?

He’d spent centuries hunting his Crocodile, willing to do all manner of dastardly deeds in the furtherance of that goal, but this … this was a step too far.  Hook had never minded committing villainous acts to those who deserved it, those who got in his way, but Greg and Tamara proposed massacring an entire town of innocents.

It was the height of bad form.

And so he’d turned to the heroes, and for a moment he’d thought they’d found a solution to their problems–until Queen Snow had convinced the rest to go along with her hare-brained scheme of tossing the failsafe into a portal.

He’d taken his leave then, ready to wash his hand of the entire town–heroes, villains, all of them.  The only one he could depend on was himself.

As he continued to sail, he looked down at the sparkly magic bean in his hand, and his eye caught the letters he’d carved into the helm on that day so many years ago.

Bae.

He’d let the boy down, serving him up to Pan on a silver platter, as it were.  Of all of his deeds, that was perhaps the one of which he was the most ashamed.  He’d chosen himself over the boy, over his Milah’s son.

And now he was doing the same to Bae’s lad.

Hook closed his eyes as the pain washed over him.  He didn’t want to be that man any more.  He’d made the selfish choice centuries ago, but he needn’t repeat that error.  He blew out a long breath and then pocketed the bean, slowly turning the wheel to head back into port.

This plan was still reckless.  It was still stupid. 

But it was the right thing to do.  He might well perish in a matter of hours, but at least he would die doing the right thing.

He would die a hero.

Notes:  Sorry for the delay!  I got caught up writing birthday fics, and this rewatch drabbles series fell a bit to the wayside.

–As you can see from the title, this particular chapter kind of encompasses both 2x21 and 2x22.  The truth is, there wasn’t much in 2x21 that inspired me, aside from themes I’ve already explored earlier in the series.  In contrast, I really, really wanted to explore things from both Hook’s and Emma’s perspectives in the events of 2x22, so I decided this was the best option.  Combining 2x21 and 2x22 and writing a chapter from each character.  Emma’s reflection should be up (assuming the muse cooperates) tomorrow, and then it’s on to Neverland!

NEXT CHAPTER-->

[trashlie]

ASHLIE OMFG HAVE YOU READ EP 222? IM ONLY ON THE BEGINNING OF IT AND IM ALREADY FREAKING OUT AT THE NEWS ARTICLES. HOLY CRAP WE FINALLY HAVE SOME BACKSTORY

>> FP 222 SPOILERS TO FOLLOW <<

I'm mobile and can't insert a line break so SKIP THIS REPLY IF YOU DON'T WANT SPOILERS

LISTEEEEEEENNNNNNNN it took me an hour last night to really get through everything and get my head around it! I haven't even begun a thoughts post yet because there was SO MUCH to parse through and it's NUTS!!!!! Something that really struck me is how much bigger this expose is than any of us really imagined! All this time I've thought of the Yui/Hirahara angle without realizing JUST how involved the Kim family is!

Recently I've been thinking a LOT about the Gun Kim is Kousuke's Biological Father theory - supposing it's true, why would Yui have a baby fathered by Gun if she married Rand? I don't mean this in a gasp why infidel way, I mean it because I assumed Rand married into the family to play a bigger role in the company, so why Gun Kim of all people? The fact that Sangchul's name matches the naming convention of Youngchul Kim, the former chairman?! Grandpappy?! Now everything makes more sense: the Kims and Hiraharas becoming partners, how Gun could possibly be Kousuke's father, the chummy history between the Kims and Hiraharas. 🤯🤯

Finally learning more about how Rand got involved with this family at all?! I truly thought he married into the family first and THEN got involved but finding out it was the other way around is NUTS. Also that he sold his company to the Hiraharas and then started working for them and made it from CFO to CEO? YOOOOOOOOOO. It also makes me wonder a little more about his relationship with Yui. It's always felt like he's "trapped"- she has made a pointed threat before about how he wouldn't want to lose everything he worked so hard for. If his involvement to the company is not tethered by his marriage, then what is holding him back? Does Yui have dirt on him about his past? Is it really simply that he doesn't want to lose everything? Was there a prenup? Lol so many thoughts.

Also re: Rand taking over Youngchul's position, it really runs in the family, huh? The Kims are well and truly VILE men hyurk take em down!

The woman and son living illegally in the country in an apartment that she paid double the rent for, always on time 😭 That's Nessa and Nol, there's NO way it's not. Absolutely DEVASTATING. It definitely reads like she was drugged and someone arranged it to look like a suicide. Like, don't get me wrong, I know parents absolutely can choose to take their lives, but someone who uprooted herself and her son to move somewhere so they can be near the father? Unproblematic people who kept to themselves? It just doesn't feel like a choice she'd make, to abandon her son somewhere like that. And we already have a common thread of people being drugged and harm coming to them.

I think this flashback from 64+65 is Nol arriving home and finding out what happened. It's heavily paralleled to what happened with Shinae and the accusations that this is all his fault, that she's hurt because of you. There's no way this memory would come up like that if they weren't "similar" scenarios, one reminding of the other. I say "similar" because it's always seemed like whatever happened to Nessa, Nol seems to have internalized as his fault, right? Absolutely dreadful, so heartbreaking. And if he absolutely and truly believes it's his fault, no wonder he thinks he deserves nothing good, thar be must punish himself for life 😭

GOD. So heavy, SO much is in those articles. I feel both excited and... scared? for Yujing's expose. It's clearly more than just Yui, a whole deep dive into the dark and sinister natures of the Kims and Hiraharas, and the many people who have been hurt and/or blamed for the things they do. Yujing's entire angle is about reporting the REAL truth and not letting the media twist things, and we know the Kims and Hiraharas are influential and rich enough to evade punishment for their heinous deeds, and it seems that's Yujing's whole thing - to take them down.

I think that's why, when Yujing found out Nol pleaded guilty, she wondered if she was giving him too much credit. He definitely seems to have pleaded guilty because he's tired of fighting and I would likely be worse if he pled innocent and was still found guilty (through foul-play of course). But Yujing can see how it works to her and the case's advantage: another innocent person who has been hurt while the Kims and Hiraharas get away again with their nefarious activities.

GODDDDDDD. Please do come back after you finish reading! Feel free to send me a message if you want! This episode was SO MUCH. On patreon quimchee said it was mostly visuals so it might feel short buy it feels SO loaded aaaaaaaaah!!!!!!!!!

[patheticlittleguy]

ok I have a moment from PB's recovery in my head and it goes like this. (edit: this is more than "a moment" whoops. anyways every time I write PB (aka Sammy according to momma Louise) they get more talkative lmao. maybe I should write some REAL whump, not just recovery fluff, and get that sorted.)

Louise is sitting in the urgent care waiting room with her youngest child. He's sixteen, nearly old enough to drive, but she will not let go of his hand. She knows the Mama Bear act annoys him, but they both know why she does it. They're just waiting to be seen for a bad case of strep. She squeezes his hand, and he squeezes back.

It's a busy night. The sounds of people coughing make Louise want to throw things, but she sits, and waits for their names to be called. For a nurse to poke her head out of the door leading deeper into the building. From the other side of that door, there's a commotion that they can hear even from the waiting room. Shouting. It sounds like a young man. Hoarse, like someone who doesn't raise their voice much.

The idle chatter dies down. The yelling continues. they can't make out the words. They're too fast and panicked. People glance at each other, the floor, the posters on the walls. Only a few stare at the door. Louise is one of them. She grips her son's hand tighter.

There's a long, wordless scream. And then silence. Louise's boy looks to her. He mutters, "what the hell was that?" And Louise doesn't even notice that he swore. She stands as if in a dream.

The woman at the window smiles tightly at her, and says, "I'm sorry about the disturbance. Everything is under control." By Louise's side, her son follows her as she walks up to the window.

Louise shakes her head. "No, it's... This is stupid." She meets the woman's gaze. "I haven't seen my son in eight years, and I swear to God above that was his voice."

The woman at the window pauses, and says, "I will let the doctors know that. Thank you." She pauses, glancing around at the papers in front of her, the computer screen reflecting in her glasses. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"No. Sorry." Louise sighs, heavy and tired. Her youngest puts a hand on her arm, the one gripping his hand like a bear trap. They go sit back down.

--

When they're finally called back to see a doctor, Louise goes through all of the motions while trying not to think about her Sammy. It was a skill she had learned in the months after Samuel was taken away by the doctors. He had some mutation, they said. It would make him dangerous, they said. She hadn't believed them, but she found half of anything she saw superhumans doing hard to believe. And then he was just... Gone. And she sent her oldest off to college, and her youngest to high school, and now here she was explaining Cooper's symptoms to the doctor.

The doctor told them it was just strep, and gave them a round of antibiotics. Louise thanked her. Then, the doctor paused. "We also have a patient that you said you suspected was your son?"

Louise nodded. "Yeah. We heard screaming while we were in the waiting room."

"Would you mind giving him a visit while you're here? Just to confirm his identity, of course."

Louise nodded again. She stood, and let the doctor lead her through the building to a completely different ward. She floated through the halls. The only thing keeping her tethered was Cooper's hand in hers.

The room they were led to was different. The door was heavy. The machines were silent. There was a young man hunched over on a gurney, his wrists and ankles secured to bars like he should've been laying down. He stared at the doctor through a curtain of long, dirty blonde hair.

"I'm not a dog," he said, and Louise could have torn a door off its hinges. She could have fought every damn doctor in the county. She could have cried, or laughed, because God above, that was her baby. Older and meaner, but him nonetheless. But she stood still. She didn't say anything. There weren't words.

The doctor said, "now, I know you said you can't remember much-"

Sammy threw himself forward, straining against the restraints. "I'm not a god-fucking-damned dog!"

Louise stepped forward. She put a hand on Sammy's arm, just above the medical restraints. "I know, baby. I know you're not a dog. You're my son."

Sammy went still. He looked up at her with those big eyes she'd missed for eight years. His mouth made the shapes of words, but none of the sounds. Finally, he muttered, "no fair."

Louise was sent back to family game night. Sammy always was a sore loser. Her voice went wet and shaky as she said, "what's no fair, baby?"

Sammy growled, low and deep. Like an animal. He flopped back onto his back, kicking his legs as much as the restraints allowed. "I wanna go for a walk but I'm not allowed to. S'not fair."

"You also have a nasty infection in your foot," the doctor chimed in. "And we can't let you run away until that clears up." Only then did Louise notice the heavy bandages around Sammy's foot.

"What happened to you, man?" Cooper asked.

Sammy shut his eyes tight, frowning as his brow furrowed deeply. "Uh, I ran away. Stepped on something." He opened his eyes. "Made great friends with this brick wall. Got chopped up into little bits and put back together again. And, uh... Got really high. Not in that order."

Cooper laughed, but there was a confused look on his face. "Did you have fun in mutant prison?"

Sammy shrugged. "Oh, you know, I spend every waking second trying desperately not to think about it." There was a flatness to his voice that made Louise want to wrap him up in a blanket.

"Well, we're bringing you home, Sammy. As soon as you're better." Louise looked the doctor dead in the eye, and waited for her to argue.

The doctor smiled thinly. "We are waiting for some lab results, and if they come back negative for any dangerous mutations, then it's up to the patient who he wants to stay with."

Cooper joked, "you say that like there's somebody else wanting to take him in."

"And we come full circle!" Sammy slapped his hands against the metal bars they were strapped to, like a drumroll. Or applause. "I'm not a dog. I'm not up for adoption."

Louise frowned, taken aback. Eight long years of missing her baby, and he didn't want to come back home to her? "I don't understand," she said, tears slipping down her cheek. Her mouth could barely form the words.

Sammy looked at her again. She had one hand on his arm, and the other held Cooper's hand. Sammy wasn't just older and meaner. His eyes had bags under them, and his teeth were long and sharp. He'd said they took him apart and put him back together. He said, "I know you're probably right. You're my momma and I should let you take me to your house and live there. But I can't really remember you. And I've already got a place to stay."

Louise struggled to control her breathing. She nodded as she cried, and once it was out of her, she said, "Did the doctors arrange something for you already?"

"No. I met someone. Her name's Jaime and she treats me well." Sammy pulled himself back up to a more upright position. "She said she'd come back first thing tomorrow."

Cooper joked, "you have a girlfriend?"

"No, what?" Sammy frowned. "She's an adult. A real adult, with a car and a job and a house. I'm not..."

"Not what?" Louise wanted to know what Sammy was going to say. But he clammed up, and so she went on, "Sammy, listen, we'll talk to this Jaime person in the morning and ask her if you can stay with us, okay?"

Sammy nodded slowly, glaring at Louise. It was not the response she was hoping for, but she would accept it. She would talk to the doctors to give them Samuel's birth name, and records, and make sure they knew what would happen if she came back in the morning and was told she couldn't see him. She would meet this Jaime woman. She would figure this out. She would bring her son home. God above, Louise was bringing her son home.

[nero-vanderwolf]

Izanami was no stranger to blood. 

It followed her wherever she went, staining her palms, the bottoms of her feet, the very ground she walked on. 

Tohru Adachi was no exception. He stained the world around him a bright shade of red, as crimson as freshly split blood. 

He tore into her flesh, ripped it from its bones and spilt the blood in her body until it pooled around them both. 

And then he kissed it better, scarlet palms holding her gently in silent apology. 

Izanami was in love, and she swore to never let him go. To always stay with him. 

She had sunken her claws deep, afraid to let go. Afraid to release. 

She, Queen of the Dead, Goddess of Creation and Destruction, Mother of Shadows, was afraid. Terrified. 

She did not want to lose another. Never again would she lose another to her own follies. Son or lover, she would anchor them to her and keep them safe from harm for evermore. 

They lay upon bone-white sheets, now stained red with godly blood that would return to her body soon enough. Surrounded by gore that could only be achieved with the rip and shred of a dog's teeth. 

He gazed up at her with an expression devoid of any true intent. He was simply gazing at her. 

What a beautiful creation. Loyal as a hound, content to merely be in her presence. He did not have to be friend or lackey or detective with her. He could be her mutt, loyal and loving and willing to do whatever to make her happy. 

Not that it took much. 

She had called him perfect once. Between kisses and gentle touches, with his hand holding her hair back and her hand holding him close. She had called him hers, swore to never leave him. 

Perhaps now he wished for her to be gone, to disappear into the fog as she had when her name was simply ‘Nami’. 

Perhaps now he grew tired of the claws beneath his skin, tethering him to her. So she pulled them out, cut the tether between them. 

And she hoped it was what he wanted. 

Tohru Adachi was no stranger to many things. 

Hunger, Emptiness. 

But this feeling, of being adrift and lost, was new. And he hated it. 

There had been a warm weight in his chest that had simply made itself at home one day. It had brought him comfort, a feeling of safety. 

But now, it was missing. As though someone hugging him had jerked their arms away. 

He became restless in its absence, pacing often and getting into trouble with Dojima. He felt like a caged dog, trapped for so long he resorted to snapping at anyone who dared approach him. 

There was only one person he would permit to approach him in this cage, but she had made herself scarse. Which was fine, he was fine with that. 

And if his dreams at night were filled with her, her touches and her words and her smile, no one had to know. 

Of course, of course. 

He was a detective, of course. Of course he would know where to find her. 

...Or, perhaps, he just knew her well. 

Of course. Of course. Of course she would be here, slipping back into her old habits and trying to avoid him. 

He refused to let her forget her promise. 

She was back, holding him close. The weight in his chest was back, and the arms around him were warm. 

She was back. She would continue to uphold her vow- to never leave him. To always remain with him as long as she could. 

That was all he could ever ask for. 

OH MY GOD IZADACHI IS BACK LETS GO AHAHAGAHAAGHHHHHH!!!! i love izanami clinging to adachi and being scared of him leaving like everyone else did. her son and her lover. her being scared of adachi dying because hes a mortal.... mmmmmm i love immortal x mortal angst.... also adachi getting someone he loves. him longing for her which he never really felt before. he got a taste and is hungry for her whenever shes not there... he finally got someone he could truly be himself around because he could eat her and tear her apart like a starving animal and she would be fine. also love the line "he gazed up at her with an expression devoid of any true intent. he was simply admiring her." idk it made me feel something. the way that was written felt so real and just. a perfectly fitting description.

[thewickedkat]

did they do what they did out of love? yes.

did they do what they did out of monumental, towering arrogance? also yes.

Patia loves knowledge. she is the Keeper, She Who Holds the Keys. and when her friend comes to her, pleading, she knows of a possibility. old magic, yes, something scorned in their modern glittering Age, but--

wouldn't it be amazing if she could accomplish this? someone with no tether to the divine, but only a deep and abiding yearning for knowledge?

(and what is yearning but formless love)

and when that same friend begs, later, to forget, she obliges him. someone must keep the secrets, after all.

even later, when there is visible danger, a clear and present threat, Patia does not move to arrest it or stop it. she reaches out to the Tree. because someone must know, and she is the most qualified.

Cerrit loves the City. it represents all that is possible with learning and seeking and education. Cerrit loves truth, the act of divining for it, plucking at one string and seeing how far the vibrations travel. power needs to be checked, certainly, and he does his best to be a good custodian. to see with eyes unclouded.

but Cerrit loves his family more. he tells his son to gather his sister, to remember what was planned. Cerrit has seen truth, and had already planned accordingly.

Loquatius loves Laerryn. so much that he hides the truth Cerrit seeks from the public, hides it from Zerxus. he hides it from Laerryn herself, in recording the crystal in which he paints her as the lone voice of reason in the dark. he hides it from Zerxus, who arguably had a right to know what happened to Evandrin.

he does this so they do not see Laerryn as a monster in spite of her motives. so the public does not turn on her and pillory her in the street. in the end, all they have are the stories they leave behind, and Loquatius is keenly aware of this.

Nydas loves magic, maybe even more than Patia or Laerryn. magic is possibility made manifest, something that even the most common street urchin can use to rise above a life of poverty and ignorance and an existence on the margins. he is the very definition of bootstrapping oneself upward, and it was magic that enabled his current lifestyle and all the amenities he enjoys. why shouldn't others have access to this? why shouldn't they all be able to gaze into the raw bloodstream of aether with wonder? it is beautiful!

Laerryn loves her work, what it allows her to do: to see and shape, to make the formlessness of the universe bend to her will. she is the Architect, the Builder. it is so satisfying to see disparate components and sweat and toil and hours of sleeplessness finally come to cohesion and say i did that, look upon the wonders i have wrought. i did this for us.

she does not understand why some of her friends--surely those who would appreciate it--do not wholly share her enthusiasm. why are they not aflame with curiosity and possibility in looking further? why are they saying 'caution?' the knowledge is right there, the building blocks of the Universe itself, waiting to be picked up!

Zerxus loves Evandrin. despite hating Avalir and all its indolent trappings and decadent way of life, he also loves it because Evandrin loved it. Zerxus loves the notion of being free and unfettered, beholden to no god, and finding power in that freedom. he aids those who need it out of that same love and compassion, and when the Devil comes calling wearing his husband's beautiful face, of course he gives succour. how could he not? he knows it isn't his husband, he knows it is a Lie, but--

wouldn't it be amazing if he could make the Devil feel love, if only for a moment? surely that is good. surely he, Zerxus, could make the Father of Lies himself feel the goodness of a mortal for one brief second.

hubris is the end point. it is where 'i can fix this' is uttered repeatedly, futilely.

love is the road that gets them all there.

[milfcodeddean]

Memento Moratus Sum

Emma Haunts the Necklace- The Fic <3

Starts more post/concepty and becomes a fic bc I did not plan on this it was stream of consciousness!  I have not seen all of the later seasons and it was hard to keep track of what plot points to mention even of all the seasons I have seen!

AO3

Emma dies and Dean keeps her necklace to have something to remember her by, partly out of grief for what could have been partly as an act of emotional self flagellation. He wears it under his shirt, a secret, just like any thoughts he has about his dead daughter. 

Emma is a ghost because she didn’t do enough to be a monster and earn her place in purgatory but she isn’t human enough for heaven and she’s anchored to the necklace.

She follows Dean around silently, quickly learning enough about ghosts to know if she reveals herself too soon or ever really then Dean is going to burn the necklace.

During season seven Dean is haunted by two ghosts, Bobby, who is actively reaching out for him, and Emma, who is a silent observer. I think Emma hides from Bobby, he’s a hunter and she doesn’t want him to tell Dean about her, OR Bobby sees her before she knows ghosts can see other ghosts and they talk and he pities her but agrees to not let Dean know

Dean is wearing the necklace when he goes to purgatory. Emma is still a ghost here but it’s different, and she’s been watching this man for months now, he’s her world now. She keeps some of the monsters away, she makes him wake up when there are threats at night, she watches him befriend a monster and burns with pain at the knowledge that maybe she could have had that. Maybe she didn’t need to kill him, maybe he would have loved her not just as a dead hypothetical but as her.

Dean comes out of purgatory with an extra extra passenger. She watches with a sense of smugness as he rages at Sam, she pretends he’s also mad over her. She doesn’t like Sam’s attitude towards Benny either. She gets to see her great grandfather and she sees him die. She talks to his ghost, he calls her granddaughter (forgetting the great) even after learning she’s an amazon, before he gets reaped.

There’s an empty room in the bunker she pretends is hers. She moves objects in there, never quite decorating, but practicing telekinesis where Dean won’t see it and making up a fantasy of a life she could have had. She still never minds being tethered to Dean, especially now as he doesn’t sleep around and spends less time in bars where she’s left uncomfortably watching. She likes going to the grocery store, she likes watching him cook, maybe a few times she’s kept a pot from boiling over or a bag from falling. She’s learning to live from watching Dean, he doesn’t know it, but he’s teaching her life skills. She doesn’t know the names for the dishes he teaches her to make or the parts of cars or guns but she etches the motions he makes into her mind. She likes Charlie, she wishes she could meet her, and she likes larping. She imagines herself as an Amazon warrior of antiquity, armored in bronze.

She tried to wake Dean and Charlie out of their djinn dream but nothing worked, she tried to fight the djinn to no avail either. When Dean and Charlie hugged she wished she could be in their embrace too.

She’s glad it’s Bobby’s ghost they use for the trial, she’s so glad she never revealed herself.

Sam is slowly growing on her, she doesn’t love him but he means enough to Dean that she would try to stop him from dying.

She knows about Gadreel. She hides harder now, afraid too of the new angel in the bunker. Castiel she likes, Castiel she watched in purgatory and she watched beat her father bloody in the crypt and she understood brain washing and the control of authorities. She almost reveals herself and her knowledge of Gadreel when Dean kicks Cas out of the bunker, but her hesitation lasts too long.

She’s tethered to Dean so she isn’t there when Kevin dies. Kevin had been another one she enjoyed observing, she envied him his mother in so many ways, Linda had been everything Lydia hadn’t been. When Kevin dies he’s haunting the bunker too. It’s almost like having a friend. He pities her, but she’ll take anything, he’s sort of her age in some ways and she teaches him how to be a ghost.

Crowley almost gives her away. He knows she’s there, but he saves her presence as a bargaining chip against Dean, a surprise tidbit to bring up later.

The father of murder can see her too. Cain keeps his eyes on her father most of the time, but the spark in his eyes and smirk when he sees her and her bloody pink shirt cut straight through her.

Her father dies. She wants to run to him, to fling her arms around him and greet him with her bloody lips and stained shirt and tell him she forgives him and she loves him and she’s sorry he’s dead but can she at least spend some of eternity with him and she wants to teach him to be a ghost and she wants to tell him so many things she’s noticed. But Crowley does something that locks her voice and powers and keeps her from the room.

Demon dean leaves the bunker with Emma’s necklace ripped off and dropped beside a bedstead.

Sam picks up the necklace. Emma hates him touching it but it’s all she can hope that he doesn’t destroy it. She doesn’t know if he recognizes it, but he doesn’t throw it away, and brings it out to show Castiel as evidence for Dean’s absence. Castiel names it as Amazon gold, recognizes it as Dean’s, but does not know it’s origin. Emma has to hear her story from her murderer’s lips. She almost shows herself, but she’s afraid Sam will cast the necklace into a fire. If they could do that to Bobby, they’ll do it to her. But she doesn’t feel like a vengeful uncontrolled spirit, perhaps it’s the Amazon magic, but she feels calmer than she ever was during her days of life.

Her necklace stays in the bunker, she watches demon Dean from a distance at first, she tries to comfort him strapped to the chair but he calls her a hallucination and lets something between a sob and a laugh out before turning away. She tries, she wipes his brow, she begs him to become human again or to die, she tries to keep the devil’s trap intact. Still she is called a hallucination. It’s almost nice to be important enough that he’d hallucinate her.

When Dean, normal human dean, is back, he fixes the necklace with pliers and holds it staring at it in his hands. He’s alone in his room. Emma gently puts her hands over his where they are clasped around her anchor to him. She doesn’t know if he can feel her. Her name comes from his mouth in a breathy whisper, wet and rough, a word unused to being spoken. He bends over himself, weeping with the necklace pressed to his mouth. Emma weeps as well. He would not weep if he did not love her, but he is a hunter and she has to chose between this silent spectatorship where she can pretend she is living in rooms beside him, or the knowledge that if he knew she was haunting him, he would burn the necklace to send her on.

She doesn’t know if there’s another afterlife for failed amazons, and from what she understands of Heaven, hers would be something pathetic like the day she met Dean before she died, or an eternity as a ghost watching him weep.

She hates watching Dean with Amara those few days. She hates the burning wretched envy risking corrupting her as he holds a baby girl that isn’t her. She hates that Amara loves Dean. And she hates even more that Amara brings back Mary instead of her.

She never realized that she wanted to be brought back and resurrected so badly and that it was even an option until she watches Dean reunite with Mary.

Dean mentions her to Mary- almost - he says he had a kid, and the cut off gesture to the necklace means her. Emma stopped minding that Dean never spoke about her. She didn’t want him to talk about her with Sam, and she quickly realized he didn’t talk about his grief with anyone. But he did wear her necklace, and sometimes he took it out from under his shirt and rubbed his thumb over the metal and she would pretend it was his thumb stroking the back of her hand. Dean didn’t talk about her and she didn’t need him to. But now he had, and with his mother. And he implied he had thought about what he would want for her, that he wouldn’t want his life of violence and moving for her.

Emma likes Mary as a warrior woman, but can’t help but understand Dean’s pain when she leaves. She understands being the surprise child older than a parent wants too much.

She tried to help Dean as she always has, but the British Men of Letters terrify her. She knows they would either keep her to study or destroy her and she can’t trust anyone to keep her secret from their spying.

Later it seems the world collapses again. Cas dies. Angels don’t have ghosts, she can never meet him. And Kelly has eyes only for her son until she is reaped. Emma wishes she could comfort Dean or that she could truly leave him to his grief. She turns away as he ties Castiel’s body with yellow curtains. She stands beside him watching the pyre.

She doesn’t understand Dean’s attitude towards Jack. She’s watched jealously how Dean interacts with Krissy, with Claire, with the orphan boys at the home, and she has her fantasy of how Dean would have treated her had she lived. The jealous part of her doesn’t want Dean to like Jack, but most of her wants Dean to go back to acting like how she expected him to, she wants the man she could pretend was being her father. And she watches Jack enough to be afraid of their similarities. To see herself in him. And if Dean hates him, would he have hated her. Does he only wear her necklace because she’s dead.

She watches silently when Dean finally breaks, confronted, and tells Sam that he sees her in Jack. She hears how he loves her. She watches Sam realize the enormity of his crime and apologize. She accepts the apology, even if it wasn’t meant for her ears. Dean doesn’t see her, but she sits beside him on the opposite side of Sam on that floor.

Something has changed.

Sometimes, it seems like Dean is glimpsing her out of the corner of his eye. He stares at the steamy bathroom mirror while he’s shaving, right at the red smear on the pink of her shirt. He nicks himself, swears, and swipes a hand through the steam, through her image. He does double takes in the rear view mirror, glancing twice at the backseat where she sits, pretending she’s part of his road trips.

Jack brings back Castiel. Jack has powers beyond what Emma could have imagined. And Jack is both nice and not fully indoctrinated into hunting ways. Emma also likes Jack, she understands so much about him, and she likes the shows he watches, she likes the way he’s nice, and in her elaborate fantasy of what if she was alive, she decides he’s her brother.

It’s hard to find a time when Jack is alone but near enough to Dean and the anchoring necklace that she can talk to him, but it happens.

Emma focuses everything she has into appearing, a heavy grounding feeling she hasn’t felt since Dean was a chained demon. The words catch in her throat, unpracticed at speaking, but she blurts out to Jack that she’s his sister, the words spilling fast, that she’s Dean’s dead daughter, she doesn’t tell him that Sam killed her, she’s seen Sam with him, their closeness she can’t decide if she envies or not. She tells him she’s an Amazon, how she’s dead but anchored, how she doesn’t have a heaven or purgatory or hell, how she wants to come back. She tells him that she likes his shows and she tells him she loves Dean and Castiel and she finds things she likes about Sam. He doesn’t look at her with pity. He looks at her with a bright spark to his eyes.

But he doesn’t resurrect her. At least not right away. Apparently he’s been too recently warned off from the idea of asking for forgiveness rather than permission. He thinks she should reveal herself to Dean first, before they decide. Emma hates the idea, she spent all of these years afraid of Dean destroying her anchor, and now she’s afraid of his rejection, what if he resents her watching him all the time, what if he blames her for not doing more. What if he wants her gone instead of brought back.

The Amazons,in their scant days of raising her, taught her to be brave.

Jack asks the family to stay after dinner.

Emma takes a deep breath, more for the instinctive motion than for a need for air, and materializes.

There’s a beat of silence and then a mess of noises. Dean drops a mug, Sam’s chair skids, everyone one is talking at once.

Emma can’t find words to say to Dean, she wants to stare at him as she always does, but she can’t bear to see rejection on his face. She waits and Jack opens his mouth to introduce her but then her name comes from Dean’s lips. It’s like that dark night where they wept in his bedroom again. She has called him many variants of father in her mind in several languages, but it is the most childish “daddy” that slips out.

No one else in the room matters, he looks at her, meeting her eyes instead of the gorey wound, and she gets eye contact without having to pretend she is what’s in his sight line.

He doesn’t ask if she’s a ghost or if she’s dead or any of the silly civilian questions. He only manages “how” before fumbling for the necklace, and she nods confirmation. She wonders if he’s planning on burning it.

He asks how long and suddenly words spill forth, she tells him she’s been here the whole time, watching, she says she sorry about Bobby and Kevin and Charlie and Kelly and Cas and Benny she tells him the ones she helped with being a ghost, she tells him about watching the others move on, she says she’s sorry she couldn’t do more when he was a demon and something in his expression breaks, she says she’s sorry she never showed herself.

He holds up a hand, stopping her before she apologizes again, and says he remembers her when he was a demon, that he had thought she was a hallucination, she nods and cries anew.

She wants to tell him that she’s watched him and loves him and even if it’s embarrassing she wants to say she’s pretended to be alive with him, and she wants most of all to ask if he loves her, to hear it said to her face.

Instead he asks weakly why she’s here now.

She says she wanted to come clean about haunting him, says she’s thought about it for years and was scared he would burn the necklace, says she’s learned about ghosts from him and she’s never felt vengeful, she doesn’t feel corrupted, and maybe it’s because she’s a monster. His face twitches at that word.

Jack interrupts, changing the air in the room and suddenly both she and Dean remember their audience. Sam’s eyes are wet and he looks something close to afraid. Emma hopes the look on Castiel’s face is softness for her too and not just Jack.

Jack offers to bring her back, tells Dean that they didn’t want to do it behind his back. Emma turns invisible again out of the sick swoosh of anxiety that overwhelms her. She barely hears through her ringing ears that Dean desperately agrees and says yes, fumbling to take the necklace off and pass it to Jack.

She’s going to have to wait a few days. Jack is going to bring her back where her body is, and that’s more than 24 hours of driving away, and Dean wants to be there.

It’s a weird car ride, they know she’s there, and she sits between Castiel and Jack in the back of the Impala. They had her pick a set of Jack’s clothes to replace her bloody shirt, they have food and water for her. Emma doesn’t have a name for the emotions she’s feeling and they’re almost overwhelming.

They don’t have to dig her up to bring her back, Jack’s powers allow for that at least, and Emma is glad, she’s watched Dean dig up enough graves to imagine what she’ll look like.

Then Jack’s eyes glow bright gold.

It’s like what she imagines being born feels like. Overwhelming and dark and bright and both blissful and painful. And then she is gasping with real lungs and the sunlight is bright in her eyes and she can feel the textures of her clothing and the grass.

And then arms and hands are on her, Dean is pulling her to her feet and into his embrace in one motion.

She’s never been hugged by him, and it’s better than her jealous imaginings when he held others. She never wants to let go, she feels safe and warm and loved and his hand is on her hair and she can smell him and feel his heartbeat.

He finally lets go and steps back to look at her, keeping a hand on her shoulder and cupping her cheek with the other. There are streaks of tears matching her own on his face. His hands leave only to be replaced by Jack.

Jack’s hug is different but enthusiastic, there are no tears, he is beaming, part proud, part delighted, she can’t help but smile back. He calls her sister and she accepts him as brother.

Castiel does not embrace her, but his greeting his warm and his eyes match his smile. He clasps her hand between his and Emma’s heart swells.

She knows Sam doesn’t know how to look at her or how to talk to her. She doesn’t know what she wants from him either. She knows hes sorry, she’s heard it from his own lips, not to her, but to the only other person to whom it would matter. She smiles hesitantly at him, instead of glaring, and waves.

Then she slips her hand back into Dean’s and lets him pull her into another hug. She feels light and giddy and afraid this is all a dream. If she died and this is heaven then she would accept that too.

But it’s real, she changes out of her bloody shirt and into a blue one of Jack’s, she drinks water for the first time in years and eats fruit snacks from a packet pulled from Castiel’s trench-coat pocket, and a cereal bar.

A few hours later they stop at a nicer diner than Emma usually sees them eat at, and Dean tells the hostess it’s his daughter’s birthday and Emma gets to order foods she’s been curiously watching people eat for years off the menu. The restaurant gives her cake.

Emma’s cheeks hurt from smiling, and Dean’s eyes have not lost their cheerful crinkle and Jack is beaming and even Sam and Castiel look endlessly pleased.

Later there will be harder talks, about the things she’s witnessed, later she’ll talk about haunting their steps, about the years of questions built up, later she’ll realize she doesn’t remember how to sleep and Dean will sit and try to stroke her hair and talk softly and it’s nice but not enough. Later it will be Castiel who explains how to become human, how to adjust to having a body, how to sleep and how to tell if you like a food or not. Later she will argue with Dean about her usefulness on hunts and he will tell her how scared he is of her dying again. Later Mary will come back and die. Later Jack will die and a demon will wear his corpse and she will hate and fear it, later God will tell her she is an interloper in his story.

But for now Emma has a family and a piece of cake and a table of smiles.

[kiame-sama]

Could you do a forced lemon for zeno because I lowkey have to admit that he's hot asf please and thank you 🥰

Warnings; Drugged Reader, descriptive lemon, non-con lemon, yandere behavior, manipulative behavior, age difference, obsessive behavior,

~~~~~~~~

How? How was this possible? What form of nen manipulation was being put on him to make him see... Her?

He had only glanced in her direction once as she passed by and that was all he needed to know. Looking just like she had all those years ago when he last saw her alive. Before she had been taken from him far too soon. He remembered every distinct detail about her lovely (e/c) eyes and how they lit up when she smiled that sweet exhausted smile as she gently cradled their newborn son. Her body was spent and her only goal was to hold on long enough to hold her son before the sheer force of giving birth squeezed the last few beats from her heart.

It has been quite a while since that day, when his heart was wrenched from his chest in such a brutal way. He survived the pain, where his father before him had not. He lived on, raising Silva and hiding his mourning away from the world and from himself. But every ache, every pulse of blood, every fragmented memory he had shoved away came back in full force the moment his eyes landed on her.

It just couldn't be. He had to know. He had to find out.

He had gone first to Gotoh, learning what he could from the bits of information he had to go off of. Her name was still the same as it was all those years ago, (y/n). Even going as far as to compare a picture of his lost beloved with this new creature who had captured his attention, a perfect match. It was becoming increasingly clear that it truly was her. It was his (y/n). He didn't know how and he didn't honestly care. All that mattered was that she was back.

He almost believed it too good to be true, needing conformation from his grandfather who also agreed with his assumption. His (y/n) had been reborn and she had been in his reach for so long he was ashamed in himself for not noticing earlier. Apparently she had been working for the family for a year already and he only now noticed who she was.

She wasn't slipping away from him ever again. He may have aged and tried to carry on without her, but she looked as if she hadn't aged a day. She was still his young and spritely wife. He didn't know if she would remember him, as it was truly a life time ago for her when they last shared a moment together. That craving he had ignored for so long was gnawing aggressively at his mind, clawing to get free and to sink its teeth into her once more.

He needed to ensure that his little dove couldn't fly away from him the moment he sprang his trap so he decided to go to an extreme. She would forgive him eventually for what he planned to do. It would be cruel to make him wait longer than he already has in order to hold her at his side again, feeling her warm body against his own.

Changing schedules around was easy enough, no one brave enough to question him about the sudden changes he put into motion. The week would run her ragged, leaving her exhausted and in need of serious rest when it finally rolled around to his assignment for her. Something peaceful and boring. Sorting through old books that have already been gathered for her.

Just to ensure that she would be willing and defenseless, he already planned the perfect blend of chemicals to put into the tea he was going to offer her. It would make her such an easy target as it would force her into submission and make her so bothered that she won't try to say 'no' when he finally makes his move. He didn't care how morally wrong it was, he was just elated it was possible. He would have his only love back by his side after so many years without her.

A soft knock on the door rang through the room, right on schedule.

"Come in."

"Yes, sir."

A shiver ran down his spine as he heard her lovely voice call out, trying to not seem as hungry for her in order to keep her calm. When she entered the room, her eyes were cast towards the ground, refusing to meet his own. He was almost angry about it before he remembered that all staff were trained to keep their eyes on the floor out of respect. She looked exhausted, just as he had planned, and she seemed ready to fall asleep at any moment.

To some extent, he felt sorrow for putting his darling dove through such a rigorous week, but soon she would never have to work again. Soon, he can take her for himself and make sure to treat her like a queen, just as she deserves to be. She will never have to worry about working or trying to avoid the family, since she was to become his wife once again.

"Sit."

"Yes, sir."

"Your task is to organize these books."

"Yes, sir. Right away."

He wanted to scowl, pleased she was being so obedient but displeased she was so formal with him. Perhaps that would change and she would return to her sharp tongued self, snapping at him any moment she could get. The prospect of being able to tame her once again was an exciting one, looking forward to that innocent little blush of her's.

It only took a moment for him to realize he was still staring and to move his gaze away, not wanting to make her suspicious of him. He allowed her to work in silence as he held open a book in front of him, keeping an eye on the time and occasionally turning a page. It was clear that the rigorous week was beginning to affect her as she sorted through the books. She fought to keep her eyes open but it was clearly growing increasingly hard for her to do so.

She snapped to attention the moment the door opened, another staff member carrying in two cups of Jasmine tea, setting them down and quickly leaving without a word. It was almost laughable how easy it was to slip the mixture of medicine into the drink farthest from him without her noticing. She was focused exclusively on the task he had given her, trying to force herself to remain awake.

"Tea?"

"Hm? Oh, yes. Thank you, sir."

It was so cute watching her flustered expression as he spoke to her, seeing that sweet tint of color in her cheeks. She was unaware of his staring as she took a long drink from the cup of tea sitting nearest to her, gently setting it down as she returned to her work. He couldn't stop the triumphant grin that pulled at his lips, knowing it won't be long now.

It barely took a handful of minutes before her eyes were closing, head drooping slightly to one side as the drugs took full effect on her exhausted body. He can finally have her back in his arms, where she belongs. Her sweet and peaceful expression made him want to take her here and now, but his queen shouldn't be taken savagely on a couch. No. She should be wrapped in only the finest cloth and laid out on the softest bed, treated like the most delicate and precious treasure in the world.

He had to control himself as much as possible despite the fact that his darling was a lovely siren's song to his senses. Her body was warm and her scent was irresistible to him, making him reach his room in record time.

Everything was already set up for her arrival, the softest of blankets, plush over-stuffed pillows, new robes, new clothes, new bed, everything. It was all for her.

Of course, she will likely be scared when she awakens as she would be in a new environment and not where she last was. She will also likely be similar to a cornered animal, ready to lash out and escape the very moment it is presented to her. This is why he had a diamond chain added to the room, long enough to move around the room and bathroom freely, but not long enough to escape.

It would merely be a training tool until she calms down and accepts her new place by his side. Once she is docile and submissive enough to him, the chain will come off. The collar he had picked out especially for her will remain on until she proves she can be completely trusted. Until that point, it will serve as a reminder that she will be tethered back up if she acts out or retaliates.

But first things first...

It took only a flick of his wrist to rip open the suit jacket and dress-shirt she wore. It didn't look bad on her, but the sight that lay underneath was nothing short of a divine blessing. Her soft flesh beneath his fingers sent a carnal lust into his very being, as if a match had been struck and his flesh set ablaze.

She was everything he remembered... Her shapely breasts perched on her ribs, her soft stomach... Even as he ran his fingers over her delicate skin he couldn't help but lick his lips in anticipation. Slowly sliding off her black dress-pants, his heart began to thunder in his chest as more of her delectable flesh was revealed. Her hips lightly twitch beneath the soft drag of his nails skating over her lower stomach, closer and closer to his desired target.

Removing her underclothes took even less effort as they tore beneath his finger-tips, leaving her entire body on display just for him. His angelic darling... His beautiful dove.

It took all of his will-power to not take her then and there, knowing a few more things needed to be done first. Her collar was a perfect fit and beautifully complimented her warm skin, hugging her throat in such a way that it wouldn't take long for her to adjust to the feeling. Her figure was divine in the loose kimono he had gotten her, the sheer black fabric hugged her curves in such a way that it only accented her body, still showcasing the skin beneath.

He still had time before the drugs in the mixture responsible for keeping her asleep wore off, knowing that he should enjoy the peace now as she will take time to train. He would be able to enjoy all of her without hassle once he fully bent her to his will, but this moment is the only time he will be able to do as he wishes untill she's fully obedient.

He won't let anything keep him from his (y/n). Even death couldn't keep them apart. He's held himself back from ravaging her for long enough.

It had been ages since he last got to taste his wife so of course he had to begin with her soft pussy. Zeno started by slowly pushing up the expensive fabric until her warm heat was exposed to the cold air, sinking his tongue in as deeply as possible into her. She was every bit as delicious as he remembered her being and more.

Her soft little hole was so tight he knew she was completely untouched, just as it should be. He would be the only one ever allowed to stretch that small entrance, his cock would be the only thing ever allowed inside. He moaned ever so softly against her heat, savoring that mouth-watering taste with every slow lick.

Her breathing vaguely changed, becoming slightly more labored as he continued feasting on her sweet juices. She was just so damn good... He never knew he would be able to have his darling back in his arms like this. It seems some wishes really do come true.

He slowly eased two fingers into his love, tongue instead moving up so he could happily suck on her sensitive clit. A gasp came from her soft lips as she responded in her drugged state to the pleasure Zeno was giving her. He continued to work his fingers into her, stretching her tight walls in preparation.

Zeno knew she would wake soon, so he wanted to get all of the prep out of the way first. There was no doubt in his mind that his darling love would be afraid, confused, and likely hostile, so stretching her while she was still unconscious was the best move. He continued to lick up her sweet juices, knowing he would have to wait a while yet to taste them once his (y/n) awoke.

Her slight stirring and increased responses to the pleasure running through her veins told Zeno just how close his (y/n) was to waking. He slowly removed his fingers from her core and gave one last long lick over the entirety of her heat, then pulled back from her to allow her to wake slowly. Though he didn't want to wait for any amount of time longer to be able to feel her, he knew waking to such actions would leave a lasting and negative impact on her.

A soft hum escaped (y/n)'s lips as she began to stir, eyes slowly opening.

Fuck. She looked magnificent. Her confused expression as she tried to take in her surroundings almost make him chuckle, knowing that soon the other drugs he gave her would begin to affect her.

Her eyes widened as she became more alert, hand immediately on the collar around her neck. She sat up quickly, pulling at the collar before she realized she was also in such revealing clothes, choosing instead to cover herself with her hands. As she tried to find an answer for the strange way she has awoken, her eyes came to rest on Zeno. He had been watching her and gauging her reactions silently, coming up with the best way to tame her.

"Ma-master Zeno? What- what's going on? Why am I- why am I chained?"

"Because I want you to be."

"But... Did I do something wrong? I'm sorry, please forgive me!"

"You did nothing wrong, (y/n)."

"Then why..?"

"Because I don't want to let you fly away, my dove."

The fear was clear in her young (e/c) eyes as she stared at the elder assassin before her, hyperventilating slightly in terror. Zeno continued to watch his darling piece everything together- or at least, do the best her drug hazed mind could to piece things together.

He lifted a hand slowly towards her, frowning slightly when she flinched away from him, shaking as he gripped her chin and forced her to look at him. Her little heart-beat fluttered in her veins beneath his fingers, her skin slowly warming up as the secondary drugs began to kick in. A slight blush began to grow across her soft cheeks, her breathing slightly hitching from time to time.

"Pl-please... Let me go... I- I won't say anything, I swear..!"

"Not happening, my dove."

"Why-?"

"Because I finally have you back in my grasp. I'm not letting you slip away from me any time soon, so stop asking."

"..."

"Don't look so afraid, darling. I'll treat you as you should be treated; like a queen."

"But I don't want this!"

"... Don't raise your voice at me. I don't care if you want this or not. You are mine regardless of what you try to do. If I must break you in order to shape you into a willing wife, I will."

Though Zeno hated the fear in her eyes, he knew he was going to have to frighten her early on to make her submit more readily to him in days to come.

The aphrodisiac he had given her was doing a rather effective job in soothing her fear. Her eyes were becoming hazy and her entire body was heating up, suddenly feeling a pulsing need inside of her. Zeno noticed the change in her, sliding his hand down from her chin to her neck, watching her shiver in delight.

"M-Master..."

"Shh... Lay back, I'll take care of it for you."

(Y/n) lay back into the pillows, looking so vulnerable and sweet as she gazed up at Zeno, completely lost in the haze of pleasure and desire. He took a moment to savor everything, slowly untying the soft kimono and allowing it to slide open, no longer obstructing the beautiful body underneath. He quickly rid himself of his restrictive clothing, grinning slightly at the soft whine that came from her lips as he hitched her legs over his hips.

Hungrily pressing his lips against her own, he slowly slid into her tight pussy. His lips muffled her soft cries of discomfort as he settled within her, feeling that aching void in his chest closing up completely. It was as if it had never been there in the first place, as if he had never lost his darling lover or spent any amount of time without her. But he had spent years without her warm embrace. Years without her enchanting voice. Years spent completely alone.

Years of time he was going to have to make up for now that she was back in his arms where she belonged.

Pulling away from her lips, he slowly began to move is hips, exploring her warm insides once more. Still, soft whines and gasps came from his darling who lay beneath him, but he honestly couldn't make himself care at that moment. He was going to be selfish, just this once. He was going to enjoy everything she had to offer until he was satisfied, and not a moment before.

The way her tight walls clenched around him and responded to his deep thrusts made him growl in carnal desire. Her warm body twitched and writhed beneath him, her breathing hitching more and more as he went. Her gentle body spasmed and jerked as he angled his thrusts to press against her sensitive walls, grinning with each moan that he pulled from her throat.

He almost came undone when he felt her tighten suddenly around him, holding back for as long as possible as he continued to rut his hips against hers. After all, what kind of a man would he be if he took his own pleasure and denied his darling her pleasure?

It didn't take long for that growing pleasure to snap, flooding her body with euphoria and making her tighten up around Zeno's deeply seated cock. A deep snarl of pleasure took over Zeno's body as he gave a few more thrusts before releasing into his darling, blinded by the pleasure he had forgotten long ago.

As he took a moment to breathe and recollect himself, he realized that he wouldn't be able to lose his dear (y/n) a second time. And while his darling continued to drown in her pleasurable haze, he silently began to thrust into her once more, deciding she would never leave his side again.

~~~~~~~~

[ravenathantum]

Second Chance: Chapter 30 update!!!

...some of my dear readers mentioned, that they would like to get more of the chapter :) ... so I listened and added a little scene or two :)

update already on AO3 :* 

....Heroic longswords of medieval ballads are replaced by heavy iron sticks as the warlord with his boyar son search through the dark forest of Carpathian Mountains for any traps which might endanger the inhabitants of these lands. Carefully, taking one cautious step after another one they wander through the woods and carefully probe the land for any signs of iron chains or rusty snares. So far, they have been quite successful. Dracula proudly caries 7 heavy traps with thick chains which still carry the marks of dried blood. Even Alexander holds his sign of victory. His keen eyes spotted a thin steel cord tethered around one of the older trunks and he can´t stop cheering about it.

- I have never felt so heroic as right now, pappa. - Alexander chuckles as he proudly caries the dangerous snare on his left shoulder. Holding the iron stick in his right hand, he pokes the land every now and then to try his luck again, maybe discovering another danger, even if still walking closely to his father, who listens with a smile on his lips, nevertheless, contemplates quietly. Girls could have joined us ... not that dangerous at all...if Alex manages, Aurora and Agatha would too ... his mind is a bit grumpy, even if one look at his little boyar brings smile to his face .... in the next moment however, Dracula's movement is abruptly stopped. Suddenly his leg is trapped, his body pulled back and the forest echoes with a distressed scream!

- Pappa! - Alexander´s eyes widen in shock. The worst possible thing that could have happened just became true.

- Shit! - Dracula hisses, his eyes angrily searching for the well-hidden trap that he somehow oversaw...fuck! it could be Alexander's leg!!! Damn it...fucking poachers....

- Pappa! You are hurt! - the boy cautiously moves to his father, who kneels quickly down and easily opens the fangs of the giant’s teeth. Standing up, he turns to his son and gives him a smile full of reassurance. The scream of surprise is gone, being replaced quickly by dropped jaw in utter astonishment. Alexander Balaur cannot believe his own eyes.

- I am alright, Alex. Don’t worry. - Following, with one strong, forceful pull, Count Dracula breaks the chain, adding it to the rest of iron trophies.

- You are so brave, pappa! A mighty warrior! Nothing hurts you! - real superhero ... I will be just like him one day ... Finally, Alex closes the distance of two steps to his father and lifting Dracula's right jeans-leg, yelps from surprise again. There's no blood, no imprint of the sharp teeth, no deep cut. That’s strange. - You are not hurt? - Alexander asks, quickly searching for those chocolate eyes of his father. Dracula shakes his head in an answer.

- Not anymore, Alex. -

- How so? - the little boy doesn’t understand at first, though his quick mind comes with an answer as well. His pappa has perfect regeneration skills. - That’s wonderful. Another superpower, right? - the excitement is contagious as it seems, even Dracula starts to laugh ... he is a true superhero with unique superpowers ... and immortal as well as most of the characters from the comics universe ... the joy is though only short-lasting because a sooner event reappears in his mind.

- Will I have your superpowers as well? - his cuts or scratches after all never healed so quickly.

- Of course, Alex. You are my son. - Dracula reassures him without the slightest doubt. - Once you will be older, you will have all of them. - Alexander frowns, shrugging his shoulders. He is decided to share his worries.

- But Aurora already has some superpowers, only I don’t, even though she says I am much stronger and faster than her and also Hector and Minerva listen to my orders even if not voiced, but I think, she just wants to comfort me. - he complains poking the soil covered in moss as he avoids the eye contact with his father. He is ashamed a bit. Dracula doesn’t understand what the boy means. In his knowledge, both kids can communicate with animals in some special way and are highly intelligent. What else could it be?

- What do you mean, Alex? What superpowers are you talking about? - Alexander just sighs and rolls his eyes, still staring at the ground.

- I noticed it only today, pappa. - he starts with a saddened voice. - Aurora and I played high and seek inside the castle and I have found her quickly every time, what surprised her. - he pauses for a while tilting his head to another direction. - She even thought I cheated, but pappa, - finally he raises his head and looks directly into Dracula's eyes. - I never cheat! Do you know how is it possible that I found her so quickly? - Dracula just shakes his head.

- There's always a cloud of fog somewhere around her...as an aura, pappa. - Dracula's eyebrows travel up to his forehead in surprise, almost touching his hairline.

- Really? - that's very interesting news. His baby girl already casts mist, though probably without the knowledge how to control it ... Amazing! So soon? Incredible!

- Yes, pappa. I don’t know how she does it ... neither does she, I think. - his sister wouldn’t lie to him. That's certain. - If Aurora knew, she would show me sooner and teach me. We are the best friends, you know? ... I want to have such superpowers too, pappa. - he finally admits with a bit of jealousy of his sister. - We are twins, right? All should be the same. -

- Oh honey, definitely similar abilities will manifest later and you will quickly learn how to do amazing stuff with it, controlling each and every of your actions. - Dracula gently strokes the hair of his son. - When I was a little boy like you, I couldn’t speak with animals and any wolf would easily eat me as a starter. - Alexander didn’t know it. He supposed that his pappa had always such amazing superpowers.

- And when did you get them? - he wonders.

- In adulthood. - basically, afterlife. Nevertheless, he can see that this answer didn’t please his son. Of course, if Aurora has something he doesn’t, especially something so unique, he is sad and this time for sure he knows, that their parents just can´t give it to him even if they wanted to. Encouragement comes rather quickly. - But I strongly believe, you will get them sooner than I did. -

- Do you think so? - he needs to believe that ... when pappa says so, it will be true. He always knows best ... and mommy even better ... - I hope so too. - still, he confesses a disappointment. - It is not fair, you know? And Aurora doesn’t even like it ... because it´s easier to spot her when we play. -

- Then you are the lucky one to miss it at this time. Always winning. -

- I suppose. - giving it a second thought, his pappa is right. Casting fog isn’t that cool as giving orders to wolves and horses.

- Now, let’s continue in the search, my brave boyar. We need to find all the treacherous traps so the wolves and deers of our lands are safe from cruel poachers. - the discussion is closed this time. There are much more important tasks which needs to be completed. Heroic spirit returns to the brave little heart.

- You are right, Count Dracula! Let’s find them all. - with newly discovered eagerness they continue and Dracula to cheer his son even more, uses the power of suggestion once again, soon turning the forest into a magical world ... with unicorns, giants and elves, simply all the mythical creatures he adores...

--/--

Meanwhile gentlemen “play” outside, the Balaur ladies occupy the cosy, luxurious master bedroom, which is full of girlish chatter. Aurora smiles in satisfaction as she sits on the ruby-coloured taboret in front of the mahogany dressing table from the late 18th century. After the saddening events from earlier today, a cheerful activity was needed and what could be better (apart form the successful rescue mission and effective medical attention) than a fashion escape to the glorious past.

- This dress is the most beautiful dress ever, mommy. - Aurora rejoices again, grinning into the large mirrors in which she can observe her mom focusing on her hair-style. Lifting head, Agatha returns the wide smile and places a sweet kiss on the top of Aurora's head.

- I am glad you like it, sweetie. -

- I am sure that such were worn only by princesses. - even if not understanding finances or the cost of regular things, Aurora is sure they were much more expensive than her regular dresses. - Do you have such as well? You know, for the ball? - the BALL. She has been talking of nothing else than the upcoming private event with limited number of attendees, mostly only family friends ... which her father promised to organise at the end of their summer stay. Agatha nods, maybe in similar excitement that is very contagious within her family...

- Of course, honey. Mine are very similar. - fastening the second hairclip, Agatha begins tangling the first braid. - To be more specific, I believe that if we were the same height, we would be quite undistinguishable. - Aurora giggles anew, shrugging her shoulders in a cheerful manner.

- Do you think so? That would be great. - observing herself and Agatha in the mirror she tenderly smiles. Mommy is the most beautiful woman ever ... and says I am just like her ... though there is a slight, though notable difference ... - But I have pappa´s hair, mommy. Other than that, I agree. - first braid is finished pretty quickly; another pair of fancy buckles fasten the loose raven-black locks ... - Will you show me your dress when you finish my braids? -

- Hmmm. - Agatha teasingly pretends thorough contemplation. - You, young lady, definitely deserve a reward for such your masterful surgeon skills which you used today... - Aurora impatiently wiggles, longingly staring at the reflection of her lovely mother, who seems to be immersed in really deep thoughts ... the little girl though cannot take it anymore ... Alex is on an adventurous expedition and princess-styled afternoon can be equally rewarding ...

- And seeing you in your new dress would be the best reward ever ... and if you let me do your hair-style too ... mommy, please. - sweet voice and honest plead in Aurora's eyes always do the magic. Agatha, not being able to pretend the reluctance further, only nods and hugs her daughter from behind.

- If you style my hair like the last time, then I have no objections, Aurora. -

- You liked it that much?! -

- My favourite one, darling. -

- Okay, mommy. - Aurora happily clasps, already visualising the final result on Agatha's head. - Finish my braid so I can hug you too and then we will make a princess out of you as well. -

- Deal. - within a minute, Aurora proudly checks her two thick braids and gasps from surprise when Agatha places on her head a special brocade headband which perfectly corresponds to the style of her new royal gown. - What a beautiful girl you are, Aurora. Always, but now even more, my little princess. - whispered words make her blush. Happily, though, she hugs Agatha and releasing her, impatiently waits for her return from the neighbouring closet (in past era lady´s maid room) where she changes into proper robe.

- What do you say, Aurora? - in a moment or two, Agatha returns dresses in a similar gown, with a red, long skirt and nicely decorated top ...

- You are just like me, mommy! - the little girl rushes to the Countess, hugging her tightly around the waist. - So pretty. Now, lets style your hair. Come. - Aurora takes Agatha's hand into her own and directs her to the little taboret. Taking the brush into her small hands, she starts styling the rich hair of her mother into the perfect fashion. She loves the colour, fragrance and textures, often wishing to have such hair as well ... and since that´s not possible and she kind of likes her raven-black hair, she enjoys at least playing with Agatha's hair. Sign of trust...  

--/--

- Mommy? - finishing the last touches, Aurora addresses her mom with a slight insecurity. The change of the tone of her voice immediately catches Agatha's attention.

- Yes, darling? Is something bothering you? - she asks kindly and turns to her.

- Well, ... today, Alexander and I played hide and seek inside. - she swallows empty and looks at her mother. - And something strange happened. -

- Strange? - Agatha repeats confused, Aurora nods ...

- Alex found me each and every time pretty quickly and do you know why? - not waiting for an answer though, Aurora continues. - Because there was a mist above me ... Alex said, I can cast a cloud of mist when I am hiding. -

- Really? - it's shocking. Well, not completely ... however, isn’t it too soon for such abilities to manifest? The vampiress asks herself. - And do you know how you did it? - she herself had to spent a lot of time to learn this skill, though her children are natural talents. Aurora though shakes her head.

- I just wanted to be unseen by Alex so I could win. - at least in her memory, she tries to return to her hiding place behind the thick tapestry, hearing the echo of Alexander's counting ... 98, 98, 100 ... I am on my way, Auri! ... and then the resonance of his silent steps.

- I closed my eyes, - soon she hides her blue irises behind the curtain of her long lashes ... - and held my breath but a moment later, Alex discovered me ... - and in that very moment a little, almost unspottable cloud of fog levitates above her head. There it is! ... Agatha's jaw drops in awe.

- Unbelievable... - her whispered words get Aurora's attention. Her eyes open again, breathing is regular and the cloud of mist is ... gone.

- What? What happened? - Aurora tilts her head back to check if there is mist to be seen, though is disappointed to notice none.

- Alex was right, honey. - Agatha responds calmly, though Aurora huffs still a bit disappointed that she did not see anything and that such a trait could easily betray her...

- But I don’t want to be found so quickly, mommy. - she prefers winning over losing ... no wonder ... everybody does ... Agatha though tries to lift up her mood and thus proposes wisely.

- Then don’t close your eyes and all will be fine. -

- Really? - could it be so simple? Both seem to ask, nevertheless, Aurora starts believing it ... her mom never lies ... she knows everything ...

- You might give it a try ... once you opened your eyes, after all, the magic was gone ... -

- I hope so. - she huffs and momentarily turns around ...

- Where are my beauties? - a well-known voice of Count Dracula resonates through the corridors as he ascends the staircase.

- We are already home... - Alexander proudly announces, clinging sound accompanying the happy lilt in his words...

- Hooray! - Aurora exclaims, forgetting quickly all the troubles and getting Agatha's hand, rushes to the door to greet the heroes.... - We are here, pappa! - soon the male duo emerges with a bunch of “trophies”.

- My, my ... ladies...you look so nice. - Dracula evaluates the appearance of both his girls ... eventually resting his eyes on Agatha's ... breasts ... the vampiress just rolls her eyes ... thinking of sex again, aren’t you, my dear? His hungry look is obvious in her opinion, even if she has to admit, that those rusty chains, hanging over his shoulder (why did he brought them with him inside...) make him even sexier ... strong, brave, mighty warlord ... my hot husband ... Musing is interrupted by Aurora's shocked yelp as she quickly counts the final number. - So many? - her eyes widen. Such danger waited for innocent souls outside there, in their beautiful woods?

- Yes, Auri ... - Alexander proudly nods and walks closer to her, so she can see in detail those horrific devices ... - if only you saw how pappa broke each chain! I myself found 4 traps. Take a look. -

- Alex, you are so very courageous. - how pleasing such words are for the little boyar.

- Do you want to take a look too, mommy? - Agatha finally detaches her eyes from Count Dracula ... (her mind stripped him already) and with a well-hidden blush rather focuses on her son.

- Amazing ... boyar worthy of ballads and songs. - she praises her little boy.

- Am I? - he takes a deep breath, his heart-warmed. - And pappa deserves a ballad too. - Dracula has to chuckle...there are books about him ... nevertheless, probably none of them describes him in a positive light, definitely not celebrating him and his deeds ...

- Oh yes! And I will write a ballad about you and your bravery today, Alex. - Aurora quickly agrees. It is so exciting and she want to know more. - Tell me all, so I can describe it accurately. - Alexander eagerly nods.

- Let’s visit Mircea and his family ... you can write it there when I narrate the story to them as well... - that sounds like a great idea. Momentarily, after Dracula is rewarded with a quick hug and gentle smile from his daughter, the twin tornado hurries downstairs. Agatha wants to stop at least her daughter and remind her of the fancy dress she wears now, though such eagerness shouldn’t be stopped. She rather nears her grinning husband, standing there under their family portrait proudly, looking just godly ...

- What a beautiful dress you have, my dear Agatha. - he adores this look reminding him of all time...even though the presence is incomparably better ... the perfections itself whispers in a purring tone, so Agatha chooses similar tone as well, nearing him excruciatingly slowly.

- What a bunch of rusty chains you wear, my dear Vlad. -

- All of them removed because of you, my love ... so your perfect leg won’t be ripped off when we set off for the HUNT. - the way he pronounces the last word ... perfect seducer ... even licking his upper lip in a provocative manner!!!

- The sooner, the better, my dear vampire lord ... -

- The sooner, the better. I promise. - to seal his words, Dracula nears his wife and taking her into his arms, kisses her senselessly...now, there is nothing standing in their way ....

[bacejelerenvorthos]

The Lore of Kaldheim: Istfell

“Istfell is the mist-shrouded realm at the base of the World Tree, a vast plain ringed by a fastmoving river and a towering stone wall. The plain is dotted with bottomless wells and white-stone cairns whose origin and significance are lost to the ages. Looming overhead is the unfathomably huge bulk of the World Tree, whose dangling roots plunge into the realm. Occasional aurora light from the Cosmos breaks through the ever-present gloom and dances across the sky, but its brilliance is muted by the unending fog, which grows thicker and thicker toward the center of Istfell. The spirits of animals, monsters, and most people come to Istfell when they die and spend eternity in aimless imitation of mortal life.

The plains of Istfell are encircled by the bone-chilling waters of the Vangir River. Beyond the river is a towering wall, over a hundred feet high, built eons ago to keep Cosmos monsters from attacking the roots of the young World Tree. The only entrance into Istfell is a massive bridge across the river that leads directly to the magnificent Gates of Istfell.

Spirits

People who die in particularly brave or glorious fashion are marked by the Valkyries and taken to Starnheim. Istfell is for everyone else. The spirits of Istfell include those of people who died of natural causes or accidents, or who showed cowardice in combat. The spirit of every animal or monster that ever lived also runs free in Istfell, and it's not uncommon to see a giant spirit wolf or dragon emerging from the mist.

The spirits who inhabit Istfell resemble whoever or whatever they were in life, but they are wispy, transparent, and grayish or bluish in color, lacking the warm colors of living blood. The longer they linger as spirits, the more they blend into the perpetual mist and foggy background of the realm. When the spirits move together in groups, they form great misty clouds that drift across the landscape, virtually indistinguishable from the constant fog.

Many spirits retain the memories of their lives, but they have lost all passion and, with it, the motivation to fight or form relationships. Rather, they simply move aimlessly in groups, drifting like the fog across the fields and along the rivers. With the aid of powerful magic, it is possible to rouse them to anger or convince them to fight. Many spirits vaguely accept that Egon, the god of death, is the ruler of that land, but even he must use his own god-magic to get them to perform tasks or fight for him.

The Gods’ Hall

The only other structure in Istfell is the magnificent Gods' Hall, which is a new addition to the realm. How it got there is a saga unto itself.

The Hall of the Skoti had stood for generations in the Gods' Realm. One day, Toralf and Halvar were sparring when Valki appeared, struggling under the weight of a godstone harness that had been fashioned by the dwarves. When Toralf asked his brother what troubled him, Valki threw down the harness in frustration. He told Toralf and Halvar that he had captured the spirit horse Windfell, a feat that many had attempted in the past but no one had accomplished. His brothers began to praise him loudly, but he waved dismissively, because the feat was incomplete. Valki had managed to bring Windfell to the Gods' Realm, but to tame him, he must put the rune-enchanted harness around the horse's neck. And that, Valki whined, was impossible.

At the word "impossible," Toralf stood taller. Nothing was impossible for the strongest son of the Skoti. Halvar whispered a warning in Toralf's ear that this could be a trick (Valki was known for his tricks), but Toralf never listened to Halvar, even though Halvar was always the most sensible person in any room. Toralf effortlessly picked up the harness, and the three gods left the Hall. In the courtyard, they stood in awe of Windfell, the wild spirit horse who tossed his head at the indignity of being trapped behind walls of any kind. As Toralf approached the horse with the harness, Windfell stamped his feet, pranced around the god, and sped toward the gate. The horse leapt over the gate and, faster than the storms of Karfell, raced away from the Hall of the Skoti.

For three days, Toralf pursued Windfell as the wild horse ran back to the realm of the spirits, finally catching up with him just inside the Gates of Istfell. With great effort, Toralf hefted the harness onto the horse. Suddenly, there was a blinding flash of light and a resounding thunder that could be heard in all the realms. Toralf was blasted backwards into the Gates of Istfell with such force that a pillar cracked. When Toralf opened his eyes, Valki's trick was revealed. The harness was tethered to the Gods' Hall, and Toralf's mighty strength had triggered the runic magic, which pulled the Hall all the way from the Gods' Realm to the bottom of the World Tree, where it became lodged in the roots. The rest of the gods emerged from the Hall, scratching their heads as they surveyed the endless ranks of spirits staring up at them. Valki was nowhere to be found.

— The Saga of Valki's Deceit

The gods keep saying they should move it back to the Gods' Realm, but some sort of magic seeping out from the World Tree has so far hindered their halfhearted efforts, and no one has decided to make it a priority.”

[scimitar-and-longsword]

I know you’re mostly JoexNicky, but would you consider writing AndyxBooker? My HC is that Booker pines hard for Andy. Lots of unrequited love potential. Sex is fine, but feelings are better.

Bold of you to assume I don’t ship ✨everything!✨ And unrequited love/pining???? Mmmmm yes, give me more!!! Ok, here’s some depressing Booker x Andy pining for you anon 💜

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

Love Like a Dying Flame

Booker wasn’t an idiot. Ok well, maybe when it came to some things, but not this. He had no delusions about Andy. He may not have been around to meet Quynh or see her and Andy together. But he’d heard enough, mostly from Joe, to know that there was an insurmountable wall between him and Andy.

Booker would never expect Joe or Nicky to move on with anyone else should one of them die or be lost. So, why would Andy, whose relationship with Quynh had lasted twice as long as Joe and Nciky’s had so far, be any different? 

He knew Andy could never love him. Not when Quynh was still dying and invading his dreams every night. But it didn’t matter what he knew he couldn’t have, he also knew he couldn’t help but hope that someday she could see him as more than just another soldier. After all, they did have- had- all the time in the world.

When his wife and sons had all been laid to rest and the reality of facing eternity alone set in, Booker had all but lost hope. Even now, hope was a small candle at the other end of the infinite cave that was his mind. There seemed to be an eternity of darkness between himself and that flickering candle, and often he would lose sight of it completely. 

Then Booker would return from death with Andy’s face inches from his own. She’d say something like ‘ Come back to me’ and press her forehead to his as he rocked through the painful aftershocks of healing. In those moments, the flickering flame felt more like a bonfire.

Those moments fueled him. And kept him alive. Perhaps his body would have soldiered on regardless. But Andy was the one who kept the tatters of his soul tethered to earth.

He had vomited after he touched himself and thought of Andy instead of his wife for the first time. The guilt of betraying his wife had been overwhelming even 40 years after her death. But she was gone, and it hurt too much to think of her so long after she had left him. So his thoughts turned to Andy. It took time, but eventually he stopped like an adulterer. No, now he just felt like a creep. 

Joe knew something was up. Booker was sure of it. There had been more than one instance where Booker had caught himself staring at Andy only to shake himself out of it and earn a sad smile from his friend. Joe never said anything of course. That wasn’t the kind of friendship he and Joe had. But there was not a doubt in Booker’s mind that Joe knew.

Booker tried to keep his feelings in check, to rationalize them away. He tried to distract himself and sleep with random women as often as he needed to. And for a while, it worked.

But, in the last few decades it had gotten much much worse.

Toronto, 1951. 

The four of them were clearing out an illegal arms dealer and Andy had handed Booker a fully loaded Beretta mere seconds after he had fired his last shot. It was the first time anyone had anticipated his needs in battle before. Nicky and Joe, constantly had each other covered, and at times even Andy. But never Booker. Not before this time.

After that they quickly became a team. Their own sub-unit to mirror Joe and Nicky. And they made a pretty good team in a fight. It certainly wasn’t as effortless as Nicky and Joe fighting together, but it worked. Or at least it had worked.

The flame still disappeared from time to time, but after every fight or battle where he and Andy had traded blows on the same enemy, or one of them had killed someone about to make a killing strike on the other, the candle would come into view, still far away. But there.

Columbia, 1983. 

He and Andy were helping to escort a group of refugees over the border into Panama. Booker had been on watch, Andy nodding off beside him. Both of their backs against a large tree, the people they were protecting sleeping in the clearing in front of them. Andy’s head had slumped over onto Booker’s shoulder as she finally let sleep take her. 

He knew it meant nothing, not in the way he wanted it to. She was tired and his shoulder was as good a place as any. In any case it clearly had not been a choice, she had practically passed out from exhaustion. Still he couldn’t ignore how good it felt to know that Andy trusted him enough to let her guard down like this.

The flame in his mind burned a little brighter after that.

Busan, 2005.

Joe and Nicky had become trapped in a collapsed and still on fire apartment building. Nicky had run in with no plan as soon as he heard shouts coming from inside. Of course Joe had followed him in without hesitation.

Andy and Booker stayed outside, helping people who made it out, even catching a woman who had jumped from the third floor. Booker had broken multiple ribs when he broke her fall.

When the building had come crashing down with Joe and Nicky still inside, Booker had started to rush the building, intending to find his friends. Dig them out by hand if need be. But Andy had stopped him.

She grabbed his hand and stared directly in his eyes.

“Don’t.” she had said simply. Her voice was low and dry.

He had never seen her look so scared, not up to that point. It was the first time he had seen her cry. Not tear up, but actually cry. 

He sat with her as the firefighters and police pulled body after body from the rubble, including Joe and Nicky. She had held his hand the entire time. He still didn't understand what about that fire, which was far from the first or the last they had faced, had broken her so completely that night.

The smoldering flames of the wrecked building matched the ones in his mind. He could feel them on his face, and behind his eyes. He could feel them in the pit of his stomach.

And Now?

Booker wasn’t really sure what to think anymore. It couldn’t be healthy to pin all his love and hope on a person who didn’t return the feelings. And it wasn’t fair to Andy. Booker found it difficult to pull himself out of his depression long enough to really consider what was or wasn’t fair though.

He had spent 150 years second guessing every action Andy took. Always wondering if the reason she chose to sit next to him on every couch and helicopter was because Joe and Nicky were joined at the hip and she had no other choice. 

God. He felt like a child, jealous at who’s team he was chosen for in some schoolyard game. Not that he could remember what, if any, games he had played as a child.

Or perhaps the reason she chose him over Joe and Nicky wasn’t because he was the only one left, but because it was him. Sebastien le Livre. This selfish, fucked up, mess of a man, who loved his friends even as he cursed them for their happiness. Even as he made the choice to betray them to find his own peace.

He would never be able to forgive himself for what he had done to Andy. He would never know if his gunshot had been the one that flipped some invisible switch on her mortality. And now he would likely never see her again.

His grief had grown so terrible, his self loathing so all encompassing that he stopped being able to feel that flame in the back of his mind. And now he feared he would never feel it again. Doomed to wallow for eternity, mourning all the loves he had lost over the course of his never ending life.

Two months after his exile began he stopped dreaming of Quynh. He bitterly thought that if he had been able to wait just a few more months before making the worst mistake of his life, he would have been able to be there when Andy finally mourned Quynh. Help her pick up the pieces. 

He hated himself for that being his first reaction. He was a selfish piece of shit and he deserved to never see her again. She was better off without him.

No instead he had gotten word to Copley to try and discreetly let Nile know that her dreams of Quynh stopping wasn’t normal. Andy deserved to know.

When he stumbled into his apartment in Paris, absolutely gone on cheap cognac, He was determined to live the entire century drunk. He sobered up as soon as his door pushed open without needing it’s key though. 

He pulled his gun, stepped into the room, and saw the absolute last thing he had ever expected to see.

Standing before him was the woman whose face he knew better than his own, the only face he knew better than Andy’s.

“Booker.” Quynh cooly said. 

She poured herself a glass of water, and added, “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

He stood, frozen in disbelief, gun still pointed at Quynh. When a single small thought crept into his mind.

This was his chance, wasn’t it? If he couldn’t have Andy, which he had started to make peace with these last six months. Maybe returning something precious to her would end his exile early and allow him to at least be near her during the final years of her life.

Somewhere in the back of Booker’s mind, a small flame flickered to life.

((Available on AO3 as well, link on my tumblr 💜))

[thevioletcaptain]

THE LORD TESTS THE HEART

alternate s15 | 2.1k | also posted on twitter & ao3

A second-person POV exploration of Chuck's "very weird, very pervy obsession" with Dean Winchester.

You build him from nothing, and he fascinates you.

He’s made from flesh and bone, blood and pain—just like all the others—but his soul is as bright and beautiful as sunlit sycamore, and you can’t look away.

He’s beautiful. He fascinates you.

You want to destroy him.

Countless times, since the first breath of life sprung forth from the rupture inside you, you’ve tested your creations.

You’ve thrown them to the flames.

Pushed them, just enough that they'd draw themselves into the heat like moths drunk on the promise of flickering light.

But this one...

You burn his world, and it galvanizes him.

He pushes up through charred earth like new growth after a forest fire; stretching long limbs to the sky until he becomes a forest himself, sheltering others from the storms you send to weaken him.

You move the Earth around him.

Force him to take root in a faultline. Wait for him to topple, to crash to the ground & crush those he protects.

Still he defies you. Adapts. Transforms.

No longer a forest, but metamorphic rock that only grows more captivating under pressure.

Again, and again, and again, you try—but in time, even his fractures turn to veins of gold, and you don't know why.

You don't like not knowing.

You are knowing. You are the source of all knowledge. You are everything, and he is yours, and you should know.

You should know.

But he escapes you. Occupies your every thought, this hero you’ve created.

Becomes the focus you can’t shake, despite the endless hum of existence that expands outward from your fingertips.

Around him, the universe hurtles into entropy, but still all you see is him.

His flaws and his perfection. His bravery. His fear. His rage. His rage.

His rage.

You zero in on it.

But you don’t pay enough attention to the place it grows from.

Don’t realize that it’s an echo of the hole in your own being, torn wide by the absence of your other half, your sister, your self.

Don’t realize that it’s born of something else. Something greater.

It's a mistake, that oversight. But you don't realize it yet.

You're too intent on this new knowledge that you think you have. Too busy pulling at the threads of his life that finally seem to make him unravel.

You see him suffer, and you smile.

From a distance, you shift your unseen hand and watch fury rip through him as he struggles against it.

You watch the inferno of his rage consume him.

You watch as he turns desperate and fearful to his family for help, and sets them alight in the process.

It's now, when he's at his worst, that you plant a seed. An idea. A lie. A way to get out from under your own watchful eye.

A trap fit for a God.

He's at the end of his tether, and he falls for it. He falls for it.

Years ago, you wrote yourself into his story.

At first, it was just a way to try to understand what kept going wrong. To see him up close.

To look him in the eye and know him as more than just a collection of blood vessels and synapses and metaphysical vapor.

Now though... Now, you've made yourself the center of his focus. His thoughts are as trained on you as yours are on him.

You orbit one another like binary stars.

For the first time, you feel alive. Exhilarated. Certain that you've finally figured him out.

In the face of your power, his anger is ineffectual, but his contempt, his terror at realizing that he’s not strong enough--it’s better than anything you could have written.

You’re transfixed.

But here’s the trouble:

Your focus is so set on him that you fail to see the others.

His friends. His brother. His son. The angel you’ve been underestimating for millennia.

They all slip under the radar.

You’re so focused on him that you don’t realize their part in all of this. That they’re sustaining him. Making him who he is.

Their existence. Their love. His love for them.

Having them in his life is what makes him your most gripping creation, but you don’t see it.

You’re so focused on him that you start taking them away, one by one, just to see if this is the key to making him crack open.

Just to see if this will destroy him in that breathless, exquisite way that you've longed for.

Just to see if this will finally, finally allow you to peer inside his splintered chest and learn the secret reason why his soul is so radiant.

Just to see. You start with his friends.

His soul gets brighter.

You tell yourself that it’s just the first flash of a dying star on it’s way to going supernova. A necessary final burst of energy before the inevitable end.

But he sustains it, somehow. As though he's carrying them with him; within him.

Fueling himself with memories.

You take it as a challenge. Taunt him with a string of almosts.

You give him battles to fight and people to save and set it up to be just punishing enough that he's a moment too late every time, and then, when that proves inefficacious--

You take the nephilim.

You make it hurt.

Make sure that he sees it happen. Make sure that it's pointless, and artless, and utterly avoidable.

He carries the body to the car, and his soul flares again, spreading outward in its agony toward the few people he has left.

But you still don't understand.

When you take the angel, you don't leave a body, and he knows it was you.

You hear him in your head, and you can taste his rage.

You know its shape, its weight, its toxic bite. It’s a perfect likeness of your own. Made in your image.

You think this might be enough.

You can see him shimmering at the edges, like he might explode at any moment, and you settle back into yourself to watch from a distance. To wait.

And wait.

And wait.

It’s been days, and he spends every one of them trying to hunt you down.

You spend them plucking people from the Earth and dropping them into the shapeless void between realities, just for something to do.

Just to pass the time.

After a week, there's nobody else left.

After a week, it's only him and his brother, criss-crossing the lower forty-eight, searching for a plan as their hope dwindles to nothing.

He’s been behind the wheel for eight straight hours, and his brother is snoring in the passenger seat.

You’re waiting. Impatient. Restless.

You reach through the ether and stir the air behind him, just enough to make a quiet sound, to shift the hairs on the back of his neck.

It brings you a twisted sense of joy to do it.

To force a surge of reckless hope in him; to trick him into seeking something he can no longer have.

He swerves off the road, and his brother wakes with the sudden motion. Slams a hand against the door in panic.

Dust billows like smoke against the windshield.

Twisting, he scans the back seat. When he finds it empty, he presses his eyes closed.

His throat bobs as he swallows.

It's still not enough.

You follow them to an overgrown roadside in South Dakota where they've pulled over to stretch their legs, and you take his brother.

You do it with your hands; sinking a knife into his throat before he even knows you're there.

After, you wait just long enough for him to see you smile before you leave between one blink and the next.

The sound of his shout follows you.

You think this will be it. You'll finally see. You'll finally know.

You’re wrong.

He’s standing in the dark, back turned to the tree line with dirt on his hands and a shovel at his feet.

Smoke billows thick from the hole in the ground. A breeze shifts a branch in the woods, and on instinct, he turns to his side to ask, "Did you hear that?"

There's no-one left to answer, but the light in him is still there. Still burning.

Burnished gold and verdant jade and blinding, glittering warmth. Bigger than ever.

It flares again. Every pound of his heart sends it wider. Brighter. More beautiful.

He’s beautiful. He fascinates you, still.

That's why it comes as such a shock when he tries to destroy himself.

When the fire has died, he stands over the grave and takes a deep breath, and with a pearl-gripped revolver in hand he tries to make it his last.

You don't let him.

With a thought, you pull the gun from existence, and empty-handed, he screams.

He falls to his knees and keeps screaming, sobbing with great, wrenching breaths.

You can no longer see a line between his rage and his fear and his pain, because they're the same.

They're the same.

It's a single piece of the infinite puzzle revealed.

You take this knowledge, and you hold it carefully in your hands. Examine it from every angle.

They're the same, but you still don't know why. Still don't know how something like this can come from something like him.

It doesn't take long after that for him to realize that you won't allow him to check out.

If anything, you're more focused than ever, and he's alone. Completely. The sole survivor for a hundred and ninety-six million square miles.

He goes through the motions. You keep watching.

Slowly, he drives back to Kansas.

Leave me alone, his eyes seem to say. Let me die in peace.

But he doesn’t speak aloud. Hasn’t made a sound since he left South Dakota. Hasn't spoken in days.

At the bunker, you watch him as he picks his way through the dark halls and touches every surface.

He spends entire days doing absolutely nothing. Spends others cleaning with an intensity that makes no sense to you at all.

And within him, the light grows and grows and grows.

His brother is in the ground. The son he claimed has been scattered to the wind. The angel, the one he’d have chosen with just a little more time, lost to the endless dark that still screams its impotent rage at being awake.

The world is empty. He has nothing.

He’s wasting away in front of you, a brittle shell, too damaged to hold the spirit within, but somehow it’s still there. Still holding on. Still blinding and brilliant.

Stretching out far beyond the limits of his body.

It's been almost a month when it happens.

You're still watching, waiting for the truth of him to present itself, for his soul to crack open and make itself plain for you to see, and he's on the floor, cleaning under a shelf in the library, and he laughs.

He laughs.

Falling back to sit, he lifts a square of yellow paper from the ground and stares at it and laughs. It's nothing. You look at it, and try to understand the joke, and it's nothing.

A tiny yellow square, with the words I AM TALL scrawled across it in black marker.

But he laughs. He keeps laughing, and you--

You feel something.

In that space, the rupture, the wound where you tore yourself asunder--you feel something.

It takes far too long for you to realize that it's envy. Longer still for you to realize that it's more than that.

It's loneliness, and longing, and regret, and shame, and worst of all, it's utter foolish love.

Because you want that laugh, you realize. You want that light.

You want to inspire it. Want it inspired in yourself.

But it's been so long since you felt anything other than righteous entitlement that you'd forgotten what it was to truly earn something. To deserve it.

And you know you don't deserve it. Not from this man.

So you blamed him for the beauty you saw, for his flaws and his perfection. His bravery. His fear. The love that drives him.

Blamed him for your own lack of self control, even as you blinded yourself to what you were doing.

You built him from nothing.

You made him from flesh and bone, blood and pain—just like all the others—but his soul was as bright and beautiful as sunlit sycamore, and you've never been able to look away.

He’s beautiful. He terrifies you.

You want to save him.

You start with his family.

When he sees them, his soul opens like a flower in the sun.

[mind-of-chaos]

A Long Jason Voorhees Theory

Friday the 13th, a well-known and loved camp slasher movie starring the infamous Jason Voorhees. Jason Voorhees, the camp slasher no one wants to meet; unless you're into the strong silent type. His name comes tethered to a ski-mask, machete, and Camp Crystal Lake. The question here, however, is why? Was Jason Voorhees really a cold hearted serial killer terrorizing countless camp counselors, or was there someone else behind it all? The boy who was drowned due to neglect, true killer or puppet? 

It started in 1946, Pamela Voorhees and abusive husband, Elias Voorhees, in Cadiz, Ohio. Pamela thought she could hear the thoughts of her unborn child, prompting her to acts of violence. Whether this is deep-rooted psychosis or supernatural manipulation, is debated. In September, after a long endurance of abuse, Pamela hears a voice in her voice saying, “kill”. So, while Elias slept, Pamela attacked and hacked him to pieces. Discarding the pieces and burning the trailer to the ground. Once burned, driving across the Country side to Crystal Lake, where felt God had called her and she purchased a home. 

June 13, 1946.  Jason was finally born and afflicted with a severe deformity, Hydrocephalus. An abnormally large head and mental disabilities. With her intention to be caring, Pamela kept Jason isolated from the town of Crystal Lake. She had educated him on her own, on the outskirts of town. This meant the only person Jason would know is his mother, leading him to only have her to respect and love. Which would ultimately play a huge role in his later life. This indicates Jason's home life is defined as learning and listening. 

However, during the summer of 1957, Pamela couldn’t find a babysitter for Jason; resulting in bringing him to Camp Crystal Lake, where she worked as a cook. As earlier stated, Jason was home-schooled, and with his mom majority of his life, and not around other kids. Leading the other kids to believe he wasn’t smart, and thus began bullying him. As expected, Jason attempted to escape his tormentors, but unfortunately the kids trapped him on the dock and threw him in the lake. Now, where was the intervention? One would believe at least one adult would have caught wind of this commotion. Instead of attending to their jobs, the counselors during this time were either engorged amongst themselves or having sex in the woods. Resulting in the neglect and death of Jason Voorhees.

Jason's body was never found leading up to the shutting down of Camp Crystal Lake, but somehow reopening the next summer. It was immediately shut down again when Pamela, mad with grief, murdered Barry and Claudette. The two previous counselors she primarily blamed for Jason's death. Pamela got away, unsuspected, and all following attempts to reopen the camp failed. Presumably due to sabotage by Pamela. The camp earned the nickname, “Camp Blood” by the Crystal Lake locals, believing the camp to be cursed. Somehow, Jason managed to survive, or perhaps been revived from drowning. But if Jason did in fact drown, how did he manage to be resurrected almost 20 years later?  According to some theories, the answer is the Necronomicon. The Necronomicon is a book of the dead used to cast spells, summon demons, and the potential to resurrect dead people. The book does make an appearance in Friday 9, in the Voorhees old house (and in the game as an easter egg). With that said, then it can be theorized Pamela Voorhees, already driven mad with grief as well as explicitly murdering, used it to bring back her only beloved son. The use of this book would also explain Jason's supernatural strength, the ability to swim from one side of camp to the other at unnatural speeds (as well as Manhattan), and even survive all his “deaths”. 

There's a hole in this theory though.  If Pamela really did use the Necronomicon, then why did she wreck havoc on so many innocent counselors? The point of the first Friday 13th was to see her son again, that means the next Friday movies are pointless. Why would she wait 20 years later to resurrect Jason, and then risk getting caught for murder?  On the subject of seeing her son, Pamela never even saw Jason drown. His body was also never recovered. In parts 2-4, Jason is seen as a grown and presumably healthy man. There's plausible theories that Jason never did drown, but managed to survive and became a hermit. Constructing a crude cabin in the woods, living off the land and whatever he could pilfer from the camp and possibly other parts of civilization. During these roughly 20 years, Pamela and Jason never saw each other until her death. Camp Crystal Lake reopens roughly 20 years later, and Pamela goes into a rage. After multiple nights of fires, poisoning, and killings, it comes down to a struggle with employee Alice Hardy on the lake shore. In the struggle, Alice beheads Pamela with a machete and falls exhausted into a canoe, both drifting off. The noise of the struggling could have possibly alerted Jason, who then came to investigate and discovered his mother's head and body. Explaining why her head, sweater, pants, and the machete is placed on a crude altar as a shrine to his beloved mother. An estimated 2 months go by, and Jason sets out to find his mother's killer. Why wait two months? Two months with his mother's severed head, is surely bound to mess with him. It's already implied Jason has at least one mental disability along with his Hydrocephalus. Up till this point, Jason doesn't talk. And what he says is hardly considered talking. He’s only heard saying “KI KI, MA MA”. It’s not hard to tell he’s trying to say, “kill kill, mom mom”. With this in mind, then it can be theorized the end result is Jason’s now a serial killer, and not a puppet. However, Pamela’s voice can be heard talking to him. Telling him to avenge her, they deserve to pay for what they did to him. But those two counselors are already dead, the rest of the counselors bloodshed is innocent. 

Revisiting the Necronomicon, this can be all tied to supernatural elements. Perhaps Pamela really is talking to Jason, influencing him to kill more. She’s already past grieving, and just a murderer at this point. And if she had ahold of the Necronomicon, it's unknown what else she may have in her possession; or maybe what spells were cast. So she could really be talking to him, and influencing him to do her bidding. Jason would do as told from his mother, as his home life was learn and listen. For further proof of supernatural elements, Jason dies and goes to hell. Where he is confronted by Freddy Krueger, another evil supernatural entity, who manipulates dreams and kills. If Jason really was just a regular serial killer, then he wouldn’t have waited 20 years before killing. Even after he found his mother's severed head, he didn't go off on a murdering spree. He didn’t set out to avenge and make people pay till his mother told him to do so. He’s controlled by her no matter the setting. For example, in the summer of 1984, Jason chases counselor-to-be Ginny Field to his makeshift cabin where she discovers the shrine. Knowing the history, Ginny puts on Pamela's sweater and talks to Jason in an authoritative tone. Jason believes this to be his mother, and doesn’t attack Ginny. Ginny uses the machete and swings it into his shoulder, briefly  knocking him out. 

Jason is under his mothers control, and probably manipulation. Even if she isn’t using some form of supernatural element to talk to him, she still controls him. He believes she is telling him what to do, as it's something he’s known his whole life. Pamela Voorhees is the root cause of the entire story. She’s the one who heard voices in her head, murdered Elias Voorhees, believed Jason to be nothing but perfect, kept him away from society, murdered people, and had the Necronomicon in her home. By isolating Jason away, he would only know right from wrong from what she taught him. Which isn’t much if she believed him to be absolutely perfect. And if she is so hell-bent on murdering, how would Jason know that's wrong? Jason doesn’t have a sense of self. He is merely whatever his mother has told him to be, and what to do. He listens to her voice in his head, supernatural or not. He wasn’t born a killer, he didn’t grow up trying to murder people. He was simply a boy who needed so much more than being isolated by his mother. Perhaps if he had received proper education, and more human interaction, things would have turned out much differently. But because of Pamela Voorhees, Jason became a puppet. Whether it’s a puppet of supernatural forces, is up to the spectator. 

[tookishcombeferre]

Klaus Fanfic: “A Tether”

I wrote a self indulgent thing for the Klaus 2019 fandom. Klaus is a Christmas movie. I’m trying to be sensitive and not post too much Christmas stuff.

But, I really like this movie, and it was an Oscar nom. The art is phenomenal, and I really like the characters.

That being said, obvs you don’t have to read it.

This is sort of a self projection fic? I wrote about Alva reflecting on the Spanish Flu of 1918 in a teacher’s point of view because I am burnt the fuck out.

“I haven’t heard from Jimmy Krum in 2 weeks. I’m worried. He said in his last letter that his family wasn’t doing well. He was trying to help his son apply for some kind of boarding school program in the city that I recommended last year.” Alva ran a hand across her face as she spoke to herself pacing across the floor of the post office attic. “Although, I can’t remember if he said they might wait until he turned 11 next year or not to send him out.”

“And you probably won’t hear from him until I can safely get out there again. I won’t let you go out. You’ve only just recovered.” Jesper opened the hatch to the attic and stuck his head through. “Go rest.”

“Jesper you know I can’t. I’ve been cooped up for so ...” Alva bit back a cough. “And you’re one to talk!”

“Nice save. Really, you are so convincing. I’ve been fever and cough free for a week. You on the other hand ...” He sat next to her, pulled her close, and kissed her temple. “Need to stop worrying. Everyone is fine. You sent enough homework with me to them, before we all boarded up, for two years. I promise.”

Alva sighed, and she supposed he was right. But, it didn’t stop her worrying. Despite the phone being a relatively old invention, most families in Smeerensberg didn’t own one. She couldn’t call and check in on kids the way she’d like to. Sure, some of the more well to do families had a phone, and she made good use of theirs to call those she could call. Jesper had to remind her to slow down often, especially in those first months of the pandemic, when they were still debating boarding up.

The town eventually chose to shut down after Jesper could no longer deliver the mail. He’d only stopped his deliveries when his own children got sick. This had been in late October.

The kids had gotten the flu, somehow, despite all their precautions. Then, for Alva, it seemed that everything really was over. She and Jesper were up at all hours of the night comforting their children. Alva had never seen Jesper cry so hard as she did when he thought he was alone on the phone with his own father. Jesper’s father was lucky enough to be spared the worst of the illness, and he was in sound enough headspace to listen to his son’s terrified sobbing for nearly an hour before Alva finally stepped in. She had listened to him cry begging for the illness to take him instead of his children, and Alva simply cried with him. There wasn’t much else they could do besides try to nurse their children as best they could and cling to one another in desperation.

In about two weeks, the children had recovered enough that they felt safe sending them to live with Espen Krum. Epen’s son had just recovered from the illness and war wounds, and Espen was more than happy to take in two young children that would cheer his son up for sure. Alva remembered how the thought of the two kids living there for awhile made Jesper smile. They both recalled how Jesper mailed the love letters back and forth between young Broderick Krum, the first toy recipient, and Greta Ellingbow during his time in The Great War.

Alva couldn’t help but be thankful that they’d sent the children away before they had the opportunity to see their father in the worst throws of the illness. Alva knew the illness preyed on healthy people almost more than those who had reasons for complications. She shuddered at the images of Jesper’s thrashing as he cried for his father, for her, and for Klaus. He begged her forgiveness as he sat trapped in the memory of all those Christmas Eve’s ago. She stayed with him as he begged Klaus’ understanding, promised he’d changed, and pleaded with her to still love him despite it all. Gone was the loving goofiness of the man who tucked their children in with jokes about stamps and letters. In its place, her strong husband shook with terror, and his fears of abandonment were laid bare before her. It was two weeks of caring for Jesper, and reassuring their children, before Jesper finally recovered enough for her to be satisfied.

It was only then, when she felt certain of his recovery, that her body finally succumbed to the illness. She had little recollection of the two weeks she was tended to by her husband, but he’d assured her that she hadn’t said anything too damning, and on the whole, she was more compliant than when she was healthy. He’d called the children faithfully each night, and he remained by her side all the other moments of the day. He rested with her, and he kept her cool. She still remembered just days ago, in the very first days of December, when she finally woke up and saw his face.

His eyes had sparkled with tears as he looked at her and whispered, “I knew you could do it.”

“Alva? Yoo-hoo?” Jesper waved a hand in front of her face.

Alva blinked herself back to the present moment.

“Sorry. I was just thinking about Lydia and Willem. It’ll be good to have the kids back before the holiday.” Alva leaned into Jesper’s shoulder.

He hummed his agreement. “Yes. Oh! Speaking of which. I have a surprise.”

Jesper helped his wife to her feet and guided her down the ladder and into their living room.

“Surprise!” He placed his chin on her shoulder. “I decorated it while you were sleeping.”

Alva smiled. It was far simpler than most years. The four stockings were hanging on the fire place. The tree was wrapped in a small amount of garland and maybe half of their ornaments were put up. She noticed the cookie plate already waiting with two glasses set out for the annual appearance.

Alva turned and stared at Jesper. “I sometimes wish he was still here. I have so many questions.”

Jesper hummed and pulled her close.

“As do I,” he said in a soft voice.

The two of them stood and surveyed the scene in silence for a few moments. Jesper placed his hands on Alva’s shoulders when they tensed suddenly.

“What is it? If you’re worried about Lydia, I just got word from Espen Krum that she’s had no complications. And, Willem has slept through the night soundly without bothering anybody for the last week.” Jesper reassured. “They’re doing fine. Also, we still do have a phone. I’ll let you pick 3 people to call as a treat. It is St. Nick’s Day after all.”

She blinked at him before face planting into his chest.

“I feel so useless.” She sobbed into his chest.

“Now, why would you think that? You’ve done so much for me, for the kids, and for your students. All through October, you taught every damn day, and made all those stupid work packets to last them until we could go back safe. You gave them book lists. You told them to call you if they had phones and were stuck. You even answered most calls until our own kids got sick. Alva,” he lifted her chin and kissed her forehead. “What more can you do?”

“I-I ... I don’t know.” She sobbed as she fell further into his chest. “I don’t know. But, it’s so hard. I can’t let it go back to the way it was before when the kids here could barely speak and poor Jimmy Krum was 13 and couldn’t write his own name. I can’t let that happen. What if they forget everything?”

“It won’t. You know why?” He wrapped his arms around her waist and swayed her side to side. “Because, you’re the best damn teacher this place has ever seen. You took kids who could barely speak and taught them to be kind, to think for themselves, to report the misdeeds of their parents, and to stand up for themselves. So what, they forget how to write the letter “a?” Or so what, Heather’s daughter still mixes up 0 and 8 like her mom did on her return address most of the time she was a kid? Those are all things that can be retaught. But, you’ve got heart again, now. You’ll make it work.”

Alva felt a fresh wave of tears bring her to her knees. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just ... I want to stop worrying, but I can’t. I want it to be over, Jesper. I want it to be over. I’m so tired.”

“I know.” Jesper knelt next to her. “Do you want me to hold you or will that make it worse?”

“Hold me?” Alva reached out to him.

They sat there on the floor for a long time as Alva clung to Jesper and cried. Jesper just rubbed her back and told her it was going to be okay in the end, but he recognized that it sucked right now. He reminded her she had every right to be sad and stressed, and he let her cry. He told her that she’d carried the weight of their family and town for too long. She had laughed and said they both had, and they both cried. They cried because the house was empty of the two people they loved most apart from each other. They cried because they’d never had the chance to mourn the moment they each thought one almost lost the other.

For, they knew, they would fade into the dark abyss of depression without one acting as the rope to tether the other from being lost in the icy sea.

Eventually, they rose on creaking limbs to sit in their chairs by the window. The two of them cast long glances at the snow outside.

“Do you think he knows? Or will I have to tell him?” Jesper’s voice was quiet and somber, in ways it so rarely was. “I don’t want to tell him that I almost lost you.”

“I don’t know, Jesper. But, something tells me that, somehow, he knows.” Alva patted his hand.

He nodded. “I was thinking that next week I would send for the kids and reopen the post office. Mail for Klaus is likely pretty backed up.”

Alva hummed her acknowledgement. “I think that would be a wise idea. Thank you for waiting that long. I know it’s hard for you.”

“I just ... I’m nervous. But, not about being out there. I just ... I never want you out of my sight again.” He clasped her hand tightly. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t.” She kissed his cheek. “It takes a lot more than that to get rid of me.”

He laughed lightly despite everything. “Good thing I actually want you around then.”

He stood, and they held each other for a moment before sharing a chaste kiss.

The two of them walked to their room, and they nestled down together in each other’s embrace. Tomorrow would find them still snuggled together as the rays of dawn poked through the window.

*******************The End **************************

Some notes on my thoughts about the timeline of events leading up to this/other weird headcanons.

I kind of assumed the movie was set in late 1890ish (based on fashion and some of the tech people had - such as the type of boat, the lack of whaling, and the items on Father Johanssen’s desk - I thought I saw some kind of phone which would have put the film at at least 1876).

Also, women’s fraternities began forming in the late 1860s-1870s. Considering Alva is a graduate of a university of some sort, we can infer that she would have gone to school during a time in which it was at least somewhat more normal to see women being educated. My sorority was founded in 1870 and we’re one of the oldest.

I would assume Alva is about 23-25 during the film considering she probs would have graduated at like 20ish. I thought she said she’d been there for like 3 years or so. So, I kind of assumed she’d graduated in mid to late 1890s and took her job in 1895 (20) and 3 (23) years later wanted to head out.

I also head canon that Alva was a member of the Sami tribe and left on less than great terms to go to the city to be educated. This is why she took the job in Smeerensberg in the first place. The Sami are pretty isolated from the feud and don’t really seem to know about it (to our knowledge). So, it would make sense that she might want to come home and patch things up by teaching nearby. It would also help to explain why she speaks and is able to translate Sami.

The only thing that kills this theory is the lack of cars. I suppose, since, those were invented in 1886? But, cars didn’t fully replace horses until 1907. Also, I’m pretty sure Smeerensberg is exempt from the car rule anyway.

Based on my weird digging into accurate time frames for the movie, I assumed the first Christmas was around 1898. That being said this takes place approximately 20ish years after my thoughts on when the film took place. The fic is set during the height of the Spanish Flu of 1918.

Further timeline clarifications: Alva and Jesper dated for about 3 years. They were married in 1901 (26/29). They had their first child in 1905 (30/33), and they had their second in 1908 (32/35). Klaus died 1910 (34/37) (12 years after the first Christmas in 1898). The original children would be in their 20s-30s ish (I pegged most of them to be about 5 and the oldest at about 13). Therefore, some of the older ones have kids of their own. Jesper and Alva’s kids are 13 (Lydia) and 10(Willem). Alva is approx 43 and Jesper is 46.