#it makes me want to draw him and demon cars

[pizzazz-party]

sub-genre of drawings in my paper pile where rottmnt usagi is clinging for dear life to the hood of a soaring, demon-possessed car

[thegnomelord]

just read about demon hunter reader and demon ghost cuddling, and the first thing i thought was how ghost would react if, one of these times, reader ends up having a wet dream and dry humping his ass 😋

about time that our demon thinks of getting laid, he's disgusted and turned on at the same time

Sorry this took a while lads :Dd, I'm getting back into writing after all that shit with my school but I got a summer job as an assistant medical worker with 12h shifts every other day so It might take a bit for me to write stuff.

Hush, Hunter

CW:NSFW, MDNI, demon Simon Ghost Riley x male hunter reader, grinding, wet dreams, handjob, blowjob, size difference (demon ghost is like 11 feet tall.)

Your ‘husband’ is strange, even by demon standards.

He grumbles about the inconvenience brought on by your mortal failings and fragility, growling whenever you have to stop at a gas station to buy food or at some dingy motel to sleep. He grumbles even more about being confined in the stolen human skin suit he's forced to wear to blend in.

You can ignore the stranger with the stolen face and hellfire eyes throwing dark glares at you for the most part, except for when the demon decides to make the binding ring around your finger heat up when you spend too long talking to the pretty cashier. And it only takes a few more seconds of not paying heed to the incessant burn before Ghost Simon looms behind you, glaring at the flustered cashier like she’s a fey trying to trick you into the Fey Lord’s court.

And the big bastard never gives you any explanation on why he’s acting like that, just drags you back to your car, slamming the doors closed with enough strength to shake the entire vehicle. He’s like a cat honestly; hisses at you, but doesn’t want to let you out of his sight or claws.

But when your nightmares get so bad your only chance of sleeping is on the floor, well hidden behind the bed with your back flush with the dingy motel wall, Ghost surprises you by laying down with you. Sure he grumbles about the demeaning position - laying like some mongrel dog - but he still does it.

Ghost is on his side, his broad muscular back to you, rough inky scales swallowing all the moonlight that filters through the blinds and turning him into a pitch black wall of muscle. He’s so still you might even think he’s sleeping – you know he’s not; demons aren’t tied to mortal laws, nor are they subject to time’s iron grip, that’s what makes hunting demons so dangerous. The only indication you have that he’s awake is the occasional twitch of his tail and the slight shuffle of his wings when you accidentally get closer to him in your attempt to get a comfortable position.

You flinch when his one wing spreads out and back, but the blanket of black and blood dyed feathers soon eases the tension in your body. Probably too quickly, definitely too quickly, but Ghost doesn’t draw attention to it and neither do you and the night is cold and he is blissfully warm and he stays stock still when you shuffle a bit closer. You're glad he pays no attention to you when you get comfortable against him, barely an inch of space between you two.

His feathers tickle your face, they’re softer than you’d expect a wrath demon to have, fluffy like the down of chicks. His scent invades your nose, rough leather and steel oil and something distinctly demonic you can’t name. . . but it’s strangely comforting.

Laying only an inch or two away from a demon goes against everything you’ve ever been taught. Your nerves should be on a razor’s edge, but instead you’re calm. You don’t know why your fucked up mind finds comfort in the fact a possible threat would need to go through half a ton of murderous wrath demon to get to you. And you don’t want to think about it either, you’ve had far too many sleepless nights for your brain to care how you manage to sleep so long as you do. And the moment you close your eyes, you’re out like a light.

Ghost has gotten used to your nightmares.

Just like his father’s absent love, your nightmares are consistent. He’s almost impressed how such a frail thing like you could hunt the likes of hydras and Hell Dukes when you barely sleep a wink most nights. The longest you’ve gone is a couple of hours of restful sleep before you woke up trying to claw your eyes out. You never talk about it, nor does he, Ghost may be a demon but he knows far too well how the mind can haunt someone.

And Ghost has gotten good at telling apart the individual nightmares by how you squirm in your sleep.

It takes a little longer for the nightmare to start than usual, but he knows you’re neck deep in it when you heart starts it’s frantic drumming in your chest. He ruffles his feathers as your hands grip his sides, your breath fanning over his skin. He thinks it might be the basilisk haunting you this time by the way you press yourself flush with his back, burying your face into the space between his shoulder blades until your nose is flush with his spine, back hunching to further shield your eyes.

Ghost doesn’t, nor will he ever, mention the low happy rumble that escapes him when you snuggle up to him. His feathers fluff up, the scratchy hair of his tail flattening down - about as silk soft as he can make them. It’s little better than throwing pearls before swine, you won’t remember any of this after all, but doing this strangely doesn’t feel as much of a burden as it should.

Usually the low deep purring growling will chase away your nightmares and lull you into a dreamless sleep for a little while, but not this time. You squirm against his back like an eel, muscles tensing to grip his sides until dregs of pain dance along his spine. Your breath fans across his scales, your heart pounding in his ears like that of a rabbit’s caught in a snare. He’s just about ready to turn around and wake you before he feels it—

Your arousal pokes his back, hard like iron.

Only now does he pick up the slight sweetness of arousal in your adrenaline rich scent. “Hm- fuck.” You mumble as you roll your hips to grind your cock against him. “Slow- fuck fuck- slow down.” You breathe out, and Ghost swears this must be another part of his father’s eternal punishment. The sudden thought that your dream is of a sexual nature smites him with all the intensity of his father’s rage.

Who do you think you are, taking his little mercies for granted? Who do you think you are, grinding against him like some mongrel mutt? Who do you think you are holding him as if you are more than the eventual reward for the maggots fervent prayers? Who do you think you are—

“Ghost- Simon. . .” His name, his original name, leaves your lips; it’s the softest he’s ever heard you speak.

“Human.” He seethes and rolls around, pushing the warm feeling –warm like a campfire compared to the blistering pits down below that usually dwell in his chest– out of his mind. “Disgusting.” You’re so small compared to him, your head could easily fit in his rough hand, a momentary lapse in the binding’s protection all that it would take for his flesh rending claws to cleave through your skull. He’s thought about it often, of the look in your eyes as your life fades, of how good your blood would taste, of how nice your shoulder would look with his teeth marks on it. . .

His hand is gentle as he reaches to brush your cheek, like he’s handling glass, rumbling when you lean into the touch. “Wretched thing.” He growls, hand sliding from your cheek to your back and pulling you close. He feels you nuzzle into his wide chest, carefully bullying his thigh between yours, steel hard muscle tensing to give you a good surface to grind on. “Nothing more but a mongrel waste of flesh.” He doesn’t notice how quickly his voice has lost heat, barely above a murmur as he listens to your breathless gasp and watches your back arch.

For someone usually so guarded, you are painfully naked in flesh and soul, responding so wantonly to his touches; from low moans to soft little murmurs of ‘Simon’ and ‘more’ that has him mindlessly rubbing his thigh against your crotch in hopes of getting more of those so painfully human sounds. You moan and nuzzle into his chest, your body like soft clay in his hands now that you’re no longer shackled by the chains of pride and prejudice that your mind conjures around him

You’re like a strange bug to him; a part of him wants to pin you down, to tear you apart with vicious claws and see if there’s anything different in the way your heart beats, in the way your lungs move, in the way you exist — something substantial to show why holding you in his arms doesn’t feel as degrading as it should.

He wonders, briefly, if this is what God saw that made him love Adam so much. Why God did not have the heart to kill Adam for his disobedience.

Greed moves his hands like they’re puppets on strings, flesh rending claws carefully tracing the bumps of old and fresh scars that dot your abdomen — perhaps you aren’t so pathetic, it takes strength to survive this long. Your skin prickles from his touch, your breath fanning over the rough belly scales protecting his front as his hand slowly moves down. He hooks a claw under the band of your underwear and pulls down until your cock springs out right into Ghost’s hand.

Ghost hasn’t seen many cocks before, why would he?, but a low sound comes from his chest at how neatly your cock fits in his hand, how neatly all of you fit against him. And only now does it dawn on him that he doesn’t know how to do this— he’s a wrath demon for fuck’s sake, he understands war and bloodshed like it’s the back of his hand, but this? This is new territory.

Well, he’s never been one to back down when he’s gotten this far.

His hand slowly closes into a fist, just a little loose around you. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t be anything but gentle in the way he strokes you. Your hips move on their own, gentle little rocks to fuck your cock into his fist and he follows along with the motion. It’s a little rough at first, he feels how the dry slide of his hand makes you shiver, but he soon finds a nice pace as your precum eases the glide of flesh on flesh.

He wants to see your face when you moan, but he can’t bring himself to pull you away from his chest when you cling to him so sweetly, your lips mindlessly ghosting over his scales. So he contends himself with coiling his tail around your leg, draping a wing over you so there’s a barrier between you and the rest of the world, so no creature from heaven high or deep below may entertain the thought of taking what’s his.

No good thing lasts for long.

He feels you wake like the first thaw in spring, slow and gradual, eyes fluttering open, mind still clouded with pleasure to really understand the position you’re in. He takes advantage of that, gripping your hip to keep you close, swirling his tumb in the precum beading at your head and squeezing his hand just right to coerce a breathless moan from your chest.

Then your eyes snap open, realisation hitting you with the same intensity as the punch you throw at his skull. But the ‘marriage’ turns that show of force into a gentle caress of the skull cheek of his ‘face’. “Ghost what the fuck are you-” You begin, cut off as another clench of his hand has you gripping his forearm and biting your lip to silence yourself. 

“Oh hush hunter.” Ghost rumbles low in his throat, his wing tensing behind your back to bring you in closer, soft blood dyed feathers encasing you in a cocoon of warmth against his cool belly scales. “No need to wake the other worms.” Disdain and mockery drip from his voice like molasses, yet strangely it doesn’t feel aimed at you. . . it must just be the pleasure making you believe that.

“You- bastard!” You snarl, trying to summon the hunter savagery that had been meticulously beaten into you, but it slumbers like a fat cat. “Fuck off- get away from me.” You aim to slam your fist against his scaled abdomen, just a little lower and to the side where the floating ribs should be, but all you manage is a slow caress of his side and back up his chest where you can feel his eternal soul burning beneath the flesh.

He laughs and slides his hand down, rolling your balls in his wide hand and squeezing just enough to be at the edge of pain– shit, that should not feel so good. You hiss and throw your head back despite the inherent danger of exposing your throat. He tilts his head down, ghostly breath washing over your ear, “We both know if you wanted this to stop you would have done so.” Oh, now you can just feel the mockery in his voice, sweet like honey that it is.

Some petulant part of you thinks of arguing, anything to retain what remains of your damn pride, but then he slides his hand back up, pressing your cock against your stomach and grinding the palm of his hand against your shaft and all the thoughts of arguing are pushed to the side by the tide of pleasure. Fuck, it’s been far too long since you ‘took care’ of things, it’s not like you have much time to wank off, let alone with Ghost hanging over your shoulder like some grim reaper. And hell, if any other hunter heard you let a damn demon jack you off, yours would be the next head put on the stake but. . . but Ghost is surprisingly gentle with you, not a single hint of pain coming from his touches, not even from his claws gently running down your side.

“Fine-” You suck in a sharp breath, head fixed to stare directly at his chest. “Make it quick.”

You feel him smirk against your ear, “As you wish, hunter.” He laughs lowly, like you’re nothing but a cute puppy chewing on his shoelaces, “Though, you should thank me for debasing myself like this.” He growls, and with a sharp move of his wing he rolls you on your back. 

You gasp as your back hits the sleeping mat, and before you can even struggle Ghost looms over you, a wall of muscle and dark scaled flesh. “Fuck no.” You growl, some scraps of pride still clinging to your mind, though even those are threatened when his broad hand returns to stroking your cock, faster this time, the drag of his palm making pleasure sizzle up your spine. Your head rolls back to rest on the mat and you don’t even notice when you close your eyes. You’re not sure how Ghost is so good at this, something sharp like jealousy curling in your stomach at the thought of him doing this to someone else. But it’s hard to think when you can feel and hear him purring, his claws gently tracing your stomach and leaving lingering heat everywhere they touch.

You jump as something slick brushes over your balls, “Look, good hunter.” He growls and you listen without thought, eyes wide when you see his tongue— it extends from the darkness of his head just beneath the rotten upper teeth of his skull, long, black, thick strings of oil coloured spit dripping off his tongue. “That’s better,” He purrs; you’re not sure how he can talk, and you’re unable to ask because he leans in closer until your cock rests against his skull, his hellfire eyes burning in the darkness and giving just enough light for you to see his long black tongue curl around your base like a snake. 

Shit– he wants to kill you.

“Holy fuck Ghost-” You breathe out, lungs burning before you remember how to breathe. His tongue moves, squeezing your base and sliding lower to lap at your balls. You’re forced to bite your finger to stop the painfully pathetic sound burning on your tongue.

He stops moving and you’re thankful he doesn’t mention the whine that slips past your lips. “Simon.” He demands, oily spit clinging to your skin and making it tingle with heat.

“Simon.” You nod along dumbly, “Fuck- Simon.”

“Good.” You imagine he’s smiling when he says that, his hand returning to stroke your cock in reward. “Call me that again.” He says, a purr rumbling in his chest and you can’t help but moan at how the vibrations travel through his tongue, making it act like a vibrating toy.

Your hands fly to grip his horns, the pleasure making you throw your head back yet you try to keep your eyes on him, hiccuping his name between harsh breaths. He doesn’t mind the touch on his horns, leaning into the touch before flicking his tongue at your taint. He rewards you for each time you say his old name, tongue and hand working in tandem to slowly and steadily march you towards release. 

You try to tug on his horns to warn him, or maybe to pull him away, but he pays no heed; he doubles his efforts, wetly slurping at your balls and base while his hand toys with your crown, his free hand holding your hips down so all you can do is weather the pleasure until you’re finally pulled under the waves. “Simon-” You gasp, cum spurting all over his hand and your stomach. 

You watch through lidded eyes as he retracts his hand, keeping his gaze on you as he lazily licks up your cum from his hand. “Better than I expected.” He rumbles, more to himself than you, leaning up to drag his long slimy tongue across your stomach to gather up all your cum.

 Shit, that sight got you hard again before you could even soften.

You’re not sure if the greed you see spark in his eyes makes you scared or even harder, but you’re not left any room to think further about it before his tongue wraps around your cock again.

Unfortunately for you, demons have no concept of time as mortals know it, so his ‘quick’ ends up being the entire rest of the night. At one point you get to the point you’re sure Ghost is trying to kill you with all the pleasure, spit polishing your cock until he’s satisfied and by that point the sun is rising and your voice is hoarse.

You can’t meet the gaze of the motel receptionist in the morning, but Ghost Simon, looks smug like the cat who ate the canary.

[zeppelinlvr]

Two Reverse

Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Summary: You, Dean, and Sam go after a demon on short notice, you end up getting hurt in the process.

Felt sad, wrote angst sorry guys. Also, I know Andromalius is a higher up demon having 36 legions of demons at his service (I think?) and I know it's unlikely you’d be dealing with him as the process of even trying to summon him would be so complicated, but demonology is so complex just pretend him going after you is reasonable. Also i’ve been on an Adrianne Lenker kick lately so bear with me. Thank you all for the support on all my fics! 💗💗

Warnings: Angst (with a happy ending cus I can't write sad endings), cursing, fluff.

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You and Sam were desperately researching, trying to find out what demon was targeting these people, four had died already and the two of you had made little progress. Dean was out interviewing people and trying to get anything he could about what you were dealing with.

“Sam, I think I know what we’re dealing with” you told him “I looked into the victims and two of them were thieves, not just shoplifting, they broke into people's houses and stole valuable items, and two of the other victims were just assholes, they were both bullies in high school and were super entitled”

“I’m not following, how are they connected” Sam asked

“The demon Andromalius goes after people who are wicked and theives, he’s not in a lot of the common demonology books is probably why we hadn't made the connection sooner but he’s mentioned in The Goetia, the Lesser key of Solomon” You explained

“Best explanation we have, I’ll start looking into how to exorcize him” Sam replied

“I’ll call Dean and we can figure out a plan to draw him in” you told Sam.

Dean was headed back to the motel, having little luck with his interviews. He felt his phone buzzing in his pocket and saw your name as the caller id and the stupid picture you had taken of yourself and made your contact photo. He smiled at your dumb expression before answering the call.

“hey, I didn’t find-“ he started but was cut off by your quick rambling, you were excited to finally have figured out what you were dealing with.

You explained to Dean what you had told Sam, then asked “we need to figure out a way to lure him into us, Sam’s researching right now but I wanted to see if you had any ideas”

“Well, I’m a thief and I’m probably wicked so we could use me as bait, figure out how to get him near us, then I’ll distract him while you and Sam try to kill him” Dean suggested

Your stomach knotted at his plan, you didn’t want him to put himself in danger “Dean, I don’t want to use you as bait, we can think of something else” you said trying to hide the worry in your voice.

“I can handle myself sweetheart” he told you “I’m almost back to the motel, I’ll talk to you more then” he hung up the phone after you exchanged goodbyes.

As he said, Dean arrived in the motel room a couple of minutes later. you gave him a brief hug upon his arrival, not out of the ordinary, he got used to the fact you were touchier than him and he was okay with it, never admitting it but he enjoyed being hugged by you.

You explained Deans plan to Sam, making sure to comment on how bad of an idea you thought it was, hoping Sam would also immediately shoot it down.

“We might not have any other choice, I’m getting signs of him a few miles from here, we need to go now” Sam grimaced

You sighed, worry filling your body but you chose to push it away, frantically getting ready to leave with Dean and Sam.

Dean hurled to a stop in front of a mildly secluded house, when you stepped out of the car the three of you heard things breaking and screams coming from inside. You all quickly ran to the door, Dean not bothering to pick the lock but rather just choosing to kick it down.

The scene in front of you was horrific, there was a woman, who had already died, lying on the floor of the living room. You heard a struggle down the hall and Dean made his way there, signaling you and Sam to stay out of sight in order to try to get some element of surprise.

When Andromalius caught sight of Dean he dropped the man who he had nearly killed. Dean yelled out “I’m here you asshole, come get me”

“No, it’s not you I’m after” Andromalius hissed

Dean's expression faltered slightly but he tried his best to keep the demon distracted “I steal all the time, and I’m definitely not a good person” he shrugged

Sam had an opening to the demon, he figured it was now or never, so he ran out from the spot he was hiding in. He was stopped before he had a chance to stab the demon. Sam found himself pushed against the wall with a harsh force.

“Where’s the girl?” Andromalius said, a dark expression growing on his face.

Dean clenched his jaw, trying to hide his worry “She’s an angel compared to me, you don’t want her” he defended

You snuck your way out of your spot, and managed to grab the knife Sam had dropped. You had your arm in the air, ready to stab him when he quickly whipped around, smirking when his face met yours.

You felt a force choking you, and slowly lifting you off the ground, tears welled in your eyes and you desperately tried to kick and fight back.

Then the searing pain came, ripping through your abdomen. You choked out a scream and tears poured down your face, you tried to kick and claw at him as the panic truly set in about how this could end. You cried out as the strength left your body, your vision blurring.

Dean and Sam were both struggling with everything they had. Dean had managed to get ahold of the knife, and with Andromalius’s focus stuck on you, Dean stabbed him in his back.

The demon had been killed and you fell to the floor, his force no longer holding you up. You choked and gasped for air. You were a mess, crying and panic still coursing through you.

Dean ran over to you, kneeling beside you and cradling you in his lap.

“Hey, it’s okay sweetheart, you did so good” he tried to comfort, his voice shaking.

He quickly flung off his jacket, pressing it to your abdomen, you hadn’t noticed the severity of the cut from how panic stricken you were, but you were losing a lot of blood.

“Sammy call 911” Dean yelled at him

“you’re gonna be okay, just keep looking at me, okay” he told you, trying to keep you calm.

The pain of the gash was becoming more prominent as your adrenaline wore off, you felt yourself growing weaker.

“Dean, thank you for always looking out for me” you choked out, it hurt to speak but you needed to tell him “You and Sam are the best things to happen to me” you tried to hold back the stinging tears, a lump in your throat. “I love you so much Dean”

“Hey no, don’t give me a goodbye speech, you’re going to be okay” he said shakily, a few tears running down his face.

“An ambulance is on the way, keep applying pressure” Sam told Dean, as he made his way over to you, helping Dean support your body.

You fought so hard to keep your eyes open and to keep listening to Dean voice, his reassurance that you were going to be okay, it was just a scratch, and that you were so tough.

You fought so hard, but his voice was fading, you felt your eyes droop before your body went limp in Deans arms.

“nono fuck” he whispered “I still need you” “Someone fucking help” he was now yelling “Castiel, some fucking angel save her”

"Why the hell did it go after her, I'm the one it should've gone after" Dean sobbed

"Dean, demons don't exactly see a grey area, there's probably something that happened on a hunt and he found that as an excuse to go after her, don't start blaming yourself" Sam told him, a few tears slipping down his cheeks.

Sobs racked Deans body as he heard the familiar flutter of wings. He was instantly yelling at the angel “fucking help her, I’m not letting her die on me”

“Dean, she’s going to be okay” Cas said and made his way over to you, placing a gentle hand on your forehead and began to heal your wounds.

You opened your eyes groggily, after your vision cleared, you were confused at the sight of the angel above you and Dean and Sam’s tear-stained faces.

You quickly pulled your shirt up to inspect where the gash had been, only to find nothing there, although your clothing was still stained with blood.

You frantically scrambled up and engulfed Dean in a hug.

“Hi sweet girl, I told you you’d be okay” he choked out

You allowed yourself to cry, tears streaming down your face as you sobbed harshly.

Deans heart sunk upon hearing your pained cries, he was already blaming himself for not intervening sooner.

After it sunk in that Cas had saved you, you whipped around to face him, his face ridden with what seemed like concern. You moved over to him to hug him, still sobbing like there was no tomorrow. blabbering out your thanks to him. He didn’t exactly understand what was happening, but he attempted to hug you back, gently wrapping his arms around you.

“You’re okay now Y/n, that’s what matters” he told you

You nodded in response, trying to stop your crying but your attempts didn’t do much, you were so overwhelmed, you were scared, thankful, and a little embarrassed by your sappy speech.

You turned back to Dean “I’m sorry for getting cheesy, I thought I was gonna kick the bucket and I needed to tell you a few things” you laughed awkwardly, still lightly crying.

He shook his head and brought you back in for a hug “I uh, feel like, me too” he struggled, wanting to tell you he loved you but he couldn’t get the words out.

“I know Dean” you nodded

You heard a siren in the distance, none of you wanted to explain the situation. Cas was gone in an instant, you, Sam and Dean were quickly making your way to the door. Dean carrying you in his arms despite your insistence that you were able to walk.

Sam drove and you sat squished next to Dean in the passenger seat.

“Sammy, I promise I’ll give you a hug when we get back to the motel” you told him, your nose stuffed up from how much you’d be crying. Sam laughed lightly in response.

Dean pulled you into him, holding onto you tightly as if you were going to slip away from him, swearing to himself to watch out for you.

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[athenamikaelson]

Klaus Mikaelson x Soulmate!Reader x Elijah Mikaelson Pt. 

Word Count- 5.5k

Warnings- Swearing, violence, spoilers for canon, abusive dads, trauma, reader having bad responses to her trauma.

“Wait, you’re telling me that I miss ghosts coming back and terrorizing Damon just because I went to a doctor’s appointment?”

I deadpan at Ric as he looked over a bunch of pictures and drawings they had found in some mystery tunnel. 

“That’s what you get for going to the doctor,” Damon smirks at me as he and Elena spar. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, Demon. Next time I just won’t get shot,” I shoot a glare at him and he rolls his eyes. Elena uses this moment to try to throw a punch at the vampire but Damon easily catches it. 

Elena sighs defeated and then turns to me, “How did your appointment go? Any good news?”

I roll my left shoulder and then shrug, “Nothing really new. The doctor did say I’m healing faster than anyone he’s seen before though,” This gains all three of their attention, “He chalked it up to my wonderful youth.”

“Well that’s good,” Elena smiles happily.

“And he said he liked my birthmark.”

“You have a birthmark?”

I look over to Ric who is looking at me questionably.

“Ya, she’s got like a smudge on her shoulder,” Damon jests and I glare at him.

“It’s not a smudge you asshat.”

“Don’t be mean Damon,” Elena defends me, “Personally I love Y/N’s birthmark. I think it’s cute. Almost looks kinda like the moon.”

I walk over to Elena and we both glare at the blue-eyed vamp who just rolls his eyes again. 

“Thank you, my love,” I look over to my best friend who is sporting a light pink tint to her cheeks at the nickname.

“Of course, my beautiful best friend,” Elena smiles back and we both giggle.

“Can y'all just kiss and get it over with,” Damon groans out.

“You wish you had a boyfriend the way I have my girlfriend, Damon. Your jealousy is oozing off of you,” I smile at the man and he purses his lips and then goes over to Ric.

A buzzing in my pocket has me separating from my friend and grabbing my phone. 

“Oh shit,” I whisper out and quickly grab my jacket off a nearby chair.

“Where are you going,” Elena asks to me as I book it to the front door.

“Theo’s tire popped and he’s supposed to be at practice in 2 minutes. So I have to go rescue him. Toddles!”

—

“Thanks for picking me up,” I groan as Theo grabs his football padding from the trunk of my car and puts them into my arms.

“Ya, whatever,” I struggle to carry it all as Theo closes the trunk and makes me follow him towards the school.

“Dude take your shit before I drop it,” I groan out to my brother who turns back and gives me a look before dramatically sighing and grabbing the gear from my hands.

“You need to start hitting weights. I’m bulking up this season so you can join me,” My brother says excitedly. 

I stare at him in disgust, “Oh ya cause that sounds like great sibling bonding time to me.”

“Do you know how many people would kill to be my sibling,” Theo asks and I shoot him a blank look.

“Many people, nerd. Many a people,” I fight the urge to laugh at my brother’s dramatics as his mood instantly brightens, “There’s the guys! I got to go, see you later nerd.” 

I stand there for a moment as I watch my brother run off to his teammates. Oddly enough though after going like 10 feet he stops and turns around. He quickly runs over to me and for a second I think he’s going to knock me down but instead, he balances his gear on one hand, and with the other he side-hugs me. 

“Even though other people want to be my sibling, I wouldn’t want any of those hoes,” Theo lets go of me and gives me a boyish grin, “You’re kind of a cool sister. Even if you are a nerd.”

Theo turns back around and I can’t fight the huge smile that comes over my face as I watch my little brother instantly start bickering with his teammates. 

“You guys have a cute relationship,” A feminine British voice makes my smile instantly drop.

“Hello Rebekah,” I turn around and come face to face with the pretty blonde Mikaelson. 

“That’s your little brother I assume. He looks just like you,” She smiles at me but I don’t return it.

“What do you want?”

Rebekah doesn’t seem to be unsettled by my prickly attitude as she continues talking. 

“I was wondering if you’d like to get lunch with me. Or perhaps go dress shopping? Homecoming is coming up and I’ve never been to one so I could use some help.”

My eyes narrow in confusion, “You’ve never been to a homecoming? Aren’t you like a million years old?”

Rebekah seems momentarily annoyed by my comment but quickly brushes it off, “I spent much of my life following my brothers around. Neither of which care for the dramatics that come with high school. So no, I haven’t been to a high school dance.”

I think about what she said for a moment and a smirk graces my lips at the thought of posh Elijah at a homecoming dance. 

“You’re not missing out on much,” I pick at the thread of my shirt, “I mean, not that I would know. I’ve never been to one either.”

At this Rebekah frowns, “You’ve never been! Why not?”

I shrug at Rebekah’s question, “Public places with tons of people aren’t really my thing. I’d rather be alone than be in a room with a bunch of drunk, loud teenagers.”

I move around the Original and start walking towards my car but inwardly groan when I hear her footsteps behind me.

“Great! Then we can experience it for the first time together!”

I bite my lip in anger and whip around, “What are you doing?”

Rebekah’s face morphs into one of confusion, “What do you mean?”

I gesture to her and then to me, “This! Why are you trying so hard to be around me? Did your brother put you up to this? He’s already making Alastair follow me around like a dog, so what about you?”

At my outburst, the girl frowns, “I heard about what my brother did. His ways of caring for people aren’t always shown in the best ways,” She smiles softly at me, “But I swear to you my brother didn’t put me up to this. I just…would like a friend…I would like you to be my friend.”

I look at Rebekah and try to find any signs of deceit in her face but I can’t seem to find any.

“You can’t just have friends, Rebekah. Friendships are built on trust. I can’t be friends with you unless you prove to me that I can trust you.”

Rebekah seems to take this as a approval as she quickly nods her head, “Great! Then I’ll just make you trust me. Can I have your phone number so I can text you? That’s what it is called right? I’m still quite new to this ages technology.”

I sigh and then reach out my hand and Rebekah smiles grabbing her phone from her pocket and placing it in my hand. I go to her contacts and type in my number and hand the phone back to the smiling blonde. 

I turn around and head to my car but hear the blonde call after me.

“I’ll text you!”

—

Rebekah wasn’t joking when she said she’d text me because approximately an hour later I’m pulling up to the Salvatore house because she practically begged me to meet her here.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?”

I turn around and spot Elena getting out of her SUV. 

“Rebekah asked me to come,” I frown at my friend’s worried expression, “What are you doing here?”

“She asked me to come as well.”

Elena and I warily eye each other for a moment before walking up to the front door. Elena goes first as she pushes the front door open and my ears are assaulted by loud pop music.

Elena shoots me a look over her shoulder and I shrug as we make our way into the foyer. We begin walking into the living room but stop when a smiling She-Klaus walks over to us with champagne in her hands.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“You invited me over to talk,” Elena says from beside me, not matching Rebekah’s cheery attitude.

“I’m not exactly sure why I’m here,” I raise a finger.

Rebekah looks at us and then turns around, “Alright, girls. Have at it.”

I’m confused on who she’s talking to for a moment but then when a group of girls wearing homecoming dresses enter the living room in a line, I have my answer.

“What the hell,” I whisper to Elena who looks as shocked and confused as me. 

“Okay, now twirl, please,” Rebekah asks the girls and I watch in disgust as they all oblige.

“You’ve compelled your own private runway show?”

I nod along to Elena’s question because I’m also thinking the same.

“I need a homecoming dress. So what do you think? Pick one” Rebekah says as if this is totally normal behavior. 

“I know you’re new to this whole thing…and century. But most people just go to the store and try on the dresses. Not compel a bunch of innocent girls to parade around in them.”

Rebekah frowns at me. 

“We’re not here to help you shop. I’m here to talk about why you don’t want me to wake up Mikael.”

Rebekah smirks at Elena’s comment for a moment before flashing behind a blonde girl. I jump back slightly as I watch her fangs protrude from her gums as she puts them near the girl's throat. 

Elena takes a step forward and I follow.

“I said pick one, Elena.”

Elena looks a me for a moment before pointing to one of the girls, “The red one.”

“There,” Rebekah smooths out the blonde girl's hair, “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Go away. Remember nothing.”

I watch disturbed as the girls walk back out of the room and Rebekah comes back over to us. 

“You do not threaten me,” Rebekah stares Elena down and I move slightly in front of my friend, “You will learn what I allow you to learn. Is that clear?”

Elena nods from beside me and Rebekah moves around us and out of the room. Elena and I shoot each other another look before following the girl upstairs and into Stefan’s room where Rebekah is starting to go through the broody vampire’s things. 

“We shouldn’t be here,” Elena says standing next to me in the doorway.

“Of course, we should,” Rebekah says as she picks up a pair of boxers, making me frown in disgust, “Come on. Like you’ve never wanted to snoop. Boxer briefs. Now that’s a change from the ‘20s.”

“Ew. TMI.”

“Are you gonna root through his stuff all night or are you gonna start to tell us your story?”

Rebekah sighs, “You really are no fun,” She turns to me, “Why are you friends with such a bore?”

“One thing you should learn about me Rebekah,” I glare at the blonde, “I am not friends with people who insult my friends.”

Rebekah stares at me for a moment before rolling her eyes and muttering something under her breath. 

“What do you want to know?”

Elena takes a step into the room, “Elijah said that your father was a landowner in Europe. How did you guys end up here?”

At the mention of the suited Original, a warm feeling brushes my cheeks.

“My parents had just started a family when a plague struck their homeland. They lost a child to it. They wanted to escape and protect their future family from the same fate.”

A wave of sadness washes over me at the mention of Rebekah losing her sibling. I couldn’t imagine what I would do if I ever lost Theo. No matter how many headaches he gives me, the boy is practically my son.

“So how did you end up here,” Elena prods, “This part of the world hadn’t been discovered yet.”

Rebekah scoffs, “Not by anyone in your history books. But my mother knew the witch Ayana who heard from the spirits of a mystical land where everyone was healthy. Blessed by the gifts of speed and strength. That led my family here where we lived amongst those people.”

“The werewolves?”

“To us, they were just our neighbors. My family lived in peace with them for over 20 years during which my family had more children including me.”

“So… technically you’re American?” 

My question has both of the girls shooting me frowns but I lightly laugh at myself for the comment. 

“You make it sound so normal,” Elena comments. 

Rebekah walks towards a window and for a second I can see a thoughtful smile on her face, “It was. Once a month our family retreated to the caves underneath our village. The wolves would howl through the night and by morning we’d return home. One full moon, Klaus and my youngest brother Henrik snuck out to watch the men turn into beasts. That was forbidden. Henrik paid the price.”

A deep breath escapes my lips as the girl continues her story.

“And that was the beginning of the end of peace with our neighbors,” Rebekah turns back to look at us, “And one of the last moments my family had together as humans.”

The buzzing of Elena’s phone distracts us.

Rebekah coughs, “You better get that. That’ll be…Damon checking up on you.”

Elena turns around and answers the call as I walk over to Stefan’s desk and start rummaging through his things. I never said I was a Saint.

“Was that Stefan?’’

Elena’s question has me turning around and frowning. 

“Damon, how could you let him out,” Elena exclaims and I frown.

“That didn’t sound good.”

—

“Did you get your fill of snooping yet,” Elena asks Rebekah who is lying down on Stefan’s bed reading one of his many diaries, “Can we get on with the story?”

I watch from my seat on the floor as Rebekah throws the book onto the bed and stands up. She walks over to the desk by Elena and picks up a framed picture of the couple. 

“Honestly, I don’t get you two as a couple,” Rebekah shakes her head at my friend. 

“Why would you? You don’t know anything about who he really is,” Elena defends and Rebekah smiles at her and puts the frame back down. 

Rebekah leans down to make eye contact with my friend and I straighten up, “I know exactly who he is. He’s a vampire. We’re a predatory species. We don’t have time to care about humans and their silly little lives.”

“I don’t believe that,” I say but they don’t hear me. Or at least don’t acknowledge me. 

“Is that why you did that runway show earlier,” Elena snarks back and I bite my lip nervously as I have the feeling that a catfight is about to begin, “Because you don’t care about the homecoming dance?”

Rebekah stands up and Elena nods at her, “You know what? I’m just gonna go,” She turns to me, “Y/N you coming?”

I groan as I can practically hear my bones creaking as I stand up.

“You haven’t even heard half the story,” Rebekah calls to Elena. 

Elena turns around to her, “And you’re not going to tell it. You’re just bored and looking for someone to push around. Find someone else to play with. Maybe you can compel yourself a friend.”

OOP.

“The necklace wasn’t Stefan’s to give,” At Rebekah’s words I instantly sit my ass back down. This time on the comfy mattress. 

“It belonged to the original witch.”

Elena turns around, “The one who put the hybrid curse on Klaus?”

“Not just the hybrid curse. She’s the one who turned us into vampires.”

My mouth drops open, “Bomb drop…”

—

“Vampirism was a form of protection?”

Elena asks as Rebekah continues telling her story as we make our way down the stairs. 

“What else would it be?”

“A curse.”

“My parents only sought a way of keeping their children alive,” Rebekah answers.

“Yeah, but why stay? If they were so afraid of the werewolves why not leave?”

“Pride,” Rebekah says as she steps off the last stair and turns back to us, “My father didn’t want to run anymore. He wanted to fight and be superior to the wolves. Where they could bite we had to bite harder. Where they had speed we had to be faster. Agility, strength, senses.’’

Rebekah continues telling us the story of how the spell of vampirism came down to her mother’s hands since the other witch wouldn’t help them.

“In her hands? How could she do anything?”

Elena asks and I feel like I already know the answer. I mean if they’re called “The Originals,” I’m assuming the “Original” witch has something to do with them.

“Because my mother was also a witch.”

“What?”

“The witch of the original family.”

“The original witch,” I finish for her and Rebekah smirks at me.

We make our way into the living room and I plant myself on my favorite couch. 

“Where do they keep their best vintage,” Rebekah asks. 

“But if your mother was a witch then..”

“Am I? No,” The vampire finishes, “A witch is nature’s servant. A vampire is an abomination of nature. You can either be one or the other never both,” Rebekah fishes out a bottle of wine and then turns to Elena, “My mother did this for us. She did not turn.”

“How did you turn?”

Rebekah pours herself a glass and then walks over to the fireplace, “She called upon the sun for life and the ancient white oak tree one of nature’s eternal objects, for immortality. That night, my father offered us wine laced with blood.”

I almost gag at that.

“And then he drove his sword through our hearts.”

My heart clenches as Rebekah’s voice slightly cracks. 

“He killed you,” Elena says.

“And he wasn’t delicate about it either,” Rebekah says with tears and her eyes and quickly breaks the cap off the wine bottle. 

“We had to drink more blood to complete the ritual. It was euphoric. The feeling of power was indescribable. But the witch Ayana was right about consequences. The spirits turned on us and nature fought back. For every strength, there would be a weakness. The sun became our enemy. It kept us indoors for weeks. Although my mother found a solution. There were other problems. Neighbors who had opened their homes for us could now keep us out. Flowers at the base of the white oak burned and prevented compulsion. And the spell decreed that the tree that gave us life could also take it away. So we burned it to the ground.”

Metal.

“But the darkest consequence is something my parents never anticipated. The hunger. Blood had made us reborn and it was blood that we craved above all else. We could not control it. And with that… the predatory species was born.”

“I need a cigarette,” I say out loud as I sigh into my hands at the migraine of an origin story.

“Why did Mikael start hunting Klaus,” Elena asks not giving anyone time to catch their breaths. 

“When Nik made his first human kill,” Nik? “It triggered his werewolf gene. With that, he came my father’s greatest shame.”

“Yeah,” Elena responds, “Elijah told us this part of the story. Your mother had had an affair with one of the werewolf villagers.”

I look down at my hands as Elena and Rebekah continue speaking about Klaus’ father and I have to fight back showing any emotion as I think back to my own father, or not father I guess. 

“She tried to make it right. She put the hybrid curse on Nik to suppress his werewolf side and then she turned her back on him. But Mikael’s greatest weakness as a human was his pride. As a vampire that was magnified. He went on a rampage and killed half the village.”

Here, I thought my father leaving his family was the worst thing one could do in that situation. 

“Then he came home and killed her.”

“Mikael killed your mother?”

“He said she broke his heart so he would hers. He tore it from her chest as Nik watched. Afterwards, my father took off in a rage and the rest of my family scattered. Nik stayed so he could help me bury her. He knew I had to say goodbye to my mother.”

I listen to the rest of Rebekah’s heartbreaking story as she recalls how she and Elijah promised Klaus that the three of them would always be together. Always and forever. 

“Always and forever. Even though he locked you in a coffin for 90 years,” Elena says and I shoot a look at her.

“Dude, really?”

“We’re vampires. Our emotions are heightened. I’m stubborn, Elijah moral, and Nik…Nik has no tolerance for those who disappoint him. Over a thousand years as a family we’ve all made that mistake at least once. I’ve made it several times.”

As Rebekah’s voice softens I have to fight the urge to reach out and comfort her. Being someone who knows what it feels like to be the one disappointing a family member, I can’t help but relate and feel sorry for the girl.

“But you still love him?”

“He’s her brother, Elena,” I turn to her, “What if it were Jeremy? I know that if it were Theo, I couldn’t hate him. Even if he made my life a living hell.”

“She’s right,” Rebekah looks over to me and I can see the appreciation in her eyes, “And I’m immortal. Should I spend an eternity alone instead?”

Rebekah swallows and I think she’s about to start crying but she quickly walks by both of us, “You’ve heard the story. It’s time to go,” She turns to Elena who is just standing there, “I said leave, Elena! I don’t know what you’re up to but I am no longer playing along.”

“I’m just looking for one good reason why we shouldn’t wake Mikael.”

At Elena’s words I frown, “Are you serious Elena? The man literally killed his own children! After, abusing them their whole lives. You may have grown up in a white-picket fence family, but I didn’t. I know men like that, and men like that should stay away.”

Elena looks at me and from the look on her face, she doesn’t seem to understand why I’m defending Rebekah.

“She will anyway,” Rebekah shakes her head, “I know you want him to help you kill my brother. I’m not stupid.”

“It’s no secret that I want Klaus dead. He has a hold over Stefan’s life and over mine,” Elena points back to me, “And he’s terrorizing Y/N.”

Rebekah glares down at her, “Do what you need. Wake Mikael at your own peril. But make no mistake. If you come after my brother I will rip you apart. And I get my temper from my father. Now leave.”

Elena looks down and then back to me, “Y/N, come on.”

I look at my friend and then at the vampire, “You go. I have to talk to Rebekah.”

This seems to shock both of them, but I just stare at them blankly. Elena takes this as goodbye as she nods her head and leaves the house. 

After Elena leaves Rebekah and I stand there in silence for a moment, and awkwardly I clear my throat.

“Um, I’m sorry.”

Rebekah looks over to me confused, “What are you sorry for? You did nothing to insult me, unlike your friend.”

I frown at Elena’s behavior and then play with the loose thread on my shirt, “For losing your brother. And your mother. You were just a teenage girl when that happened. You didn’t deserve to have that happen to you.”

Rebekah stares at me almost shocked before she shakes her head and walks over to the couch I’m sitting on. 

“You have nothing to apologize for. It was over a thousand years ago, I’m over it.”

Rebekah sits on the seat next to me and we watch the flames of the fire.

“I don’t believe that. I think a loss like that stays with you. Even after a millennia.”

Rebekah turns to look at me and then nods her head softly, “Thank you, Y/N.”

We continue sitting in silence before I see her move out of the corner of my eye.

“What did you mean,” I turn to her in confusion as she speaks, “When you told Elena you didn’t grow up like she did and you knew about men like my father?”

At Rebekah’s question, I turn away from her curious glance and look back towards the flames, “It doesn’t matter.”

“You can tell me you know? It’s not like I have any other friends to go spill your secrets to.” 

At Rebekah’s words, I bite down hard on my lip to try to stop the tears that are making their way into my eyes. The urge to finally spill on the secret that I’ve been holding in all summer, building inside of me. 

“My father…growing up wasn’t the kindest man,” I say out loud trying to be careful with my words, “He was absent a lot but… those were the good moments, oddly enough, because, whenever he did come home… he was,” I stop, trying to find the right words to describe my estranged “not” father, “he was harsh. Nothing was ever good enough for him. No one was ever good enough for him. Certainly not me. He was the stereotypical macho man who thought that women weren’t equal to men. So whenever I showed strength in something, he made sure to kick me back down. Just to remember how weak I could be.”

I don’t realize I’m crying until Rebekah places a tissue into my hands. I’m not really sure where she got it but I take it and wipe away my tears.

“You mention him in past tense…is he…” 

I shake my head, “No, he’s not dead. He and my mother separated about two years ago. I haven’t seen him since.”

Rebekah doesn’t say anything as she waits to see if I’ll continue and I sigh as I try to.

“I didn’t know why they did. My mother always just kind of let it happen you know? The abuse. I don’t even know if you would call it that. It’s not like he hit me or whatever. Others have had it worse. My mother though just always told me not to provoke him, not to make him mad. But, she really wasn’t ever the one who got the brunt of it,” I bite down on my lip harder, “And you want to know the worst thing about it? Three months ago my mother told me that the man that had made me cry into my pillow since I was 8 years old… wasn’t even my actual father.”

I hear Rebekah let in a breath as she continues watching me.

“How fucked up is that, you know,” I laugh with tears in my eyes at the irony of it all.

“Did she tell you who your real father was?”

I shake my head at her question, “Just the bare minimum. I’ve barely talked to her since that day anyway. It’s the reason I have my own room down the hall,” I point towards the direction of my room at the Salvatore’s, “Damon’s let me crash here the entire summer. He’s the only other person who knows.”

“Not even your brother?”

I quickly shake my head and wipe the rest of my tears away, “Especially not, Theo. He’s so young and with the move and everything I don’t want him to be stressed out.” 

I can see Rebekah looking at me as if she’s trying to find the right words to say, “Is that the only reason you haven’t told him?’’

My eyebrows furrow as I keep staring at the fireplace, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you’re worried that he won’t accept you. Nik had that same fear after he found out he wasn’t Mikael’s.”

“I am not Klaus,” I bite out and she just nods.

“I know. But you can’t deny the similarities,” I don’t say anything as I try not to think of her words, “I know I haven’t been here very long but… just from seeing Theo and you a few times, I don’t think you have to worry about telling him. If he truly loves you he’ll accept you no matter what.”

I finally think about Rebkeah’s words and in doing so, don’t even notice the front door being swung open. 

Rebekah sighed deeply from beside me as she stood up, “I thought I told you to leave twice.”

“How do you know Mikael killed your mother,” Elena’s question has me turning slightly to hear her better.

“Nik was there,” Rebekah says as she pours herself a drink, “He told me.”

Elena sighs and she steps closer to Rebekah, “He lied to you.”

“And how do you know that?”

Elena walks over to us and I put my face down slightly so she can’t see the dried tears on my cheeks.

“The cave where you carved your family’s names, is covered in symbols. The story of your family. How your parents arrived, how they made peace, the spell that turned them into vampires, and this,” She places a photograph on the table, “This is the symbol for hybrid. It’s the combination of the werewolf and the vampire symbol. And this is the one for your mother.”

“Her necklace.”

Elena sighs, “And this is the story of her death. The hybrid killed the original witch. Not Mikael, Klaus.”

I turn fully at them both. Surprise is most likely clear on my face.

“No,” Rebekah forcefully shakes her head, “No, he wouldn’t.”

“She put the curse on him, made it so that he would be the only one of his kind and then she rejected him. With the werewolf gene comes aggression and violence. When he turned all of that was heightened. He killed her, Rebecca, and then he made up this entire lie about your father so that he wouldn’t lose you.” 

“These mean nothing. They’re just stupid drawings done by stupid people who had no idea who my family was,” Rebekah yells as she grabs the pictures and flings them into the fireplace. 

Elena approaches her, “Then why are you so upset?”

“Elena stop, just leave her alone,” I tell my friend but she ignores me. 

“Why are you doing this to me? I’ve done nothing to you,” Rebekah yells at her.

“Klaus killed your mother. He has a hold on you, on me, on everyone. He has for a thousand years. We have to make it stop!”

“Shut up! Just shut up! Don’t talk anymore! Nothing!”

I quickly stand up as Rebekah pushes Elena into the wall forcefully. 

“Rebekah!” 

After a moment Rebekah drops her hands and stands there silently with tears in her eyes. Elena and I watch cautiously but not even a moment later a sob escapes the blonde’s mouth as she drops to her knees. Elena looks over to me and I shake my head at her. 

“Go.”

I don’t even check to see if she leaves as I kneel down to the sobbing girl. I place a comforting hand on her shoulder and I gasp as I’m being pulled into a hug. Rebekah holds onto me for dear life as she cries into my shoulder. And I let her. 

—

I sigh as I throw my keys onto my kitchen table and sit down. I put my head in my hands and try to forget the shitshow that was tonight. 

“Damn bitch!”

Theo’s screech has me whipping around in my chair in shock. My brother stands there in his satin pajamas he got for Christmas last year with a hand over his heart.

“Fucking sitting in the dark like some goddamn stalker,” Theo walks over to the light switch and I try to stop him but it’s too late.

Theo’s smirk instantly drops as he rushes over to me and places his hands on the sides of my face, “What happened? Did someone say something to you? If it was someone at school tell me and I and Jeremy will go beat their asses right now.”

My brother’s angry tone has me smiling for a moment but before I can stop it tears are streaming out of my eyes and a sob escapes my mouth.

My little brother just stands there awkwardly as he pats my shoulder.

“Do you want to talk about it? Um, should I call Elena or Mom?”

At the mention of our mother, I quickly shake my head, “No. I’m fine. Just a long day and all. I just need some sleep. Go back to bed, Theodore.”

Theo shakes his head and tries to deny my request but I shoo him away. As I watch his retreating figure I sigh and take a deep breath.

“Actually Theo…there’s something we need to talk about.”

[cuubism]

a very silly story for you. johanna, dreamling's weird baby, and an accidental kidnapping (and subsequent rescue)

--

Johanna’s seen a lot of weird shit in her time. It comes with the territory. Magical shit also tends to be horrible shit which also tends to be weird shit. But even she is finding herself flummoxed by this one.

She’d broken into this flat prepared to perform an exorcism. Amateur occultist, planning to summon a demon? That’s what she’d heard, and yeah, that wasn’t going to go well. And it hadn’t—the guy was on fire when she arrived, so on fire that there was no way she could put it out or help him, though she had throne a blanket over him in a meager attempt. It was too late, though. He was charcoal in seconds.

That, while horrible, wasn’t even the weird part. The weird part was that there wasn’t even a demon, but there was a baby.

Sitting in the middle of the room, in a bird cage.

Johanna stares at it now, barely noticing the acrid smoke she’s still breathing in. Why the actual fuck is there a baby in a birdcage?

It doesn’t seem to be hurt at all. It’s just sitting there on a blanket at the bottom of the cage, clutching a little cat stuffed toy in its chubby fingers. But it’s in a birdcage. A bird cage.

Johanna goes to open the cage, of course she does—

And the moment she touches the latch she jumps back, shaking out her hand from the spark. Holy hell, that thing is warded to high heaven. That cage could probably keep a demon contained. Why is a baby warded like that? It’s just a human—

It.

It looks like a human baby.

Johanna circles the cage, more wary now. She should know better, should know that an occultist like that wouldn’t be carrying around a regular baby in a cage. Even if you’re a real sicko, you don’t need a cage to keep hold of a baby. It can’t even walk.

So it’s not a regular baby. Sure looks like one, though. Makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up, that does.

As Johanna looks more closely at the wards, the baby watches her with wide eyes, sucking on its thumb. It’s actually pretty cute. It’s even wearing a star-print onesie. The wards are hardcore, though. Nothing’s getting in, and certainly nothing is getting out.

“Either you’re some fucked up thing disguised as a baby,” she muses out loud, “or you’re an actual little baby fucked up thing, which means your fucked up nightmare mummy is going to come looking for you.”

The baby blurbles in agreement.

Either way, she can’t exactly take it to the authorities. Which means she’s going to have to take the baby home, at least for now.

“Fuck me,” Johanna says, and picks up the cage.

--

The baby is silent on the drive home—buckled awkwardly into the back seat of the car—and remains so as Johanna puts the cage down on the floor of her living room. It watches her with big eyes, sucking its thumb. It doesn’t seem particularly afraid, though Johanna can’t imagine being in a cage is very pleasant, even for a baby that probably doesn’t understand what’s going on anyway.

Or who knows, maybe it does. Jo doesn’t really know much about babies’ development trajectories.

“Right,” she says, looking at it with hands on her hips. “I’m not really looking to become a mum, so we’ll have to get you out of there and back where you belong. Fuck if I know where that is.”

The baby makes a gurgling sound that could be agreement or just gassiness.

Johanna gets out some chalk and starts to draw a containment array around the cage. “Sorry about this, little chap,” she says, “but I still don’t know what you are. Better safe than sorry, eh?”

The baby is silent, watching her.

Johanna finishes the containment circle, binding it off with a final rune. It’s not so mean of a ward as the cage had. Just enough to keep the baby from exploding with power once she does break the cage open. If that’s something it can even do.

She studies the ward. “Think I can pick this lock,” she says to herself. “Take me a sec, though. Don’t suppose you want a beer while you wait?” This to the baby. “I haven’t got any formula. Or are you old enough for baby food?”

The baby just sucks on its thumb. It really does seem quite sweet. Shame about secretly being a monstrosity in a cage, and all.

Johanna works on the ward, occasionally chatting out loud to the baby. It doesn’t reply, obviously, but it listens. Johanna is feeling more invested in getting it back to its parents the longer she sits with it. Even if it is some gross creature, it doesn’t deserve to be in a birdcage. It’s just a baby.

“Good trick we met each other, my friend,” she says as she finally unravels the last bit of the warding. “Doubt that guy had good plans for his captured baby.”

She clicks open the ward.

As soon as she does, the formerly placid baby starts screaming. And Johanna realizes that part of the ward’s function had been to stop it from crying for help.

“Mama!” the baby wails, tears pooling in its eyes, little fists scrunched tight around its plushy’s legs. “MammaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!”

Its voice warbles outside the normal sound range and straight into her brain, ringing like a bell. She covers her ears, but it doesn’t help. Great, now the thing’s mother is going to show up and eat her. This is what she gets for trying not to be a total asshole for once. Should’ve opened the cage in the street and fled.

“Shhhhhh,” she tries to soothe the baby, “it’s okay—” But it’s too late. And Johanna isn’t a very soothing person anyway. It probably wouldn’t have worked, even if the room hadn’t been plunged into sudden darkness.

Johanna stumbles back, though she can see nothing. Thunder and static ripple through the air, cold wind tangles her hair. Jo claps her hands over her ears as the air pressure increases and increases and—

The baby squeals, and it sounds happy now, rather than afraid. “Mama!!”

A voice scraped from the utter depths of mental torment booms through her flat.

C  O  N  S  T  A  N  T  I  N  E

Ah, fuck.

“Morpheus,” she tries, because she does recognize that voice, unfortunately, “listen—”

A wall of sand knocks her backwards.

As it does, some light returns to the flat, and she can see Morpheus, looking markedly less pathetic than when she’d last encountered him, standing in the center of the living room, looking down at the baby. His eyes flash with otherworldly light. His sand rushes around him, scrapes through the binding circle she’d drawn like it’s nothing but chalk, dissolves the birdcage to nothing, plays with the baby’s curls and pools in the crevices of its onesie. Meanwhile, it flattens Johanna against the wall, wraps in winding strands of wind around her chest and squeezes.

The baby reaches for Morpheus, who kneels and picks it up. He says something to the baby, the words low and solemn but inaudible over the rushing sand, then holds it close to his chest.

Then his gaze turns to Johanna.He looks murderous. Johanna had thought he’d been pissed off about his sand. She hadn’t seen even a tenth of it.

“I guess you’re mama?” she says, past the sand squeezing around her chest. This really is just the kind of stupid thing that would happen to her.

Morpheus’s eyes are like black holes in his pale face. “Constantine,” he growls, with much of the same danger as before, though at lower volume. “I thought we had parted on neutral terms. More fool I. What grudge do you still hold against me?” The sand squeezes her tighter. “Speak quickly, for your time is limited.”

“There’s no grudge, I have nothing to—”

“Ransom, then?” says Morpheus, seeming, if possible, more angry. “You would compel favors from me by threatening a child?” He clutches the baby to his chest. It’s started chewing on the lapel of his coat. The whole picture would be kind of hilariously adorable if she weren’t on the verge of being torn apart by nightmares.

“I’m not responsible for this!” Johanna insists. “Consult your stalker encyclopedia of all minds if you have to. You really think I’m going around kidnapping infants?”

“I think,” says Morpheus, each syllable a new threat, “that you must explain why you had my daughter in a cage. NOW. And count yourself fortunate I have granted you the mercy of an explanation.”

“I literally just found her!” Johanna says. Doesn’t she deserve even a little bit of good faith? She did help with the sand and all. Morpheus’s eyes narrow as if he does not believe her. “Look. Caught wind of this amateur guy messing around with occult stuff. Thought he’d summoned a demon so I went to exorcise it. Found this baby instead.”

“And what of this man?” says Morpheus in a tone that suggests exactly what will soon become of him.

“He was practically dead by the time I got there. Burned alive.” She shudders. She still hasn’t figured out exactly what was going on there, if he’d meant to summon Morpheus’s baby in the first place—ill-advised choice, that—or if it was a spell gone wrong. “‘Fraid you’re too late to torment him.”

“Hmm,” rumbles Morpheus, with evident displeasure, but the sand finally releases Johanna and she sways, standing on her own feet again. Morpheus doesn’t apologize for throwing her against the wall. “You will show me where you found her.”

“Sure, mate,” Johanna says, sucking in a wheezing breath. “Might want to get your baby home first, though.”

Morpheus doesn’t get a chance to respond. Behind Johanna, the front door bursts open— bursts off its fucking hinges, goddammit, now she’ll have to get that fixed— and a man runs through. A very ordinary man, except that he’s carrying a sword. An actual, medieval-looking sword. And in a way that suggests he knows how to use it, too.

He looks almost as murderous as Morpheus, except that no one can quite match Morpheus’s shadows-and-cataclysm level of murder. Evidently, Johanna found the most radioactive baby in all the occult world. But at least it has people that care about it. That’s nice, she supposes.

As soon as he sees Morpheus with the baby across the room, he relaxes, sheathing the sword in a scabbard strapped to his back. “Ah, love. You found her.”

“Dadaaaaaa!!!!” yells the baby with its piercing voice, reaching for him. And the man smiles, striding past Johanna and taking the baby from Morpheus, leaning in to kiss Morpheus on the cheek as he does.

“Hob,” says Morpheus, with a little smile that finally breaks his stormy countenance. “Yes. She called for me when she was able.”

“Good lass,” says Hob, kissing the baby on the forehead, then looks warily at Johanna.

“Ms. Constantine is not responsible,” says Morpheus, and ‘Hob’—his partner? Coparent? Johanna’s not sure she even wants to know—relaxes further.

“Great. Glad we’ve established that. How the hell did you find my flat.” This she demands of Hob.

Hob reaches into the back of the baby’s onesie and plucks a small disc off the collar; he shows it to her with a little wave, then slips it in his pocket.

“Is that an AirTag?”

“We aren’t all plugged into the whole collective unconscious.” He taps the baby on the nose fondly, and she giggles, grabbing at his finger. “And you’re Dada’s little flight risk, aren’t you?”

Johanna sighs, finally flopping down on the couch now that it seems she’s unlikely to get swept away to nightmare-land. She definitely needs a beer after this. “You have a baby?” she says to Morpheus.

“Evidently,” he says flatly. So much for getting answers on that.

“Have we gone after the person who was responsible?” asks Hob. Johanna thinks he means it to come out mildly but it doesn’t, really.

“Already got set on fire, mate,” Jo tells him. “Found him like that.”

“Set on fire?” says Hob with a frown. “Was the rest of the room on fire?”

As a matter of fact, it wasn’t. Which is strange.

Silently, she shakes her head, and Hob turns back to the baby. Now he’s grinning. “Did the bad man wish for power?” he says, in a baby-talk voice, bouncing the baby in his arms. “Did he? And did my little Sparkle take that literally and turn him into a lightbulb?” As a conspiratorial aside to Johanna, he says, “She loves electricity.”

“Sparkle?” she says. “She’s a baby, not a My Little Pony.”

“That is a nickname,” says Morpheus, with a sideways glance at Hob that suggests he finds it questionable at best. “She is Wish.” He says this in the same way he might say I am Dream, rather than my name is Dream.

A moment later, Johanna learns where the nickname came from, as Wish giggles and taps at Hob’s face, sparks dancing around her fingertips. Sparkle. Jesus.

“She does not yet have a firm grasp on her abilities,” says Morpheus.

Wish. Half-Endless baby. Kidnapper set on fire. Jo thinks she gets it now. She shivers.

“You have sworn to show me where you found her,” Morpheus reminds her. Sworn. Does he have to be so dramatic?

Jo sighs, but heaves herself up from the couch. “Yep. Alright. So long as you promise to keep better track of that monkey’s paw baby of yours.”

Morpheus bristles, but Hob just chuckles. “This is the easy part. Wait ’til she gets better at flying.”

He doesn’t appear to be joking. “Don’t envy you,” Johanna says. Then grudgingly admits, “She is cute, though.”

Hob beams.

Morpheus is still fixated on her. Johanna can read the demand without him having to voice it. “What, you’re gonna bring the baby along on the revenge mission?” she asks.

They both just look at her. Neither moves to take Wish home.

“Figures,” Johanna says, with a sigh. This is what she gets for not choosing a more normal profession. She opens the front door and gestures them on. “Fine, then. Let’s go.”

[poppy-metal]

hnngnngnggggnnn Patrick being a spoiled little rich boy <3

need to be his sugar baby :( getting to lounge around his mansion and use his black card at any shops you want as long as your mouth or pussy or ass are available to him whenever he wants :((

his little free use girlfriend who he parades around at important events in skimpy dresses that make people stare at you in shock, all so he has easier access to lift up your skirt or tug down the top and reveal your tits if the whim arises :((((

#needthat

need to be rich!patrick zweigs bratty sugar baby. need to be his little mistress because he never separated from his family and grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth and became pro at tennis and became like all the other boring fucking older men at his fathers country club he swore he'd never be. need him to hate his life and how easy everything was to obtain and how his marriage is loveless and she doesn't even put out and his kids are rich little brats he can't connect with because they're little ipad kids, absolute demons, they wont go outside with him they dont wanna learn to play tennis or any sport or run around and make stick and dirt soup like he did when he was a kid and life is so fucking boring everything is in grays - until he meets you.

at a bar one night. its not the first time hes cheated on his wife - but it might be the first time he's fallen in love. he sees you and wants to fuck you immediately. already decides he'll have your panties around one ankle while he shoves a tongue up your cunt in the bathroom stall - he buys you a drink and you let him. you're sweet and flirty and you draw him in like a bee to a pretty flower - he's subconsciously leaning in, eyes can't stop dropping to your lips.

things take a turn though when you get up to leave and he blinks because he didn't mean to get swept up in the conversation - chases after you to try again - to take you back to a hotel or even in the back of his car - but you tell him no.

he just looks at you. confused. hard. "no." he repeats. rolls it around in his head. foreign. hasn't heard it much before. it sounds sweet coming from your lips.

"you're not fucking me." you tell him simply.

that shouldn't turn him on but it does. he's not stupid. you were attracted to him. he'd seen the way you looked at him - bitten your lip. he knows he's not projecting, because even now you're smiling as you say it.

he rubs a thumb over his bottom lip as he checks you over. strappy heels, but cheap. tight little bodysuit, but not designer. flashy purse but he knows the diamonds on it are fake.

ah.

"you in college?"

you smooth a hand down your hair. "sophomore year."

he nods, leans against the brick building of the bar. fishes in his coat pocket for his packet of cigarettes. "what're you studying?" he flips the box open, slides a cig out - brings it to his lips.

you eye him curiously as he roots for his lighter next - trying and failing to ignore the heat in your belly at how good this man looks leaning against something with a cigarette dangling from his lips.

"we already did the small talk, dude. you're not getting any."

he ignores that. lights his cigarette and inhales. he likes that you're obviously irritated but you dont move away. he blows smoke through his nose. says again, "what're you studying."

you huff. roll your eyes. he watches you calmly, taking drags his cig. in the cool night air you can't tell the exact shade of his eyes, but you think they're green. everything about him screams money and dominance.

you cross your arms. "law." short but simple.

he nods like that makes sense, flicks ash.

"that's good." he says it in a way that sounds like he means it but also could be condescending and you dont know why that makes you swallow deeply. "expensive, though."

you narrow your eyes.

"you think im poor?"

usually someone would fumble after being called out like that but patrick just smiles in a way that says he knows you are -

"i know you're not rich."

you bristle. that hurts. you don't know why. who wants to look rich, anyway. fucking snobs. but still, its embarrassing to be told the distinction in class is obvious to someone else who's far far above you. you can already tell the watch hes wearing costs more than the apartment you can barely afford.

"thanks for the unasked for observation, dickhead." you yank your purse strap higher on your shoulder, make to turn away. "I'd say its been pleasant but well, it hasn't. so."

you make it a couple steps before he calls out -

"I'll pay it."

you're alot of things. you're haughty and stubborn and yeah, not rich. you're also down on your luck and struggling and drowning in so many things in the moment - barely being able to afford your own fucking beer at this point when what you wanted to accomplish in life would take thousands, thousands of dollars. so hearing the word 'pay'. well, yeah. it makes you turn around to face the guy.

"you'll what?"

he knows you heard. it was cute how you perked right up.

"I'll pay it." he gestures towards you. "all of it - your semester. your tuition. textbooks. whatever else you need."

you gawk at him.

the thing is. he's attractive. alarmingly so. disarmingly really. he's tall and broad and he dresses well. he has that perfectly styled hair and deep rich man scent that makes your mouth water. a beautiful face with a rouge kind of touch. you'd have fucked a man like him under any normal circumstance, but given the way your life is going at the moment - you haven't the time to waste on pretty men with big dicks.

probably. he probably has a big dick.

"you're fucking kidding me."

"nah." he licks his bottom lip. takes another drag. flicks more ash to the pavement. he looks at you like he's already imagining you naked in front of him. "I'm good for it."

"well duh." you look him up and down. "you look like you just stepped out of a magazine for mens wealth or whatever. why the fuck are you offering? you expect me to suck your dick for it or something?"

you say the last part sarcastically, rolling your eyes - but patrick just looks at you seriously. sucks the humor right from your bones when he says - "yeah, i do."

two things happen in your body.

firstly, you stiffen. the urge to slap him for being so derogatory making your fingers twitch at your sides. your face burns.

secondly and most apparently, your cunt throbs. your nipples tighten. you inhale sharply in a way patrick notices. smirks at.

you blink at him several times.

"i can't believe you just seriously said that to me." you say it kind of breathlessly. you really can't believe it though.

"should i be more clear?" he takes one step towards you. "i want to fuck you - you want to fuck me, but you won't do it for free. I'm offering to pay you for it."

"i - im not a whore."

the grin patrick gives you makes a tremble shoot through your whole body. you feel it in your toes.

"you sure about that?"

you really should slap him.

you dont.

you fumble, "you're married." you'd spotted the ring at the bar earlier. it hadn't been the reason you turned him down initially, but still.

"you dont care about that."

fuck.

"you cant just...... buy whatever you want. im a person."

he nods. he's done with his cigarette so be crushes it beneath his boot. "give me your hand." he just takes it anyway. you watch dumbly as he gets a pen from his pocket - how many things did he have in his fucking pocket? - bites the cap off, and brings the tip to your palm. "this is the number for my personal phone."

of course he had multiple phones. he doesn't let go of your hand when he's done writing. rubs his thumb into the pulse point at your wrist.

"when you change your mind -" when not if. "- i want you to call me."

you go to pull your hand away, but patrick squeezes it.

"one more thing."

he's close enough the spicy mint scent of him fills your nose. he dips his head so he's closer to your ear, you feel the stubble on his chin graze your cheek -

"when you let me fuck you - you will be a cheap whore. you'll let me do what I want to you. and i know its not because of the money. but i understand what its like to need something to let yourself have something else." he turns his head. kisses your cheek. "don't take too long to call, though. I'm not a patient man."

[starnana7]

every time I remember that the hit show supernatural made God, the literal God from the Bible, canonically bisexual but couldn’t do the same with a random guy who hunts monsters it actually makes me feel physically ill.. like blasphemy is okay but we draw the line at making the main character a little bit queer because it would “upset the heterosexuals men”? okay ig… and it’s so funny to me that they tried SO bad to make dean like really really straight and macho and a manly womanizer (I mean dude has literal porn brain and is obsessed with cars and is a film nerd) And still is the number 1 bissexual boy.. I mean no one that into cowboys is 100% straight 🙄 and if they actually wanted him to be that much of a cishet guy WHY would they make him have a codependent homosexual friendship with his best friend for more than a decade ?? and we have so much subtext to corroborates it that it’s actually insane.

and it’s also rlly funny to me that sam would be the most obvious choice for a queer storyline. like i’m not sure this is true but i heard somewhere that he actually was supposed to like be lgbt and that it’s implied in the show he’s pan bc he basically have sex w/ everyone and doesn’t care (like monsters and stuff). i wholeheartedly disagree bc sure he hited a demon and a werewolf and a kitsune and God knows what more But it still were just women and for me he’s still just straight 💀 we do have gabriel however and i would say that’s a valid argument but i don’t actually like them together because of the whole torturing-sam-every-tuesday-over-and-over-again but it’s still a good take ig. again this is just my opinion But anyways doesn’t matter my point Is that sam always felt like a freak and wanted to be normal and like was more open minded and “less-macho-toxic-behavior” than dean. he was a theater kid and talked about his feelings and all. STILL THO dean went and become The bissexual icon (Not Sam, Dean!!). and the fact that he was more manly actually only emphasized to his sexuality (and him being closeted) and sam being the straight one, and bare with me here. as sam winchester once wisely said “well you are kind of butch they probably think you're compinsating.” (to dean asking why people always assumed they were gay) and like this is so true, sam always felt comfortable in himself and like his nerdier and less cool strong man personality. But dean, oh, dean, no, no, no. and it could all be linked to john. we know how much dean wanted to gain his father approval and respect, all he ever wanted was for john to be proud of him. so he’d listen to the same music as john, same clothes… and so on. but when we really see a glance of him, we realize he’s actually much more “““girly””” (sorry for the term i lacked a better one) than he shows, Especially when compared to sam—who’s supposed to be the more girly one (again sorry for the term lol) or whatever. dean canonically likes taylor swift, chick flick films, actually liked when a woman made him wear underwear, the bailarinas shoe were “speaking to him” in that one ep of cursed objects, and so on. and every time he makes fun of sam for doing something not-manly-enough (like drinking lemon water or drinking from tiny coups) he eventually goes and do the same thing 😭 and i’m 100% sure that the writers just thought “haha funny scene this really straight deadly man does something not so convencional/more feminine(?) haha comedy relief time!!” but it actually just made him have a whole perfect queer background developed in the series. specially with the fact that He Does Overcompensate. why is he always flirting with women, why is he so butch and scary, always talking about straight sex and so on? because he’s really just deep in the closet. and it makes so much sense with john being his father, with him having to hunt two lesbians nuns in his 17 bday, always having to be strong and macho and cool and perfect—and therefore straight. even without cas, dean really does immaculate the bissexual experience and i’m so sorry but this is just true.

and now pointing to the subtext that i mentioned in the first paragraph (lol i can’t believe i’m making a whole rant as to why dean winchester is a confirmed bisexual), that whole confession to that priest where he says he wants experience new feelings, new people, FOR THE FIRST TIME. that always that the show mentioned a gay couple it ALWAYS focused on dean—not sam, DEAN. the gay hunters, the gay couple on the bar that the cupid “made”, the two cosplayers partners… the fact that every time that dean liked something it was borderline fangirl (gay) obsessive (the dr. sexy episode, that wrestler fighter). he Had a gay thing—and was all flustered about it. he flirted with a guy throughout charlie. THE MALE SIREN. the male siren like after that ep i was 100% convinced that man was not straight. he had a hot demon sumer with crowley?!!! and it’s so funny to me that not one of these things involves castiel, so if they really wanted to make dean be that straight why would they do that?? and only to dean, not even once to sam. Like. and not to mention all the homoeretic tension with benny??? sam never had a male best friend like that.. all of that and i didn’t even entered on destiel. Because this then really just confirms that he is Not straight. even if he wasn’t In Love with cas, they had something going on and the fact that if cas was a girl it would 100% be canon and filmed and Everyone would ship—and I really mean everyone—it just makes me go fucking insane. they could’ve had it all. the fanfic episodes, the parallels between dean and cas and “real couples”, ruby and cas duality and the fact that sam indeed had a relationship w/ her. Anyway i’m a # bi dean truth believer and i know this bc same boy # happy pride month to my fav bissexual boy in the whole world

also to anyone that says that “destiel” was unrequited love yes it kinda of was but only bc dean was so deep in the closet, he did love cas. he was indeed a bissexual man. i’ll die on that hill.

[devilish-yuki]

Some silly headcanons about the Obey Me brothers

• Mammon will ALWAYS go for you after school/work. One day after a long day of hard work, you were going normally like every day you left the building to go home and you noticed a lot of people surrounding what seemed to be a luxurious car, "whatever" you thought, but before continuing With your way you heard how a well-known voice yelled at you "Oi human! Get in! We're goin for some shoppin spree at Gucci now!" and there you understood that the person in the luxurious car was your favorite demon... what a shame to draw attention like that, hmph.

• Lucifer sometimes will take you out shopping just for you to flex him on your social media, he's really proud of himself when it comes to being your (sugar daddy lol) economic whims supporter. "Yes, my darling. You can take a photo of us with these... weird looking teas?, whatever makes you happy".

• Beel loves, he really ADORES when you both bake something together, not just because he loves to eat but also because you always try to make him not to eat the ingredients, and he intentionally teases you with that just to see your "angry" face. "Beel, drop that spoon. Now... No, Beel, don't touch the chocolate... Beel, no, Beel, BEELZEBUB!!!" "Hahaha, sorry, sorry. It just tastes really good".

• Levi is a hardcore otaku and we all know that, but he's also a really big fan of K-Pop, in fact, he loves K-Pop as much as Zaramela's music, so he could (and will) force you to learn a lot of the choreographies. "Okay! So this one goes like: pose, hands, move, move, pose and "anti-ti-ti-ti-fragile fragile ×2... Got it??" "Uhhh".

• Shopping and sleepover with Asmo is something nice and fun but partying???? He's the best! He will always invite you to party at the weekend and when you say yes he's the happiest demon in the Devildom. "We're gonna match outfits together! I want you to be the prettiest, after me, so when my succubies meet you they fall for you!" and since he's well known the DJ always plays the music he wants, so if you want to dance to any specific song he will make play that for you, "Slaaay queen! Look at your moves!".

• Themes cafe dates are a must when you go out with Satan, he just adores visiting every cute themed cafe in the city, Alice in Wonderland themed cafe? check, baroque themed cafe? check, anime themed cafe??? also check, CAT THEMED CAFE? ABSOLUTELY CHECK! "There's a new alpaca themed cafe on the west side of the city, we're going today" "But I haven't said yes yet..." "I don't care, I made reservations" "Oh".

• Belphie nap dates are boring sometimes, so he decides to take them to another level. Camping dates with Belphie (even if it's in the backyard of the house) where you both can see the stars, eat s'mores (ft Beel) and fall asleep together because it gets cold at midnight. "That one, there, is not a star" "No??" "No, that's Mercury" "Ohh... I heard that Mercury is retrograde now" "... What does that even mean?".

[nonotnolan]

Drawing Straws

"Bro, what the fuck is all this?" he asked, looking down as his body started erupting with thick tufts of hair.

I couldn't help but laugh at him. "Fair is fair, Kev. We agreed to draw straws, and you lost. It's your turn to sit there while we each swap traits with you to build up our beach bodies."

"Yeah, but fuckin' look at me!" Kev propped himself up on his elbows while we kept swapping with him. "I have to spend time at the beach, too. How the hell am I gonna be able to relax with this much hair?"

"C'mon, bro, you know it only lasts 24 hours. Don't be such a bitch about it," Vince said.

"Fine. Just get it over with," he muttered, rubbing a hand across his new furry chest. "You guys owe me drinks later. I haven't even seen my new face yet, but I'm sure it looks just as-- the fuck?" His hand shot straight into his pants, confirming the change he'd thought he'd felt. "Someone just took my dick!" He tried to glare at us, but we had no sympathy. Kev was always an ass when it came to trait swapping-- now it was our turn to return the favor.

"So what?" Bryce said, trying hard not to laugh. "It's not like you're gonna be using it today. You've got three inches left, you'll live." Clearly we all had the same idea-- hold nothing back. Kev was notorious for making other people deal with his acne and his smelly pits, so I wasn't hesitating to swap my worst traits like I would have for the rest of my bros. We all swapped away our body hair, turning Kev into a sweaty sasquatch at the beach, and that was just the beginning. I opted to get rid of my pale skin and bad eyesight, Bryce had clearly traded away his small cock, and I think we all took more muscle than normal.

"You guys fucking suck," he muttered, trying to lift his heavy gut off the ground with his new, scrawny arms.

"Kev, seriously, quit being a little bitch," I said, placing my hands on my hips. "Stop clutching your fat gut and take a photo of us. If you try and wuss out, it's just going to make the transformation last longer."

We finally got Kev to take a few group shots, although he still complained the whole time. "I'll be in the car," he said. "You fuckers made me way too fat and pale for the beach."

"I know he's a lot of fun at parties, but fuck he is such a sore loser," Vince said as he waddled off to the parking lot. "There are plenty of other hot bears out today, but he's too pissy to enjoy himself."

Bryce just laughed. "Yeah, I know what you mean. It almost makes me regret rigging that draw. Almost."

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

Want to read more? Dicked (Over) by a Demon by Nolan Sempers, for sale on Amazon.

[scarlet-empresss]

Simon Riley x reader relationship headcanons Sooo after nearly seven years of being a mostly inactive member of the fandom, writing countless fics that nobody ever got to see - I can say I’ve developed a fairly clear picture of how I envision some of these characters. Therefore, here are some of the things I think would characterize Simon as a partner (and a few of just him as a person). English is not my first language so please bear with me :)

Friends first. I feel like he's not one to rush into a serious relationship without having strong foundations laid out first. You're a trustworthy, longtime teammate he's been working with for years, who has seen his darkest side and inner demons resurface, and still be accepting of him as a person? Or perhaps you're a civilian working at the coffee shop he frequents; the same civilian who spilled his usual at him one time, leading to an unexpected, but most certainly intruguing friendship? Let's fucking roll with either.

Following the first point—he's not a 'love at first glance' type of guy. He needs a connection, a spark; that spark that comes from knowledge and insight, both gained through meaningful interactions and a genuine bond. This is what Simon seeks. (Bonus points if you're a medic/nurse, because, you know, I fucking love medic x soldier trope)

Now let's get to the love language—definitely acts of service. You're tired after a long day at work? Boom, you've got a nice and hot bath waiting for you, together with your favorite snacks and a glass of wine/book to read (could be both). Running low on essentials, be it your favorite type of coffee, a preferred perfume, tampons, the likes? Well, expect it to be restocked as soon as possible. He'll change the oil in your car, scrape the frost from the windows, anything you as much as mention. If you're sick, he'll do whatever makes you feel better, whether that's a warm compress or something as simple as a bowl of soup and a couple of ice packs. He wants to take care of you. He might not be an expert at expressin his feelings through words, but he'll damn sure cook you a three-course meal and a dessert to show you how much he appreciates you.

That being said, he's an exceptional cook. He doesn't have many opportunities to experiment in the kitchen during deployments or safe houses, but you can be sure that Simon is behind the pots and pans preparing mouthwatering meals whenever he's back home. It's relaxing, and he simply enjoys spending time cooking for you and himself.

Not into excessive PDA - hand holding is okay, but when you two are in a crowd (which he hates), there's a hand on the small of your back or lingering on the back of your neck. Behind closed doors, he's more openly affectionate. Whether you're simply making a sandwich in the kitchen or he breezes past you, he's likely to stand behind you and simply rest his chin on the top of your head, rough hands on your hips, or when you two are sitting on the couch, his arm is either around you or resting on your thigh.

Non sexual intimacy is a big yes; head scratches, hand holding, shoulder rubs, baths together, or anything of the sort. But there's one thing that melts him completely and that's when you kiss his eyelids. If you're his teammate and you're in a relationship, he will appreciate you helping him out of his gear, washing the dirt and grime off his hands or helping him apply the camouflage paint on his face.

He may call you "love" or "sweetheart," but he attempts to restrict these terms of endearment primarily behind closed doors. He's not exactly fond of overtly cutesy pet names either, so he appreciates the occasional "Love" or "Si," but he draws the line at anything more ostentatiously affectionate. "Don't ya ever call me pookie again, got it, sweetheart?"

Wanna wake up before that man? Yeah, good luck with that. He's a proper, bona fide early riser, an early bird, prepared for the day well before the rays reach the horizon. It's like clockwork, a routine that's been ingrained into his circadian rhythm, something that governs his inner system. If he's not out on a morning jog, he'll lie on his side of the bed, staring at you, silently admiring. Oh, and he'll know if you wake up and pretend to be still asleep.

Simon values the power of silence. Quiet as he may be at certain times, this man is not indifferent; he's an observer. He considers observation as a means of learning and appreciates the sheer volume of knowledge that can be gleaned from the study of behaviors, facial expressions, and other body language cues. Furthermore, a comfortable silence may be the strongest indicator of the powerful connection between two people. That's how he knew there was truly something special between you and him.

HOWEVER. The previous point doesn't right away mean that he despises talking. Sure, he's not one for an idle chit-chat, but I feel like it’s a very frequent idea that he’s the brooding and sullen type who prefers grunting over speaking, kinda like Daryl Dixon (that's a huge compliment to Simon). I’d say, Simon is somewhere in between—more of a ‘I speak only when I want to/have something really meaningful to say’. If he's got something on his mind, he'll let you know. And, surprisingly, he has a way with words like the smoothest motherfucker ever.

Not surprisingly, he's a bit of a softie when it comes to animals, especially dogs. Not one to baby-talk when he sees a dog, he merely offers gentle pats on its head or side (if he's more familiar with the dog, I see him petting it like dads do lol). He’s also very careful about the animals and makes sure not to touch one without asking the owner first. As for service dogs, he's especially careful, keeping a safe distance and showing due respect for their role.

You know you're gonna have a K9 at your home when you get with this man.

He's not a fan of surprises or gifts, because he wasn't raised in a family full of hugs and "I love you's" or selfless acts of affection. He struggles to convey his gratitude in the conventional manner, so it's often expressed, albeit indirectly, through acts of service. No matter what it is that you've gifted him, he's grateful for the thought and consideration all the same.

But you better believe he will surprise you in turn. He goes out of his way to procure anything and everything you so much as mention wanting, be it a trivial trinket or something more significant. He's always listening, always paying attention.

Not very into verbal compliments, but his eyes speak an entire novel about how he feels about you. Gentle glances, lingering stares, and silent admiration. He might not be overtly forthcoming with his praise, but one look is worth more than a thousand words.

Big spoon. He's a tad bit paranoid about having his back vulnerable—much like a cat and its exposed belly. It has nothing to do with trust—as he does trust you. It's merely a product of his inner paranoia, though there's a touch of protectiveness in there, too. Beacuse he'd much rather have you enveloped in his arms, ensuring him the sensation of protecting you with his whole body. Perhaps with time he would let you spoon him, but I wouldn't count on it early on in the relationship.

He's territorial, not in a jealous, envious, or controlling sense but rather in a protective and defensive manner. He doesn't like men or women making advances on you, especially unsolicited physical contact or overt flirting. While he won't try to be overbearing or overly assertive, he will make it abundantly clear that such behavior is uncalled for and unacceptable.

civilian!reader - get ready for some self-defense lessons. He'll ensure that you know basic moves that can give you the time to escape a dangerous situation. Simon is well-versed in the brutality of the world, and he won't sugarcoat anything. If you're in danger, you run; if you feel something's wrong, you run. He can't always be there to protect you. So he's drilled this mantra into your brain: no matter how strong, tough, skilled you think you are, you simply can't trust that your enemy won't wield a knife or gun.

But one of the very first things he's given you even before you two became a couple was a can of pepper spray.

He's a direct, straight to the point man, which is why he has no time for beating around the bush. There's no awkward tip-toeing with hints that may go unexplored, no subtle suggestions that may fall flat—he's all in. Whether it's on a mission, in bed, or an argument, Simon lays it all on the line because you're worth it. He will commit to you wholeheartedly, leaving nothing on the table, giving you everything he has to offer because you deserve nothing less.

You fell first, but he fell harder—this man adores you. Although he's not mushy, he won't shower you with affection and cute nicknames all the time, he loves you. And when Simon Riley loves someone, you can be damn sure he means it. His loyalty knows no limits and once he's attached to you, he'll never let go. He'll go through and beyond any lengths to make sure you're happy and safe.

Though he might not openly admit it, he likes it when you take the initiative, whether it's in bed, in your relationship, or just life in general. He values your opinions and respects and acknowledges your boundaries, and makes sure to let his own boundaries and needs be known as well. So, step up and make yourself heard, cause he will listen.

He values honesty highly and has a razor-sharp bullshit detector. Can smell bullshit from miles away, actually. Therefore, never, ever lie to him. Because he will uncover the truth, one way or another. Lies are the one thing that can shatter his trust beyond repair, making it a cardinal sin in his eyes. So, don't shy away from telling him the truth—no matter how difficult or inconvenient or painful it may be.

Now it gets a bit complicated here, because while he expects honesty from his s/o, Simon himself holds back some things. These are largely related to his past or the missions he has been on, the things he has seen. He doesn't want to lie to you, but he does it to protect himself and you. You just have to accept the fact that there are certain things he won't ever tell you.

Is capable of being absolutely terrifying without even trying, let alone when he wants to be. His height, muscles, and scars are a force to be reckoned with. So you don't have to be worried about going on a walk with him in the middle of the night or wearing something a bit more revealing, cause he will beat the living shit out of anyone who dares to touch you.

Absolutely no one can defeat him in arm wrestling or even come close to his grip strength.

Very awkward around babies, and I mean extremely awkward. Like Jane Smith holding a baby in Mr&Mrs Smith. He doesn't know a flying shit about caring for children, especially since he didn't have a positive parental influence growing up or any good role models. The subject of starting a family is still a bit sore; though he would likely grow more open to discussing it as time goes on. Still, a major aspect of his psyche seems terrified of becoming like his father.

Would die a thousand deaths for you.

[ineffable-endearments]

Exactly what are the different exactlies?

During this season, it's pretty clear that Aziraphale and Crowley both adore each other and humanity and want very much to be together. It's also pretty clear that, even before Heaven came and made Aziraphale an offer he probably couldn't refuse, he and Crowley weren't quite on the same page regarding...well, just what they are.

What the heck? How can their feelings be so mutual and so out of sync?

Well, I always said Aziraphale was the collectivist and Crowley was the individualist, and Season 2 has only made me more certain of it. These sound like such boring and dry concepts, but they get to the heart of even their most extreme issues - for example, Aziraphale's denial about Heaven as a dangerous place originates with his incredibly deep-seated need to believe in and belong to a collective.

At his worst, Aziraphale can subsume Crowley - jumping so enthusiastically on the "our car" bandwagon that he changed a bunch of things about the Bentley is an excellent example of how he was basically ready to assimilate Crowley into his own identity. And, of course, had he actually brought Crowley back to Heaven, that, too, would have taken away everything that makes Crowley himself. This is Aziraphale being a "rebound mess," feeling at loose ends because he's lost his sense of belonging with Heaven and wants Crowley to meet all these newly-dangling emotional needs.

But at his best, Aziraphale helps connect Crowley to others and to the world. He's usually the one introducing individual humans to Crowley. He gives Crowley excuses to be helpful, both to him and to others. He pulls Crowley into fun, more pleasurable human activities, like eating oysters at Petronius's and watching Shakespeare plays, when Crowley is having trouble seeing anything but work. At the end of both seasons, Aziraphale has been the one who insisted on actively pushing for a greater cause.

Of course Aziraphale was drawn back into Heaven. Whether you're considering his weakest points, like his need for approval from anyone he believes has authority, or his strongest, like his genuine wish for things to be Better For Everyone, he leans into collectives.

At his worst, Crowley can isolate Aziraphale. Aziraphale is sort of Crowley's one major interpersonal commitment, and while Aziraphale enjoys this, it does create a lopsided situation where they're each focused on different things. And Crowley loves humans conceptually, but because he wants to avoid the pain of getting attached to mortals, he is pretty quick to let his connections to humans go. While influencing Aziraphale away from Heaven is a good thing, Crowley doesn't have another very strong community to influence Aziraphale toward.

But at his best, Crowley has helped Aziraphale develop himself outside of the corrupt institution that has tried so hard to crush every ounce of conscience and individuality out of him. Many of the Earthly pleasures that Aziraphale tries to draw Crowley toward are things that Crowley introduced him to in the first place! Crowley's individualism encourages Aziraphale to try things that he's been conditioned not to try, and then Aziraphale's instinct for getting attached to things he enjoys can take over.

Of course Crowley has to think of himself and Aziraphale as an isolated unit. That's a clear-eyed view of what they really are in the world of immortal beings.

Now, I've argued before that Heaven is all about the Collective and Hell is all about hard-scrabble individualism. We have these two Sides, one of which demands its angels give up all individuality and follow the group at all costs, and the other of which demands its demons constantly fight for their own survival with a desperate scarcity of space and resources.

It's through time on Earth and the things they admire about each other that Crowley and Aziraphale have become different from Heaven and Hell, respectively. Aziraphale is thrilled to have discovered himself, someone who exists outside of Heaven. Crowley, meanwhile, is thrilled to connect with someone else in a gentle, intimate way that Hell would never allow. But Aziraphale still has that need to Belong baked in, and Crowley will always need to be his own boss with his own priorities.

Fortunately, there is a "side" that is really very good at creating smaller, more intimate groups within larger societies, fulfilling both needs, and that is Humanity.

[fayes-fics]

Teacher Bridgerton

2k Celebration Masterpost

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, Modern AU

Summary: Modern AU Benedict, primary school art teacher

Warnings: none... fluff, dad!Benedict

Word Count: 830

Authors Note: Last of my 2k follower celebration drabbles. This is for @guiltywaves with the prompt of art teacher Benedict (ask here). i had to end with some soft dad!Benedict, Unbetaed. Enjoy! <3

“Is this right, Mr Brid-etun?” a boy holds a piece of paper aloft, struggling to enunciate the last name a little, wiggling in his tiny chair.

“Daniel, this is art,” Benedict explains softly as he drops to kneeling next to the little boy. “There is no right or wrong; just whatever you want to draw, do that. And please call me Ben.”

The boy looks at him wide-eyed, almost suspicious. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am sure. I am your art teacher, remember?”

The boy nods solemnly and reaches across the low table for a crayon. 

“Fank you, Ben,” he murmurs, a little peek of tongue at the corner of his mouth as he draws an arc in bright green.

Benedict smiles at the little boy and then stands back up to survey the cheery art room filled with 5-year-olds, preoccupied with crayons and their imaginations. It never fails to make him happy when Reception Year has its lesson every Wednesday morning. And not just because of one very special person it contains.

He never saw himself as a teacher, but a 2-month volunteering stint at summer classes on a whim became a temporary placement the following term that somehow became a job. That was seven years ago—he has never felt more content.

“Uncle Ben, I drew a cat!” a voice pipes up proudly, and he turns around to see Mary Bridgerton beaming up at him, holding a picture of what could possibly be a cat. It's a bright purple circle with rather demonic-looking red eyes and lightning-bolt yellow whiskers.

“Mary, that's very… colourful,” he offers diplomatically, bending down to ruffle her hair. “But remember, I'm just supposed to be Ben at school; I'm Uncle Ben at home,” he whispers as his brother's youngest child taps a finger to her nose with a wink, her pretty brown eyes shining as if agreeing to safeguard some grand secret. 

“I want to draw a car,” Mary’s friend Lila sighs wistfully.

“You can do it, Lila. Here,” Benedict hands her a blue crayon. “Try with this. I can help if you get stuck. I’ll be right here. And look, it's blue, just like your Mummy’s car.”

Lila rolls her eyes. “Yes, I know, Daddy. I’m not colourblind like Uncle Colin,” she replies dryly, eliciting a peal of laughter from Mary. She is often far more mature than her years, and she is growing up so fast that sometimes it terrifies him.

“Lila!” he admonishes quietly. “Remember, you must call me Ben when we are at school! And Uncle Colin isn't colourblind; he is just clueless about how to dress himself,” Benedict adds with slight relish.

“But Mary just called you Uncle Ben,” Lila retorts, drawing a quite impressive version of a blue car for her age—Benedict's heart wells at the sight but schools his expression the best he can.

“It was a accident!” Mary pipes up, indignant.

“It’s okay, Mary,” Benedict soothes. “Just remember to call me Ben at school if you can.”

She agrees and returns to her art—starting on a quiet terrifying-looking green dog. 

_____

“Mummy, look!” Lila runs up to you as you walk in from work after a long day, the delicious scent of garlic and herbs greeting you as soon as the front door opens.

She is holding aloft a remarkable drawing of a blue car. Very much like the one you just climbed out of.

“That's wonderful, Lila!” you compliment as you drop your work bag and take the paper from her for a closer look, kissing her cheek before she runs back to the kitchen table excitedly.

You wander in after her, admiring her handiwork, to be greeted by your husband feeding your baby boy in his highchair as dinner simmers away on the hob.

“Somebody is taking after her Daddy,” you smile indulgently, leaning in to kiss his jaw as you watch his face light up with joy, seeing what you have in your hands. He turns his head to capture your lips instead.

“I am so ridiculously proud; she's my star pupil. That's bad to say, isn't it?” he confesses over your lips, grimacing slightly in an utterly enchanting way.

You chuckle, nuzzling his face, enjoying the slight rasp of stubble. “It's just fine, Mr Bridgerton. I do believe it’s okay to play favourites if the class contains your own daughter.” 

“I'm just glad she draws better than Mary,” he confesses, keeping his voice soft enough that Lila cannot hear.

“That bad, eh?” you laugh, dropping a kiss on your son's hair as he mashes banana into his own cheek, burbling happily.

“Stuff of nightmares,” he shudders, and you can’t help but giggle.

“Well, I'm certainly not telling Anthony,” you warn, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as his twine around your waist, pulling you into his comforting embrace. “Or Kate.”

“Yeah, me either; I’ll give Mary a gold star and lie at parents' evening,” he jests into your hair.

“Smart man, teacher Bridgerton.”

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @last-sheep

[tanoraqui]

Dungeon Meshi Liveblog: Kabru & Mithrun's Life-Changing Road Trip

.

safhkjkhf no but also fake!Kabru is entirely flat because Mithrun doesn't have depth perception...

.

Between this and the information that the team has a 1:2 ratio of guards to criminals, with the guards often appointed by their families as a melodramatic show of loyalty to the realm - which is...possibly literally true, considering the prestige of badassery; but, considering the criminals and the danger, also very possibly a polite euphemism for what amounts to a public sacrifice... I kind of ferally want to know about the dynamics of the Canaries. Are they loyal to each other, or to the cause? Are they all just under the threat of execution? Kabru expected the captain of the squad to be an aristocratic guard, them being more trustworthy than a semi-pardoned criminal ofc, but instead he's...whatever exactly Mithrun's legal status is; I've avoided some details of his backstory.

...I might have to go back and try to actually mentally distinguish these people from each other.

.

Laios Heaven is actually Kabru Hell, and vice versa. It's a very efficient system!

.

*giggles* Kabru is having a weird, upside-down day.

.

"Don't wish often" is such a threatening thing to say, honestly. Don't want. Don't try. Don't be alive, or this place will try to kill you and eat you, for it, too, wishes to live, and that is how the continuation of life works.

It's so so interesting how elves clearly have ANSWERS, answers that our party have been searching for, which would've made their whole adventure easier, and the elves just aren't telling people. To maintain their own power over other races? Probably. Because knowing about demons who'll offer you unlimited power would be a dangerous temptation to many? In fairness, probably that, too. But it sure as hell serves them first.

.

Oh yeah, this definitely reads as aristocratic youths joining the Canaries isn't per se voluntary on their families' parts. It's the elvish Suicide Squad.

.

The timeline isn't making sense. When Mithrun banished the giant mushroom, it was clearly implied that it went to where and when Team Touden were when we'd last seen them, just after their first incident with the changeling mushrooms and then the dwarvish cable car. However, now the pop-up side panels are saying that Kabru and Mithrun's week in the dungeon together is happening at the same time as Team Touden goes through their shapeshifter adventure, barometz, Golden Country, griffins... Which makes sense if one assumes the Canaries & co went into the dungeon right after Kabru first spoke to them, which does seem right in terms of those characters' plotline and personal timetables. But there was no indication, when it cut over to them, that we'd suddenly gone backwards a week in the comic's timeline; indeed, the giant walking changeling mushroom incident suggested it was a single continuity...

Is this just a continuity error? Did I miss some clarifying signifier?

.

Kabru: [tells Mithrun his own backstory back at him]

Mithrun: You left out the soap operatic relationships rooted in royal intrigue, which in turn was rooted in millennia of other royal intrigue.

Kabru: Yes, but I need it to be understandable to a man who's mostly just going to ask me how the goat-demon tast– I mean, uh... Your story structure was bad, so I simplified it.

.

Oh shit, that's the thing Marcille is studying! She doesn't know it summons demons!

...My instinct is, "if only someone told her instead of completely outlawing the knowledge, forcing her to stumble blindly into the consequences on her own!" But, uh... I'm not sure this would actually stop her. She's very determined, and also has her share of wizard hubris. This is, of course, a driving question of the story.

.

It wasn't easier to kill them? It wasn't easier to simply stop drawing magic from the infinite-power dimension?

...ok obviously not the latter, because, y'know. Fossil fuels. But seriously it wasn't easier to just kill them?

.

It's sooo intersting how everyone else views Laios's love of monsters as a dangerous moral failing, when it's really just...ecologist enthusiasm. The man thinks this class of being is Neat. He is harming literally 0 people about this. He isn't even forcing anyone to eat them, just inviting them really enthusiastically and/or pointing out that this is necessary in order to achieve their shared goal of saving Falin.

Yes, obviously this could be subverted into something terrible by an encouraging demon. Just like, obviously, a desire to protect and preserve people can be! Or a desire to live happily with your loved ones! Laios isn't worse than any other Lord of a Dungeon; y'all just hate monsters!

.

Kabru that is SO gay, jfc. I object on principle to the phrase "no heterosexual explanation", but--

.

M! V! P! M! V! P!

.

Friendship? Teamwork? Mutual respect and shared understanding of goals? Mithrun is a very useful ally because he really does Only want to stop the demon; he doesn't care about the geopolitics of it. Though his perspective is still very elvish and he definitely will kill our beloved protagonists without hesitation if they seem like they're going to be a problem.

.

I would read an entire novel about the formation of the halffoot union, honest to god. I bet it was very exciting. I bet someone tried to kill Chilchuck at least once.

[delulu4dean]

No Doctors (Sam and Dean Winchester x sibling!reader)

Warnings: needles I guess

Parings: sam Winchester X sibling!reader, Dean Winchester x sibling!reader

Prompt: you’re a hunter scared of needles idk I went to urgent care the other day and I hate needles.

Word Count: 1,044

Sam, Dean, and you, their younger, nineteen year old half sibling have seen a lot, obviously. Hunters? You see vampires, werewolves, ghosts. But as a Winchester you see so much more. The three of you have saved the world quite a few times. It is safe to say not much phases the Winchesters.

But you, Y/N Winchester has one big fear, needles. When Sam injected Demon Dean with human blood, you could not watch. It wasn’t because of your big brother’s yells of pain, but because you cannot even look at a needle. So when Sam and Dean told you that you HAD to see a doctor, you put it off until it was too late. Now your legs were covered in red spots. The spots were not inflamed or itching. They looked like bleeding under the skin, which means its less like a rash. Google did not help ease Sam and Dean’s worries about you.

“Y/N damn it, we have to rule out anything serious,” Dean told you.

“I am fine,” you insisted.

“Google says you have one week to live,” your older brother furrowed his eyebrows, showing you his google search on his smart phone.

“Google is not a doctor,” you rolled your eyes.

“That is why we have to take you to a doctor. Right Sam?”

Sam nods in agreement.

“Look, if Cas was here, he could figure it out, but he isn’t. We are going to urgent care,” Dean demanded. “Now get your ass to my car.”

You looked over to Sam and back to Dean, fear in your eyes. You knew what this meant, bloodwork. You could not do bloodwork. Just seeing a needle makes you sick to your stomach. The last time you had bloodwork done, you threw up. When you had to get your Covid vaccines, you took your brothers with you. It worked because they ended up getting theirs as well, but when it came to your turn, your brothers had to distract you so you didnt see the needle. You held Dean’s hands and almost broke his fingers as the needle went into your flesh.

“Dean, doctors are scary. All they do is poke at you with needles,” you frowned at your older brother.

“Sam and I will both be there by your side,” Dean insisted.

And so here you are now. The walking to the lab with your brothers at your side. You look for all possible exists to run out of here, but you know its no use. Dean would drag you back if he has to. The lab nurse sits you down in the chair and looks for a good vein. Shit. It’s going to happen. Your eyes follow her hands as she pulls out all the tubes that will be soon filled with your blood. The things is you’re not grossed out by the idea of seeing your own blood, its kind of cool actually. But knowing how it gets in there is too much.

You see her take out the needle and your instincts kick in. You jump out of your seat before your brothers push you back. Dean holds you down on the chair and you look at him with tears in your eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that kid,” Dean sighs, a guilty expression coming across his face. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I am fine! And when we find out that nothing is wrong you’re going to be sorry,” you spit.

Sam holds the hand of the arm that the nurse will draw blood from, not just to keep it steady, but to calm you down.

“You are a fighter, you are strong, you got this,” Sam tells you. “Just don’t look, and then you won’t feel it, okay?” You nod at Sam. “Attagirl. Now don’t look at me, or else you’ll see the needle too. Look at Dean.”

“Yeah, look at me,” Dean cuts in. You look up at your eldest brother. “Good job.”

“I’m not a child,” you remind Dean.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re a kid compared to Sam and I,” Dean chuckles.

“Well yeah, Sam is old and you’re ancient,” you tease.

“Ancient?” Dean fakes an offended expression.

“Yeah. So ancient that when the Egyptians built the pyramids, they looked at you and said ‘Wow that man is ancient.’”

Sam laughs but plays it off as a cough when Dean shoots a look at him. You feel a cotton ball on your arm as the nurse wraps the bandage on your arm.

“All done,” she smiles. “You can go to the waiting room and as soon as we get your results, you’ll be notified.”

You’re surprised and relieved to find out its done and over with. And you didn’t feel a thing.

“You did it kid,” Dean smiles at you.

“We are proud of you,” Sam ruffles your hair.

“I’m almost twenty don’t talk to me like I’m a child,” you get up and push past your brothers.

They follow you into the waiting room and sit by your side. Sam wraps an arm around you while you’re all pouty and embarrassed.

“We aren’t babying you or anything,” Sam sighs. “You have a genuine fear, and you faced it. We know you’re an adult. You are capable of doing a lot, you are a badass hunter. A Winchester.”

You nod, not so confidently. You and your brothers watch the TV in the waiting room where some old cowboy movie is playing. Dean is loving it, but you just want to get your results and go back home. After twenty minutes, a doctor comes out with a clipboard.

“You are fine, your blood came back clean. And over the counter rash cream should be able to help. You are free to go home,” she tells you.

Dean scoffs, and Sam looks confused. To be fair, you don’t understand either, you know its not a rash, it doesn’t look like a rash. But it can’t be what Dean looked up either if the bloodwork came back clean so its clearly nothing serious. As the doctor walks away, you glare at your older brothers.

“See, I knew bloodwork was a waste of time.”

Dean shrugs as Sam says, “Better safe than sorry.”

[bad268]

Demon (Kimi Raikkonen X Reader)

Fandom: RPF/Formula 1

Requested: Day 17 of Writing Inktober prompts instead of drawing!

Warnings: none.

Pronouns: First person (I/me)

W.C. 327

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

Writing Inktober 2023 Materlist

~~(^Google/Motorsport.com)

“Kimi, has anyone ever told you that you sound possessed when you get in the car? Like a demon fully took over your actions,” I asked as soon as we walked into our shared hotel room after Kimi’s win in Germany. Just before the race, I had gone into the garage to give him his helmet that he left in the driver’s room, and he was emotionless.

“That’s a weird one,” He chuckled as he moved around the room and changed out of his Ferrari polo to something more comfortable, “But they don’t call me ‘the iceman’ for no reason, I guess.” 

“I’m just saying it’s like you turn off any emotions before you get in a car,” I explained. “Like I know you don’t really express, well anything, on the track, but right before you get in the car, it’s like you aren’t you. Does that make sense?”

“Well, I don’t want to get killed,” Kimi responded simply as he laid on the bed. “It’s easier to not care. No one can tell what you’re thinking if you just don’t think.”

“Have you thought about philosophy as a side job?” I giggled as I climbed into bed beside him, tucking myself under his chin after he opened his arms for me. He wrapped his arms around me as I traced his arm tattoo, “I think you’d be great.”

“I don’t know what I’ll do after racing. It’s my hobby,” He answered.

“So you’ve said,” I chuckled. He pulled away and looked at me funny, causing my laughter to falter slightly. “I’m not laughing at you, Kimi. I’ve just never seen someone care so much and so little about something.”

“Well, I don’t know what you want me to say. It’s the truth!” He defended with a small smile.

“Nothing, I love you,” I whispered. “Please never change.”

“Never,” He whispered back, placing a kiss on the crown of my head. “I love you too, rakkaus (love).”

~~~~~

© BAD268 2023. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

[wandering-winchesters]

Hunt Gone Wrong

Dean Winchester x injured Reader

Summary: The reader is injured while on a hunt, but doesn't want the boys to know. Considering it should have been a super easy hunt.

Word Count: 2,009

Not Proof Read

Trigger Warning: Blood, Injury, Needles, Swearing. 18+

AN: Requests are open! Please send them to me. If you’d like to be added to my tag list, please let me know!

Masterlist

I’m not a colorful person, the majority of my wardrobe is made up of black, gray and dark greens. Today, more than ever I’m thankful for my drab wardrobe. Blood doesn’t show in black. I know the gash on my side is bad, but how bad I’m not sure. When I had pulled my hand out from under my shirt it was covered in blood. My blood. I wince, shifting slightly in the passenger seat of the impala. Biting my lip to keep my breathing as steady as possible. Focusing on the trees flying past as Dean drives, his foot weighing heavily on the accelerator.

The hunt had gone exceptionally well, minus the small mishap that had left me in my current situation. Dean and Sam had begrudgingly let me come with them to take out a demon, an easy job. There was only one that we were after on this occasion, or so we thought. We had unintentionally split up upon entry to the house, Sam and Dean had headed upstairs searching for the demon. But something caught my attention and I had veered away from them. I realize now, that it was all apart of the demons plan to draw me away from the protection of the boys. A fact that I wanted to keep from Sam and Dean. Hence, why I was doing my best to keep my injury hidden from them. Praying my shirt and flannel would absorb all of the blood and I wouldn’t stain the seats in the impala.

I zone in and out, listening to the boys argue about what they could have done differently, what went right and who screwed up what. I am counting down the minutes until we are back at the hotel, my jaw clenched, every muscle in my body aching from how tense I have been on the short, fifteen minute drive back. 

“Y/N?” Dean says, reaching over to squeeze my knee. I jump, pulling away absentmindedly, “You okay there? You have been awfully quiet.” His brows pull together, worry forming across his face at my actions. “Yeah, I am good. Just tired, ready to get to the motel. All good De.” I try my best to smile, probably more of a grimace.  I know I haven’t convinced him, his lingering glance that I catch out of the corner of my eye tells me that much. He knows me all too well, a fact that I do not normally mind. However, today, I just want to fade into the background. I wish that he was not as familiar with my mannerisms as he is. 

The gravel crunches under the tires of the car as Dean parks in front of the motel. After a few seconds of arguing, Sam heads inside to get us a room. 

“I don’t know about you, sweetheart, but I am starvin’! Demon killing always works up my appetite. What do ya’ want for dinner?” Dean asks, turning the car off and grabbing his jacket from the seat next to him, preparing to get out of the Impala. “Hmm?” I hadn’t been paying attention to his words, my hand pressed tightly against the wound on my side, trying to gauge just how bad it is. “Oh, I don’t know Dean, I am not that hungry.” I give him a half smile, looking him in the eyes for the first time since we left the run down and demon infested house. 

His face falls quickly, looking me over, searching for any sign of injury. 

“Jesus, you’re as pale as a ghost, Y/N! Are you hurt?” He throws open the drivers door and moves to climb out, surely to come over to the passenger side and look me over for himself. 

“No, Dean, I am fine, I promise! Just tired, today took it out of me. I will be fine after a shower and a good nights sleep.” Dean gets distracted by Sam making his way back over to us. 

“So, good and bad news. Good news is I got us a room. Bad news, they only had one room open, but there are two beds at least!” Sam says, tossing the room key onto the hood of the impala, while he walks to the trunk and pulls out his bag. 

I throw open the passenger door and snatch the key off the hood of the car before Dean can. "I call first shower!" I sling the strap of my bag over my shoulder and walk as quickly as I can, to the door of the room.

The next few minutes are a blur, I manage to grab a change of clothes and the first aid kit out my bag and slip into the bathroom. Avoiding the any further contact with Sam or Dean. I curse under my breath, turning the lights on in the small, dingy space. Realizing now, just how light headed I am. I anchor myself against the sink, using my other arm to slide my flannel off my shoulders and let fall to the floor. I take a deep breath and pull my shirt off, steeling myself for what I am about to see. The sight of blood is one thing that has not gotten any easier, mine or someone else's.

The cut is deep, deeper than I thought it would be. I wince, as I pull the fabric of my shirt away from my skin, the dried blood making it an even harder task.

"Fuck." I am going to need stitches. I angle my body to the mirror, trying to get a better look. The angry, red gash stretches from the top of my hip, up to the front of my ribcage. Fresh blood begins to pool and drip from the wound, irritated from the removal of my shirt. How am I going to do this? I can do stitches, sure, but I have only ever done them for the boys. The angle that I will have to work at seems impossible at the moment.

I lean over and turn on the shower, figuring I should clean out the wound before stitching it up, plus the sound of the shower would help to cover up the gasps and whimpers I cannot seem to contain now that I am alone. I grab a seemingly clean towel, from the rack in the bathroom and press it against my side. Trying to slow the bleeding while I collect my thoughts. I am interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Y/N, I am just gonna wash my face while you shower-" Dean opens the door and sticks his head in the room. Stopping in his tracks as he sees me, a mumbled apology starts to roll off his tongue, before he freezes. His eyes trained on the towel that I have pressed to my side. I glance down and notice the red tinge that covers the part of the towel that I had already used.

"Damn it, Y/N. What happened?" He asks, slipping the rest of the way into the room and shutting the door behind him. He crosses the small space to me in a second, taking the towel from my hand and pulling it away so he can survey just how bad it is. His brow creases, as he looks closer. I can see worry etched into every inch of his face. "I'm fine De, Just a scratch." I mumble, looking away from him, not wanting to see the expression on his face any longer.

"You are as far away from fine, as that can be." He states, grabbing the first aid kit off the counter and hurriedly searching for the suture kit that we keep in all of our bags. I feel the tears that I have been holding back, begin to fall. I curse under my breath, and glance up at the ceiling, trying to hold back those tears I so desperately do not want to fall.

"I can do it myself, Dean, I don't need your help." I state, trying to take the sutures from his hand. He stops me easily, a hand wrapping around my wrist. He releases my wrist after a few long, painful seconds and looks at me.

"Stop it, I wasn't asking if you wanted or needed my help. I am doing this. Now, are we doing this the easy way, or the hard way? Because if you want to be difficult, I can go get Sammy to help. And you know he is way more dramatic than I am about these things." He states, holding the suture kit up above his head, to keep me from trying to grab it from him.

"Okay." I mumble, my voice barely more than a whisper. Dean nods, gently guiding me over to the counter, encouraging me to hop up on to the elevated surface so he can have easier access to the wound on my side.

Time passes slowly as Dean cleans the lovely gash caused by my moment of stupidity on the hunt. The tension in the small bathroom building by every passing moment. I can feel the anger and frustration radiating off of Dean in waves.

"Shit, that hurts De." I hiss as the suture pierces my skin for the first stitch of many. I hear a low apology make its way from him, his brows knit together in concentration.

"Why didn't you just tell me? Or Sam? For God's sake Y/N, this isn't just a scrape. It's deep. Judging by how pale and clammy you are, you've lost a lot of blood. If you had just told me when it happened, we could've done something about it ages ago!" He curses, grabbing a clean square of gauze to wipe away some of the fresh blood.

"I didn't want to disappoint you, it was supposed to be an easy hunt. It's my own damn fault that it happened. Plus, I didn't think it was this bad. Figured I could clean it up on my own and you'd never had been the wiser. If I had just remembered to lock the goddamn door." I shrug my shoulders, immediately regretting the motion as waves of pain ripple through my body. Nerves igniting that I didn't even know existed.

"You could never disappoint me, I am just sorry that this happened in the first place. We shouldn't have split up, you aren't stupid Y/N."

He finishes the sutures over a period of time that feels like hours, but in reality was only minutes. His touch gentle and cautious, but firm and reassuring at the same time. A combination that I didn't think possible, especially coming from the older of the two Winchesters. "Finished," He sighs, helping me down from the counter. "Do you want help showering? You need to be careful not to rip your stitches."

It takes me a moment to process what he said, his offer to help me shower a first coming from him. Our friendship had never gone past meaningless flirtation, this level of intimacy something that I wasn't prepared for coming from him.

"Uhm, no, I think I will be okay, thank you though." I say, glancing up at him with a small smile. "Are you still angry with me?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

"Y/N, I was never angry." He hesitates, as if debating on if to finish what he was going to say. "I was scared. I wasn't there to protect you and you got injured. The thought of something happening to you, I just-" He pauses again, his fingers coming up to brush a strand of hair out of my face and behind my ear. The calluses on his fingers, dragging against my skin. "I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you, that's all." He presses a quick kiss to my forehead, then turns on his heel to head out of the bathroom.

"De, wait." I say, reaching out and grabbing his hand before he opens the door. "Could you stay, and help me wash my hair?"