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venerawrites · 8 months ago

Note

Can I request an Imagine where a fem character is captured by the enemy and she’s under a genjutsu where she’s being tortured by Shikamaru (who she loves) but is pulled out of it just in time by Shika who actually gets there in time with a team? Comfort fluff, reassuring, and he admits he loves her?

author's note: I have been writing this literally for ages, but now that all my assignments are officially done, I finally had a chance to catch up! Thank you so much for your patience and this beautiful idea! I absolutely loved writing this one! I hope you like it! <3

warnings: mentions of torture; swearing

There is something comforting in darkness. Once it welcomes you in its embrace, all your fears, worries, and thoughts just... disappear. Your body and your mind relax and for once, it is all quiet.

And silence is beautiful.

Two strong hands wrapped around your neck, pulling you harshly out of the water and bringing all your senses back to reality. The sudden rush of air filling your lungs made you choke and you struggled to take another breath. The comforting silence, in which you were blissfully floating just a second ago, was interrupted by the rapid beating of your heart and the muffled sound of someone's voice next to you.

"-absolutely pathetic", your brain registered only the last words of what the person said. You coughed once again and another hefty amount of dirty water made its way out of your body, letting you breathe more freely. Your chest felt heavy and all your muscles screamed in pain, making this moment of awareness feel more like a punishment than a relief.

With a few slow blinks, the darkness started to lift and your surroundings started to become clearer. At first, all you could see was the sky - so grey and sad, a sure sign it was about to rain soon. Then your focus shifted to the trees and the strange way their leaves stood still, despite the wind around you. Finally, your eyes shifted to the silhouette sitting next to you. Blinking a few more times, their face started to become more focused and you let out a breath of relief, once you realised it was your best friend who saved you from what seemed like sure death.

"Shika...", you said weakly, not having the energy to even pronounce his full name. Instinctively reaching your hand toward him, you tried to get a hold of his hand, his warmth being the only thing your body craved right now. The said man let out a scoff, moving out of the way just when you were about to reach him. When you hand hit nothing but air, you slowly opened your eyes, brows furrowed in confusion.

"Shika?", you repeated, lifting your head just a bit, so you could see the man better. Sitting on a small stone next to you, he stared at you with a bored expression, a half-burn cigarette hanging from his lips. There was something in weird in his eyes, something which you have seen only a handful of times in all the years you have known him.

Was it anger? Annoyance? Hate?

You couldn't exactly tell, your brain still struggling to make sense of where you are and how did you got there. The last thing you remember was fighting a group of rogue ninjas near Amegakure, before something was wrapped around both your arms and legs, forcing you to the ground. You must have passed out because now you were on the river bank near Konoha, a place where you and Shikamaru played from dawn to dusk when you were children.

"He probably brought me here to clean my wounds", was the first thought that came to your your head, while you tried to lift yourself on your elbows.

"Shika, what-"

The words got stuck in your throat, once your friend's hands found their way around it once again. His nails dug into the skin and you winced in pain, your own fingers wrapping around his wrists in an attempt to pull him away. His power, however, was no match for you and all you could do was stare at him with wide eyes, a silent plead for him to let go.

"Just shut the hell up, troublesome woman! You always ramble on and on, and on...", the fingers on your neck tightened their grip and you opened your mouth, desperately trying to inhale some air and combat the dizziness that started to consume you due to the lack of oxygen. However, Shikamaru did not seem impressed by your struggle or the way you kept tapping his arm. Instead of freeing you, he leaned forward, pressing his full body weight on you.

"I've never hated any sound more than my name coming out of your lips! I fucking hate it! I fucking hate YOU!"

Hissing the last words through gritted teeth, he finally let go of your throat, only to smack his palm against your cheek. Your head whipped to the side, a few droplets of blood flying from your mouth. The burning feeling on your cheek, however, felt almost insignificant compared to the overwhelming feelings of shock and confusion that paralyzed your body. The echo of his words kept sounding in your mind, each repetition making your heart beat faster and faster in panic.

"What...", you chocked out, eyes searching his, "What's going on?"

A dry, almost sinister chuckle left his lips and the sound sent shivers down your spine. He lowered his head right above yours before grabbing your cheeks in one hand, squishing your face. A small whine sounded from you and the man narrowed his eyes, observing you with a mixture of annoyance and amusement.

"Look at yourself... calling yourself a ninja, yet you can't handle even a single mission by yourself!", he muttered with disdain, his gaze not leaving yours. You tried to pull your head away, but his grip was so tight, you were unable to move even a muscle.

Tears of frustration started to form in your eyes, a few sliding down your cheeks. Normally, in moments like these, Shikamaru would be the one holding you, muttering sweet words of comfort in your ears. His hands would stroke your hair, while he rocks your body back and forth till you calm down and fall asleep on top of him.

Now he offered nothing but a look of disgust.

"Wh-What are you doing?", your voice betrayed you, sounding smaller than you intended to, "Shikamaru, why are you holding me like this?"

The first rule of the shinobi was to never give up. It was a life full of pain and sacrifice, but the end goal was the protection of the people - and for that, you had to fight, even if you had no energy left in you.

But as you laid beneath Shikamaru, staring at his dark eyes, full of contempt, you couldn't do anything but let the tears fall freely from your eyes. A good ninja would probably seize the moment and use it as a distraction to draw their weapon and stab their attacker, but how could you do that, when the person on top of you was the person you loved and cherished the most in this world? The person that has been your best friend for more than 10 years? The person who was your rock during the hardest periods of your life? The love of your life?

Before you could realise what was happening, his hands lifted you by the neck, pushing your head below the water again. This time, however, there was no comfort in it - it was cold and unwelcoming, sending waves of shock through your entire body. It stung your eyes and it filled your nose and mouth, making you panic. Your mind screamed at you to fight back, to somehow wrench yourself out of his grasp. Throwing both your arms and legs around, you tried to throw him off you, but his fingers only dug deeper into your skin, his knees landing on top of your thighs to keep you still.

Just as your vision started to fade, he brought you back to the surface and you gasped for air, choking in the water still stuck in your lungs.

"I fucking hate you... Do you understand that? I hate the way you whine all the fucking time, clinging to me like a leech! You always cry, never taking any responsibility for anything!", his tone was low, but filled with hatred, "I hate you so fucking much, I've been fantasizing about how to shut your mouth once and for all for so long!"

Barely giving you a chance to even register his words, he pressed your head down once again. Unlike last time, you were under only for a few seconds, before he pulled you out.

"You are nothing but a burden! To me, to your family, to everyone in that damned village!"

"NO! STOP!"

Each word felt like a dagger piercing through your chest, crushing whatever hope remained that all this was just a bad dream and that you would wake up any moment in Shikamaru's bed, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your back.

What the hell happened during your mission? When did he even appear? Did he save you? Why was he so angry with you?

Your head was filled with questions and soon there was nothing but a messy tangle of thoughts. A small voice at the back of your mind kept repeating his words.

"Nothing but a burden..."

The words hit deeper than you liked to admit. Back when you were younger you were the weakest kid in class, much to the dismay of your parents, both of which were great and strong shinobi. The other children rarely wanted to play with you - most of the time they viewed you as someone who couldn't keep up with their speed and energy. Naruto and Shikamaru were the only ones who reached out to you back then, the only ones who stood by you when no one else would.

While the blonde was a dear friend to you, nothing could compare to the bond you shared with the young Nara. He has always been a constant in your life, a safe haven to which you could run once the reality was too much to bear. Countless nights he held you in his embrace when you couldn't sleep because your family was fighting once again. He always left his window slightly open, an unspoken invitation for you to come anytime you wanted. Thinking back, sneaking into your best friend's bed at night was maybe not the wisest decision, as it was during one of these times you realised you were utterly and madly in love with him.

You remembered that night clearly. The two of you were laying side by side on his bed, the only light coming from the bright moon up in the sky. It was the night after Asuma's funeral and despite his initial warning for you not to come, you still made your way to his house at 2:00 o'clock at night. He didn't utter even a word when he saw you entering through his window, instead, he only lifted his blanket, making a space for you to join him. You laid down and he immediately pulled you under him, burying his head in the space between your neck and shoulder, his hot tears falling on your bare skin.

As he clung to you, your fingers gently rubbed his scalp, offering your silent support. What wouldn't you give to take his pain away, to bring back his beloved sensei, and to make him forget the horrors he witnessed that day.

"I don't know what I would do without you...", he whispered against your hair, his breath tickling your scalp.

"You don't have to think about that", you whispered back, your fingers still combing through his black locks, "I am here. I always will be."

Shikamaru didn't answer. Instead, he lifted his head and looked at you with his bloodshot eyes, before pressing his lips against yours. It was a quick and gentle peck, a promise of a friend, rather than a lover's confession. When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, muttering a quiet 'I am sorry.', before rolling on his side and falling asleep.

Neither of you said anything about it afterward. The next morning you woke up and continued your usual routine, as if nothing had happened. There were moments when you wondered if it was all a dream - maybe you were so in love with him that your brain started to play tricks with you. Yet, there was a weird comfort in not knowing if it was all just an illusion. Sometimes you liked to think that it was, indeed, real.

Slowly losing consciousness due to the lack of air, everything started to fade, except the memory of that night. It kept replaying over and over in your mind, feeling so real, you could almost feel his chapped lips against yours.

How ironic and unfair was that? Your last moments are spent thinking about the man who is currently the source of your suffering.

Suddenly the grip on your neck disappeared and you felt something sliding under your head and knees, lifting you back to the surface. Too tired to fight or even open your eyes, you let yourself be carried out of the river. A frantic voice was shouting something right in your face, but you could not recognize it, nor could understand what it was saying. Your limbs, chest, and eyelids felt so heavy, all you wanted was just to relax and let your body rest.

The second you were laid down on a flat surface, someone's mouth was pressed against yours, blowing air into your lungs. The sudden rush of oxygen made your body jolt and you would've probably hurt yourself, if the person who was bringing you back to life did not have their hands on your chest, rhythmically pumping.

Finally, you took your first breath on your own and you coughed violently, turning your body to the side so you could spit the excess water from your mouth. The hands that saved you made their way to your back, gently patting it to help you stop choking.

"Shit, are you okay?", the sound of the familiar voice made your body freeze.

"No! It cannot end like this!", you thought to yourself, the feeling of panic already bubbling inside of you. What game was Shikamaru playing? He almost ended your life, just to bring you back... What type of cruel torture was that?

"Hey... can you hear me? Please, answer me. Please, I can't-"

Before he could finish, you turned toward him and punched him as hard as you could. The man stumbled back from his kneeling position, cupping his nose in an attempt to stop the flowing blood. You used the opportunity to drag your weak body away from him, ignoring the sharp pain that pulsated through each one of your muscles.

"Stay away!", you yelled, glancing back at him, "Why are you doing this? Why are you trying to kill me?"

The young Nara looked at you with a confused expression, taking a step toward you, but immediately stopping once he saw the fear on your face.

"Kill you? What are you-", the sudden realisation of what was going on downed on him and he lifted both his hands from his face in a defensive motion, "Wait! No! It's not what you think!"

Ignoring his words, you continued to drag yourself away, gritting your teeth at the feeling of your skin scraping against the ground. Looking in his direction again, you found he was already on his feet but he had not moved from his original position.

"Please... I'm not going to hurt you!", he begged, his voice filled with desperation, "Just stop for a second! Listen to me!"

Letting out a sigh, you dropped to the ground, too exhausted to continue your escape attempt. Deep down you knew there was no point - you were surrounded by nothing but a field and while you managed to create a significant distance between you, he was on his feet, while you were crawling on your elbows. It was clear that no matter what you did, you won't be able to run away from him. The only option you had was to just wait and hope he was going to finish this quickly.

"Why?", the question came out as a broken whisper and you were not even sure he heard it, "Why are you doing this?"

Shikamaru's gaze softened and he made a small step toward you, testing your reaction. When he saw you made no movement, he made another step before stopping again. Only the gods knew he wanted nothing more than to run toward you and hold you in his arms, making sure you were okay. The spark of fear in your eyes, however, made him control his urges and he used all his willpower to remain calm and rational.

Seeing you like this... it was like his world was falling apart. He was not a violent person, far from it, but somewhere back in his mind, he kept imagining bringing the rogue ninja that put you through this back to life, just so he could kill him again. And then again. And then again. As many times as it took for him to feel like he did you justice.

The image of your face twisted in a silent scream, your whole body covered in blood, was one that he was never going to forget. And oh, how he wished he could! Ino and Choji have never seen their teammate lose control like this, not even when their sensei died. The piercing shriek that left his lips the moment he saw you, the way he ran toward your body, the bloodthirst in his gaze, while he slashed the enemy's throat open... it was almost like something dark and demonic had possessed him.

"You were under a genjutsu... everything that you felt and saw... it was not real. It was NOT me", with each word he closed the distance more and more, till he found himself right in front of you. Crouching next to your form, he extended his hand to touch yours, brows furrowing when he saw you flinch back.

"Please! Whatever you saw, whatever that bastard made you believe... it was NOT ME!", his voice remained low, yet it was getting more distressed, "I would never, ever hurt you! Never!"

He reached out again, this time slower so he could give you a chance to comprehend his words and move back if you wanted to. Shifting your look between his eyes and his hand, you took a deep breath, before letting him touch you. The warmth of his fingers brightly contrasted with your cold skin, sending shivers down your spine.

"It's me...", his hand slowly moved up toward your face, cradling your cheek in his palm and gently stroking it with his thumb. Your muscles remained frozen, still unsure if this was a trick or not, "I'm here. I'm here..."

He kept repeating the same words over and over, while cautiously moving his body closer, so he could wrap his arms around you. Your eyes danced around your surroundings, finally appreciating that you were in fact NOT next to the river in Konoha. Instead, you were at the exact same spot where you lost consciousness during your fight. The pieces of the mystery of what happened finally started to come together in your mind and the reality hit you like a wave, washing over the lingering doubts in your mind.

You opened your mouth to say something, but all that came out was a loud sob. And then another... Soon, the tears started freely flowing down your cheeks while your body shook with the intensity of the shock of what actually happened. Shikamaru kept you pressed tightly against his chest, his own tears falling on top of your hair, while he rocked both of you back and forth.

"I am so sorry!", he muttered, pressing his nose into your head, "I am so, so sorry! It's all my fault!"

"Shika-"

"If I didn't waste so much time planning and strategizing, I would've been here on time! I would've been able to save you, I would've been able to kill that bastard before he had the chance to hurt you!", he rambled on, more to himself than to you.

"Shikamaru!"

The sound of his name, together with the feeling of your fingers on his face finally caught his attention and he gazed down at you, his dark eyes still glossy and red.

"You saved me...", you said tracing his jaw, "You actually came for me."

He let out a quiet scoff, squeezing you tighter. His lips found their way to your forehead, placing a small kiss on it and lingering for a few seconds after that.

"Of course, I came for you, you troublesome woman", he sighed, closing his eyes. Holding the person you were in love with for years and who you thought you'd lost forever had to be the most surreal feeling.

At least for him.

There were a few seconds of silence between you, during which you just held each other. No words were spoken, but none were needed - the way you clung to one another, ignoring everyone and everything else, spoke of all of the feelings and affections you kept hidden in your hearts. Somewhere in the distance, you could hear Ino's voice talking, but your mind could not focus on anything but Shikamaru's heartbeat next to your ear.

"I've thought I lost you...", the sudden admission was quiet, almost as if he didn't really want you to hear it. He gulped, moving his head back so he can look into your eyes.

"That night when I said I don't know what I would do without you... I meant it. I still do! I would choose death any day if it means I wouldn't have to face the risk of losing you."

His words made your eyes widen and you stared back at him, trying to read his emotions. The Nara was not a man who liked to talk about his feelings, so any insight into his mind and heart was always surprising. A slight blush covered his cheeks, a sign that despite his moment of courage, he was still feeling nervous about your response.

"I love you."

Both of you blurted it out at the same time, your expressions slowly changing from scared to shocked. You blinked a few times, your brain taking some extra seconds to process his words. Finally, a small smile broke on your lips. Shikamaru, on the other hand, tried to remain serious, but the corners of his mouth kept tugging upwards.

"I want to kiss you."

"Is that your way of asking me for permission or you are just telling me?", you raised a brow and he let out a small laugh at your words.

"I am telling you."

With that one of his palms found your chin, gently cupping it and lifting your head toward him. You could feel his minty breath mixing with your own as he leaned in, not moving his eyes from yours.

The kiss was light, at first you barely felt his mouth against yours. It was delicate and somewhat unsure, just like the kiss you shared that fateful night. The more your lips moved together, the more confident you both became and he grabbed the back of your neck, holding you into place while his tongue met yours. It was all so new, yet it felt so familiar - almost like you've done that a thousand times before.

Finally pulling back, he rested his forehead against yours, trying to catch his breath.

"You have no idea how many years I have been dreaming" about this", he landed one more peck, before scooping you in his arms and lifting you, "Let's go home."

cc artwork: Xiaodi Jin

#shikamaru nara #shikamaru x reader #shikamaru angst #naruto imagines #naruto headcanons #naruto requests

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belovedspector · 1 year ago

Text

Love at First Sight's for Suckers (At Least, It Used to Be)

Pairing: Jake Lockley x f!reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: Jake can’t help but notice you when you become a regular at his favorite diner.

Content: Fluff!

A/N: Title is from “I Never Planned on You” from Newsies. I’ve never written for Jake before, and I haven’t read the comics, so I don’t have much to go off of, but I figured I’d give it a shot. I hope I did okay! Enjoy! :)

Masterlist

Jake Lockley knows his place. He’s the protector of the system, keeping Marc and Steven out of harm’s way and doing Khonshu’s dirty work. He doesn’t have time for “earthly pleasures,” as Khonshu had once put it. He doesn’t really have a life outside of protecting his alters and the travelers of the night, and he’s fine with that. He’s content to lurk in the shadows if it means Marc and Steven getting to live their best lives. He treasures what interaction he does get, when he’s driving his cab through the city or getting food late at night after a mission. He tries not to dwell on it, though; there’s no sense in mourning what he can’t have.

Jake notices everything. It’s his job, to always be on high-alert, even when he’s not the one fronting. So, when you start showing up at his favorite diner every Friday night like clockwork, he notices. He observes from afar. From that first time you walked in, the bell tinkling to announce your presence, he’d been…interested in you. He’s not sure why—it’s not like you pose a threat. You should fade into the background, just like everyone else.

But, you don’t.

Jake can’t help but take note of everything you do—the way you always say your “please”s and “thank you”s to the waitress, your soft laugh, your sweet smile, the ungodly amount of sugar you put in your coffee. He’s good at watching people; it’s part of his job, after all, so he’s able to absorb you and your habits without drawing suspicion from you or anyone else. Some might call it creepy, but Jake means no harm, and he can’t help his…infatuation with you. He doesn’t know what’s happening to him.

One night, he finds himself rambling as he drives around the city. He likes to talk out loud to himself in the safety of his cab; it gives him a chance to make sense of his thoughts, and it’s not like he has anyone else to share them with.

He starts off by talking himself through the details of his upcoming mission, but he soon finds his mind wandering to bright eyes and the scent of coffee. You.

“She’s really something, huh?” Jake says to himself. “I—I don’t know what it is about her. I can’t stop thinking about her.”

“I think you humans call it a ‘crush.’” Khonshu suddenly appears hunched over in the back seat of Jake’s cab, and, if he was a less skilled driver, Jake absolutely would have crashed. As it is, he jumps almost imperceptibly in his seat, swerving the tiniest bit before regaining control of the vehicle.

“What?” Jake asks, not even sparing Khonshu a glance in the rear-view mirror. He’s used to the god’s antics by now.

“It appears you have a crush, Jake Lockley.”

“I don’t get crushes,” Jake protests. “Don’t have time for that shit.” He grips the steering wheel more tightly, the leather of his gloves straining against his knuckles.

“You’re right; you don’t have time,” Khonshu agrees, “so I suggest you nip this little problem in the bud, before it interferes with our work.”

“What, you want me to kill her?” he deadpans.

“No, nothing that extreme. I was going to suggest finding a new diner.”

“But I like that diner.”

“Then you’d best find a way to ignore the girl.”

With that, Khonshu disappears, and Jake mutters some choice words about the bird in the quiet of his car.

It’s Friday night again. Jake sits alone at his usual booth—in the corner, with his back to the wall, so he can continually scan the entire diner for any threats. He alternates between sipping at his coffee and taking bites of his blueberry pie while scanning the newspaper.

The door opens, the bell ringing along with it, and Jake instinctively looks up.

It’s you.

Jake casts his eyes back down to the sports page. Khonshu had given him orders, and he intends to follow them.

His plan is going great. He’s not thinking about you, not even a little bit. But, shit, now he’s thinking about how he’s not thinking about you. Does that count as thinking about you?

Jake returns his coffee cup to the table with a little more force than necessary. He can feel a headache coming on.

Get it together, Lockley.

He looks up again to do another sweep of the interior, when he notices you’re not sitting in your usual spot. No, you’re…walking towards him. Surely, you’re just going to use the bathroom past his seat, right?

No such luck. You stop at his booth, standing awkwardly with your hands clasped in front of you.

Slowly, Jake moves his eyes from his newspaper and allows them to find yours. He’s never seen you up close before, and, God, you’re even more breathtaking when he can see the sparkle of your eyes and the way your lips curve upward into a soft smile.

“Um, hi,” you start, rocking a little on your feet. “Sorry to bother you. I was just wondering if you had a pen?”

Jake’s not very well-versed in pickup lines, but he’s pretty sure that can’t be one, right? He stares at you for a few beats, dumbfounded that you’re really speaking to him, before he pulls himself together.

He clears his throat and answers, “Uh, yes.” He reaches for the pen he always keeps in his jacket pocket and hands it to you.

He can’t help but notice the way your soft, warm fingers brush against his as the pen exchanges hands.

“Thank you!” you say, and you sound so sincere. “I just wanted to do today’s crossword. I’ll have this back before you know it.”

“Sure,” Jake forces out as you turn on your heel, back to what he’s begun thinking of as “your” booth.

He goes back to his own paper, definitely not thinking about you and your sweet smile and soft hands. It’s by complete coincidence that the next page he turns to has the daily crossword puzzle. He’s never been much for puzzles; that’s more Steven’s thing. Still, he takes a look.

Across 1. An infatuation with another person

It’s five letters. It can’t be anything other than “crush.” Jake groans. He scans the rest of the clues and notices they all seem to revolve around love. It dawns on him that Valentine’s Day is fast approaching. So, maybe the universe isn’t totally fucking with him, after all.

Jake has just about finished his pie when you come bounding over. You don’t wait for him to look up before you’re speaking.

“Thank you again!” you say, placing his pen back on the table near his coffee cup.

You’re already turning to go back to your booth, but Jake can’t just let you go. Screw Khonshu’s orders, he thinks.

“Wait,” he calls to you. He half-expects you to ignore him, to keep walking away, but you do turn around and take a step closer to him. Shit, now he needs to think of something to say to you. “That was, uh, fast,” he says lamely.

You beam at him, and it’s just about the prettiest thing Jake has ever seen. “Oh, yeah, I used to do them with my dad all the time, so I’ve gotten pretty good at them.” Your eyes drop to his newspaper that sits forgotten on the table, still open to the puzzle page. “Oh, do you do crosswords, too?” you ask, and you look like you’re genuinely interested in his answer.

“Oh, uh, not really.” Jake’s hand comes up to rub the back of his neck nervously. Since when does he get nervous?

“Ah,” you say, nodding wisely, “you must be more of a Sudoku guy.”

“Uh, yeah.”

Great conversation skills, Lockley, he chastises himself.

“Well, thanks again for the pen. I hope I didn’t keep you from your Sudoku for too long…” You trail off, and Jake realizes, belatedly, that you’re waiting for him to offer his name.

“Jake,” he provides, putting on his most charming smile.

You smile right back, telling him your own name.

“Pretty name,” he remarks.

“Thanks, I got it for my birthday.”

Jake just stares at you for a moment before the joke lands, and then he’s laughing—like, genuinely laughing. He can’t remember the last time this has happened.

He notices you seem a little flustered. Maybe he laughed too hard? Maybe it wasn’t even a joke, and he just totally misread the situation? Maybe—

“Wow, I don’t think anyone’s ever actually laughed at that one,” you say with a slight chuckle of your own.

“I liked it,” Jake says honestly, as if you couldn’t already tell. Before he can second guess himself, he’s asking, “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

“Oh!” A look of surprise crosses your face. “Um, yeah, I’d like that. May I?” you ask, gesturing to the bench seat across from him.

“Please,” he says with a wave of his hand.

You slide into the booth as Jake gets the attention of the waitress and orders two coffees.

“Anything else?” the waitress asks, looking between the two of you expectantly, pen ready against her notepad.

“The pie’s really good,” Jake tells you. “My treat.”

You seem hesitant. “Oh, no, I couldn’t—”

“Come on,” he encourages with a smile.

“It is really good,” the waitress chimes in.

“Well, okay,” you relent. “One slice of”—you look down at the table to scan the menu briefly—“chocolate cream pie, please.”

“Coming right up,” the waitress says with a smile and a click of her pen.

The time passes quickly, and the conversation between you and Jake flows as freely as the coffee. All that’s left of your pie is an empty plate with a few stray crumbs. You’re laughing at some comment Jake made when you glance down at your watch.

“Shit,” you say, your brows furrowing together in worry.

“Everything okay?” Jake asks.

“Yeah, I just didn’t realize how late it had gotten,” you say. An apologetic look crosses your face.

Jake checks his own watch. 2:53 am. He really should be getting back home, so Steven and Marc can wake up in the morning without suspecting anything.

“Can I drive you home?” he offers.

“Oh, that’s okay.” You shake your head. “I’m just a couple blocks over.”

“It’s late. I’d feel better if I knew you got home safely.”

“You’re sure it’s no trouble?” you ask hesitantly.

“Not at all,” he says with a smile. He’s smiled a lot tonight.

“Well, lead the way,” you say as you both exit the booth.

Jake throws a wad of cash on the table—more than enough to cover the coffee and pie—and walks you to his cab parked out front.

“You’re a cab driver?” you ask, sounding intrigued.

“I am,” Jake says as he opens the passenger’s door for you.

You pick up right where you left off at the diner, intermittently giving Jake directions to your apartment. He doesn’t want the night to end, but, soon enough, he’s parking in front of your building.

You start to unbuckle your seat belt but pause and turn to him. “Hey, can I borrow your pen again?”

“Oh, uh, sure,” Jake says, digging it out of his pocket and handing it over once more.

You take it with a smile and reach into your pants pocket. You pull out a crumpled napkin and quickly write something before handing both the napkin and pen to Jake.

Jake looks down to find your name and phone number written on the napkin.

You smile, looking a little shy. “In case you want to see me before next Friday,” you explain.

Jake doesn’t even think about the implication that you’ve noticed him at the diner every week, just like he’s noticed you. No, he’s too excited about the fact that you want to see him again, maybe even to go on a proper date. He hopes you can’t tell that he’s blushing in the dim glow of the cab’s ceiling light.

“Good night, Jake,” you say, finally unbuckling your seat belt and opening the door.

Normally, he’d do the gentlemanly thing and open the door for you, but he’d been too caught up in this surreal moment. Next time, he thinks, because there definitely will be a next time.

“Good night,” he echoes, still in a bit of a daze. He watches as you walk up the stairs to your apartment, making sure you’re safely inside before he pulls away from the curb.

Jake will deal with Khonshu’s wrath over disobeying orders. It will be more than worth it, if it means getting to see you again.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to let me know what you think! :)

#moon knight #mcu #jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #x reader #jace writes

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chevroletdean · 1 month ago

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Tainted — Chapter 2: Breathe Me In, Bleed Me Out

SUMMARY: The world caves in for Dean’s girlfriend when she gets a panicked call from Sam— Dean is gone. And she has to find him. Can she keep her promise?

SHIP: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader (MOC!Dean x Reader, Demon!Dean x Reader) GENRE: Angst, smuttish (nothing explicit, but definitely suggestive so MDNI) TO NOTE/WARNINGS: Seasons 9-10 spoilers, established relationship, angst, little bit of a time jump from chapter 1, more time jumps within this chapter, temporary character death, grief, canon level violence, demon!dean being an asshole, suggestive making out (while consenual, definitely laden with guilt), implied cheating WORD COUNT: 5.2k A/N: This chapter was honestly difficult for me to write. My struggles with writing Y/N stories bite me in the butt again, lol. I never know whether Y/N is too flat to be interesting or too fleshed out to be relatable, it's a fine balance. Feel free to let me know your opinions. Fair warning: A good amount of this is basically the plot of the episodes 9x20 and 10x01. CREDIT & LINKS: header edited by myself ──〃★ divider edited by myself ──〃★ series masterlist

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“Slowly, Sam,” she spoke through the phone despite the tremble in her own voice.

She’s had this bad feeling in her guts, teetering on the edge of panic. It’s been like this the whole day. The second her phone had started vibrating, the moment she saw Sam’s name on the display, she knew it was bad news.

She couldn’t put her finger on as to why.

She just knew.

Maybe it was the timing; Sam rarely called her out of the blue. Not like this, anyway. Not under these circumstances. He never had a reason to, until now. He always promised to give her a call should he need her help and even then they usually would text each other instead.

Maybe it was the way Sam stumbled across his own words, barely able to choke out a single coherent sentence. She could probably count the amount of times he sounded this freaked-out on one hand. He went on and on, rambling about “Metatron” and “Crowley” and “a knife” and “blood, so much blood.”

What else could it have been then, if not bad news?

A dull ache throbbed in her head as much as it did in her chest. She took off just two days ago, since a friend asked her to help with a hunt.

She had been reluctant about leaving the Bunker — they had enough on their plate already: Searching for Metatron was annoying, and then there was Dean’s insistence on killing him with the First Blade. Sam had locked the weapon away ever since he noticed the effect it had on his brother.

That knife paired with the Mark of Cain was a recipe for disaster. Until they’d find a cure for the curse, it was best to keep it hidden from Dean.

“Deep breath,” she said — at this point she wasn’t sure if she was trying to calm down Sam or rather herself. Her own exhale was shaky. As were her clammy hands that had an iron grip on the phone. “What happened?”

There was a long pause on the other end. Every second of it filled her with an absolute sense of dread.

“Where is he?,” she asked then. Hopeful, worried, terrified. “Where’s Dean?”

Sam’s voice was barely audible on the other end, yet his words hit her with the force of a thousand screams: “I’m sorry.”

It was a weird feeling. She wanted to cry and scream, to deny and to bargain. But she remained absolutely stiff and silent. Numbness was taking over.

“Where is he?,” she repeated her question, voice barely above a breath.

“I put him on your bed.”

Their bed, the only place remotely close to a sanctuary after long days of hunting and having to face the ugly of the world. She didn’t even want to think of the implications of their situation now. That bed, once a warm haven, would forever feel cold now.

“Wait for me,” she muttered weakly. There it was, that long awaited lump in her throat. She tried to swallow it, along with the tears that threatened to dwell up and spill over. “Don’t do anything stupid until I get back.”

Without hesitation she checked out of the motel, ditched her current case, and drove back to the Bunker. While there was no point in fretting over it now, she did curse herself for giving in to Dean’s suggestion.

“It’s just a hundred-something miles, you should take the case,” his encouragement had been. He had practically been urging her to chase that ghost. How could she not have seen it? Why did she not question his adamancy?

“I guess it’s a simple salt and burn, shouldn’t take too long,” she had given in so easily. Why did she brush it off so quickly? Why did Dean have to push her away?

Why did she let him?

If she had to guess, she would’ve said she expected him to act differently.

Since that particularily restless night, she thought his calmer, more reserved mood was a good sign. Oh, how wrong she had been.

After weeks and months of battling with himself and the Mark of Cain plaguing him non-stop, she had grown accustomed to Dean’s shitty moods. She had braced herself for an explosion in case the curse would take over.

An outburst, she would’ve understood. He could’ve been rude to her, cold even, anything to try and make her hate him. All of that, she already mentally prepared for. But instead, he put distance between them so subtly and gently that she didn’t even recognize it for what it was:

A silent suicide mission.

This fucker knew trying to rile her up into driving her away would fail. He knew that if he wanted her out of the way of his plan, he’d have to resort to softer methods. To distracting her with a case, to plotting in secret.

Dean had been planning to use the First Blade against Metatron all this time. All by himself, despite the warning signs. He’s reduced himself to a weapon, again, even though they all tried to convince him that they were in this together.

Lebanon, Kansas was roughly two hours away. Thanks to violating multiple traffic laws, she arrived there in just under one and a half. It was honestly a miracle she made it there in one piece.

The first strange thing she noticed was Baby’s empty parking spot. The black Impala was nowhere to be seen. Alarmed, she thought Sam might’ve drove off to do God knows what.

Immediately she rushed inside, downstairs and into the war room. An eerie silence occupied the space. Dominated it. A silence she didn’t want to get used to, but she could already feel it settle in as if the Bunker was its new home.

Sam was nowhere to be seen, presumably — hopefully — keeping watch in Dean’s and her room. Did she even want to see what would await her there? Was any of this even real? It felt like such a joke, a twisted prank of a cruel fate. A nightmare she just wanted to wake up from.

Her heavy feet carried her down the hallway, but her legs were dragging along the floor like she was walking through water. Cold, heavy water slowing her down.

The door was slightly ajar and for a second her body refused to move entirely. Pushing it open and stepping inside felt impossible. No amount of time could help her brace herself for seeing her boyfriend’s corpse anyway. Thus, with a heavy heart and bated breath, she slipped inside.

Sam’s tall figure stood at the end of the bed, his back facing her and blocking her view, effectively.

Except, as she dared to take a glimpse, her eyes fell on an empty bed. Rustled sheets, stained with some blood. But no body.

Her stomach churned, racing mind unable to make sense of any of this.

“What did you do?,” she rasped. Casting her eyes towards Sam, she caught a glimpse of a piece of paper in his hands. Snatching it from his hands swiftly, she read the note over and over again.

Let me go.

Undoubtedly Dean’s handwriting, sharp and confident brushstrokes of a ballpoint pen. Let me go? What was that even supposed to mean?

“Sam, what did you do?,” she repeated her question, more urgently this time.

The younger Winchester stood there all frozen and speechless.

It was so difficult to contain her pain and her anger. Didn’t she tell Sam to wait until she was there? Didn’t she tell him to keep an eye on Dean just before she left two days ago?

Oh, how badly she wanted to yell at him for this mess.

But wasn’t that too easy? Pointing the finger at someone else, when she failed Dean all the same.

Not only was there no point in blaming Sam, it also didn’t look like he knew what was going on either. He looked about as distraught as she felt. She had to actively grab his arms to gain his attention.

“What the hell happened? Where’s Dean?”

Sam shook his head and she could see the wheels turning behind those knitted brows.

“Crowley,” Sam stuttered out. “He… I called him and—”

Her eyes almost popped out of her head, she widened them so much. Another cycle of sold souls might just be her last straw. Why did these boys always have to sacrifice themselves for each other?

“You made a deal?,” she interrupted him, furious.

“No deal. I told him to make it right,” Sam mumbled, more to himself, continuously shaking his head in disbelief. “When I came to check, they were both gone.”

Baffled, she blinked at him, seeking the truth in his words until her expression softened. She had no idea why Crowley would take Dean’s body, or what that note meant. Whether it was a petty, sick joke by the King of Hell or if it meant Dean was still out there somewhere, they had to find him.

“We will make it right,” she muttered, loosening her grip on Sam’s elbows. “Like we always do. We’ll find him.”

Hunters go through the five stages of grief like it’s a regular routine. A ritual, if you will. This life came with so much loss and pain. You’d think at some point you’d get used to it. To death all around you, to preparing yet another hunter’s burial.

But the fact that Dean was gone hit her like a whiplash. She didn’t even get to process any of it, no closure, nothing to make her know for sure where he was, whether he was okay, if there was still a chance. If she was still allowed to hope.

It took them weeks. Several weeks of trial and error. Tracking down Crowley did nothing. They had zero clues. No matter how many demons they asked, nobody knew what happened to Dean Winchester. The angels were fighting their own battle. Fellow hunters hadn’t seen or heard from him either.

She felt like she was slowly going insane. Her mind was a liminal space — she got the sense that she was thrown into cold water without knowing how to properly swim. She managed to keep her head up somewhat, but for how much longer could she take all of this?

At this point Sam and her were grasping at straws. The bigger fish in that vast ocean of questions were no help, so they had to dive deeper. They couldn’t afford to leave a stone unturned.

And who knew that a seemingly random case would prove to be their number one lead so far?

“I don’t know what to tell you, man,” the cashier sighed and awkwardly rubbed his neck. A young man, probably working a part-time job at this gas station. The poor bystanding citizen went over what he saw once more. “This guy was just browsing through zines, then this other guy charged at him and he— KAPOW! BAM! — He just stabbed him. Kinda badass, honestly.”

Maybe not so poor after all. The guy seemed ecstatic about his eventful day at a rather boring job.

Sam and her exchanged a glance, unsure of what to make of the worker’s thrilled testimony.

Pointing at the surveillance cameras in the corner, she asked: “Mind if we check the tapes?”

They were lead to the computers in the back and the gas station attendant opened the recordings for them. Sam put three of the videos side by side, two showing the interior of the store, one being an angle from outside.

As she saw the Impala roll in on one of the clips, her eyes widened. She physically leapt forward, pushing Sam aside and zooming in on the figure stepping out of the familiar vehicle.

Her heart began racing a thousand miles per hour as she recognized what was undoubtedly her boyfriend walking into the gas station.

Then, Dean was alive after all? But it made no sense. Why was he not calling her, how did he survive that fight against Metatron?

So many questions flooded her mind that she was barely paying attention to the footage of some man coming up to Dean, clearly going for a strike. Dean dodged the attack and sunk the First Blade into the stranger. After that, he just left, taking that magazine along and driving away.

She barely registered Sam’s arm reaching over her to pause the video. He rewound it and played it again in slow motion, frame by frame until his trained eye prompted him to hit pause again.

Dean’s eyes were entirely consumed by a pitch black darkness. Demonic, soulless pits of black.

Something deep within her core collapsed as she connected the dots. Ignoring Sam’s attempts of stopping her, she made a beeline towards the exit. Clumsy fingers fished for her phone and she hastily dialed Crowley’s number.

His thick accent and smug tone made her want to reach through the line and rip out his tongue. “Colour me surprised. What can I do for the Winchester’s dearest?”

She didn’t even bother with a proper hello, let alone with reacting to his teasing greeting.

“I swear whatever demon is using Dean’s body as a meatsuit, I’ll send both them and you straight into hellfire myself,” she snarled through gritted teeth, fueled by a rage she’s never experienced before. She could only imagine the anger the Mark of Cain always caused for Dean, but she assumed her own came pretty close to the same level just then and there.

It earned her little more than a bemused chuckle.

Oh, that bastard was done for on so many levels.

“Crowley, I swear to all that’s holy I will—”

“Charming,” he interrupted her cursing, “But it’s all him, love.”

What?

“Call it the new and improved Dean,” Crowley hummed nonchalantly. “I did say the Mark of Cain would give him a nice and fancy upgrade, didn’t I?”

Surprisingly, a scavenger hunt to track down Crowley and/or Dean was even more frustrating than finding Metatron. Now, they all had good reason to getting ahold of that asshole, but Dean came first.

He always did. Plus, she didn’t make that promise for him just to fail him after.

Truth be told, she had no idea what she’d do once she would find him. Or rather, what was left of him. Judging by what Crowley said, the Mark of Cain had finally turned Dean into a monster.

For all they knew he was dangerous, yet she couldn’t care less.

It took her a while, but she managed to find a trail. Apparently the demonic version of the green-eyed hunter was a little more reckless when it came to covering up his traces.

Or maybe he didn’t particularly care about if or who might find him.

Either way, there weren’t many black ’67 Chevys cruising from motel to the next. If her hunch was correct, he was staying at one near her current location — lucky her, on one side. On the other hand, Sam was following a different lead one state over.

She couldn’t just let this chance slip, though. There was not enough time for backup. And, who knew, maybe it was a nothing burger anyway.

To be safe, she sent Sam a text that included the address, and purposefully ignored his reply about how she shouldn’t take risks by going alone.

She made her way to a motel that looked more run down than most of the ones even she was used to. It almost looked abandoned, definitely old, were it not for the bar on the other side of the street. That one was buzzing with light and music even from the buildings adjacent to it.

And wouldn’t you know it — Baby was parked right in front of said bar, empty.

This was her chance. She was ready to pick every lock of every room if it meant a chance at getting Dean back. The motel was definitely as hauntingly quiet and empty as your average ghost-filled mansion.

But it played into her hands. There wasn’t even any staff present.

Quickly, she snuck behind the reception’s desk and flipped through every document she could find. One name in particular struck her as odd — Joseph Perry. Unless the actual Joe, Aerosmith’s lead guitarist was renting a room in one of America’s most shabby motels, she hit the nail on the head.

One quick text message to Sam — ‘Found him. Room 205, he’s out. I’m going in.’ — and she tiptoed down the hallway. Picking the lock was almost too easy, because not even a minute later she found herself standing in the middle of a two-bedroom.

Instead of flickering on the lights, she resorted to using her phone’s flashlight. No need to draw any attention.

Eagerly, she rummaged through the room. The small closet space was filled with flannels and denim she recognized. Even their scent was familiar, though that brought back emotions she couldn’t focus on right now.

She didn’t even know what she was looking for exactly. Clues to what Dean’s been up to the whole time, where he’d go next. Heck, maybe even the First Blade, if only to take it away from him again.

The dresser between the two beds was next, the drawers of which were empty.

Her snooping and investigating was cut short by the light switch turning on.

Fuck.

Her breath hitched in her throat and she didn’t dare to move a muscle. She knew she’d be done for if he’d catch her trying anything funny.

A deep, gravelly yet smooth, and painfully familiar voice appeared behind her: “Didn’t I say to leave me be, sweetheart?”

He couldn’t possibly know the sting that petname caused. The hollow ache it stirred. How long has it been since she’d hear his voice at all, let alone have him call her that?

His presence alone was enough to make the ends of her hair stand up tall. She wished she could call it a bittersweet reunion, but with these circumstances, it was more of a fight-or-flight instinct than anything.

“You mean that lousy note?,” she choked out and she cursed herself for the way her voice quivered. Damn it, her heart was aching so badly. “You were never a poet, but I was hoping for a more heartfelt goodbye.”

With her back still facing him, her hand slowly slid into the inner pocket of her denim jacket. Her fingers were shaky and sweaty as she curled them around the handle of her angel blade.

His voice echoed in her memories; “When things go to shit, you have to stop it.”

The look of desperation in his green eyes.

The very same green eyes she was met with upon spinning around and raising her weapon. She felt as though she was the one being stabbed.

“Stop me.”

How could she possibly do it? How could she keep such a promise? How could he ask something like that of her?

Her movement faltered midway. Not that she stood much of a chance anyway. Within a flash of a second, her wrist was captured by Dean, her arm twisted forward and around until she dropped the blade.

The silver object clattered on the floor and along with it, her heart dropped too.

“I thought I recognized that car of yours outside,” Dean hummed thoughtfully, his intense gaze scanning her up and down. “You just couldn’t let me be, huh?”

The huntress yelped softly as he shoved her back against the dresser.

The wooden edge was digging right into her lower back, an uncomfortable bite against her spine as she found herself trapped between the furniture and the twisted version of the love of her life.

His body pinned hers into an immobile state. He was close enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath against the shell of her ear.

“So what’s the grande plan here?,” he grinned, lips brushing against the juncture of her jaw ever so slightly. “Your pretty face shows up, you bat those eyelashes and then what?”

She tensed up visibly, clenching her jaw. She didn’t have an answer. Maybe she should’ve thought this through, but then again, she didn’t think that she’d actually run into him.

Using her other hand, she tried reaching for her other pocket. However, before she even had the chance of pulling out the anti-demon handcuffs, Dean grabbed that hand too, encircling both of her wrists in one iron grasp.

The cuffs fell down right next to the angel blade and for good measure, Dean kicked both items haphazardly into a random direction, so long as it was out of reach for her.

“Don’t get sneaky on me now, doll,” he muttered and the dangerous, grumbling edge in his voice had her shudder. “I asked you a question.”

Her only chance of getting out of this was to buy more time.

“Can you run that by me again? I wasn’t really paying attention.”

Whilst Dean’s lips twitched into a smirk, he didn’t appreciate her teasing attitude. His other hand darted up and found home around the delicate of her throat. A choked gasp errupted from her as she felt his fingers wrap snugly around her windpipes.

While it definitely hurt, it wasn’t enough to do any actual damage. He was applying just enough pressure to make her head all dizzy and her panic all spiked.

“Always a witty comment,” he tutted, clicking his tongue as he leaned closer. “Never knows when to shut that pretty mouth of hers, until it’s put to good use.”

She couldn’t suppress the heat rising to her cheeks if she tried. Not that she wasn’t used to him being assertive, but the intensity of this was downright dangerous.

“You clearly didn’t think this through, doll,” he whispered, his hot breath tickling her lips. “You have no idea what you’re up against.”

Black flashed across his eyes, dark and consuming.

It should’ve scared her, and it’s not like she wasn’t aware that he could so easily snuff out her life. He’d have to squeeze just a little harder. He’d just have to flick his wrist. But how could she focus on fear when every fiber of her being was consumed by guilt?

She swore she’d save him from this, and she failed so miserably.

“Promise me you’ll put an end to it if things go wrong. Please.” His plea rang through her mind still, clear as a bell.

“I promise I’ll do everything I can,” she had nodded back then. “If we run out of options, I’ll do it.”

An ultimatium. The last resort. As long as there was so much as a slither of hope—

It was still Dean. Her Dean, demon or not. That thought was equally comforting and devastating. The lines were as blurry as the swirl of her emotions.

“You’re not my enemy, Dean,” she tried, her voice strained through the chokehold he still had on her. “It’s the Mark, you’re not yourself.”

Dean barked out a laugh and shook his head, his eyes emerald once more. “And that’s where you’re wrong, doll. I’ve never felt better.”

As if to demonstrate, his hands vanished from her wrists and throat, seizing her hips instead. He lifted her up with ease and shoved her on top of the dresser with such sudden force that her hands instinctively sought an anchor in his arms.

Arms she used to rely on — they’d lull her to sleep, they’d welcome her home, they’d provide her with warmth. Arms she had taken for granted. Arms she had missed feeling around her.

Large hands slipped under her jacket, greedily pawing at her waist and she stiffened at the sensation of his warm fingers slipping under her shirt. His touch still felt the same and she didn’t know which was worse: That it still had the same effect on her or that Dean knew.

“Dean,” she uttered, all breathless and not even coming close to making it sound like a protest.

“Isn’t this what you came here for?”

He didn’t even give her time to process his question, let alone come up with an answer. Rough hands pulled her impossibly closer until he stood between her thighs, towering over her like some unyielding wall.

“To see me,” he went on — and damn it if months of lonely, sleepless nights didn’t turn his voice into the most alluring siren’s song for her. He brought his forehead down to hers and all her eyes could focus on was the shape of his lips. “To feel me?”

Guilty as charged, evident by her giving in to the magnetic pull.

The question of who closed the gap between them was overshadowed by the fact that their mouths all but crashed together. A burning hunger took over, consuming and demanding, and leading to a devouring rather than just a kiss.

It wasn’t pretty by any means. Just a tangled mess of bumping noses and clashing teeth, of hands wandering and exploring and claiming.

A whimper of hers fueled Dean to shove her jacket off her shoulders, whereas pride filled her upon drawing a grunt from his lips with just a simple tug on his sandy hair.

The taste of him was as intoxicating as she remembered it to be, not least because of the whiskey sticking to his tongue.

Her body fell into old habits as if no time had passed. Her back arched instinctively and she completely melted into his embrace — those arms welcoming her home once more —, even as his warm lips worked a path down her jawline.

Clearly Dean still had her body perfectly memorized all the same, knowing exactly which buttons to push. Sharp teeth grazed across her pulse, before the swipe of a warm tongue soothed over the sting.

“Gotta say, sweetheart,” Dean muttered, his words husky and muffled by her flushed skin as he nibbled down her collarbones. “I did miss this. Always so damn responsive.”

Her fingers combed through strands of hair that had grown longer since she last saw him.

So much time has passed. So much has happened since. But have things really changed?

“I missed you, too.”

She knew that was neither what he said nor what he meant, yet she couldn’t help but yearn. She couldn’t help but trust. It’s always been her greatest weakness. Dean always has been her greatest weakness.

His grip tightened on her curves until she was sure she’d be covered in finger-shaped marks.

Good. ‘Cause if he were to ever slip away from her again, she’d want all the traces of him she could keep, locked deep within her. Every single bruise. She’d want his bite to infect her from the inside.

She buried her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent with the intent to catalogue it into the depth of her brain.

A soft click from the other end of the room made her heart flip.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” she whispered.

They only had this one chance.

Her hands cupped his jawline, fingers caressing stubbled skin as if handling porcelain, and her lips found his in a softer kiss.

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated gently, letting him taste and swallow the words.

Her apology confused him enough to distract him.

Sam took the opportunity, capturing Dean’s arms from behind and securing them behind his back. The handcuffs snapped into place around his wrists, the engraved pentagrams rendering the demon pretty much powerless.

Dean growled and writhed in protest to his brother yanking him away. He was like a caged animal, baring his teeth as well as his inky eyes. Kicking and screaming got him nowhere, though.

With combined strength, Sam and her managed to drag him back to the Impala, where they pushed him into the backseat.

Sam slammed the door shut, taking a deep breath. She half expected him to scold her for tackling this by herself. But his expression held nothing but concern as his eyes gave her a once-over.

“You okay?”

Was she? Honestly, she didn’t even know anymore.

From the corners of her eyes she glanced through the backseat window. Dean sat there fuming silently, his dark eyes screaming bloody murder as he glared at Sam and her.

“We basically just arrested a demonic Dean, I’ll take it as a win,” she shrugged, deflecting the question with weak humor.

Sam’s eyes followed the direction of her gaze. Undoubtedly, he was also glad that they managed to find and capture him. But the real challenge was still ahead of them.

“Did he hurt you?,” he asked.

“I’m okay,” she said through a clenched jaw and shook her head. “Thanks for your help back there.”

With that, she slid into the passenger seat. That was as much conversation as she was comfortable with. She knew Sam had questions, but she didn’t have any answers. It was all a haze for her too.

Sam rounded the car and got behind the wheel. His nose scrunched up in disgust as he shoved empty beer cans off the dashboard.

“It’s just a car,” Dean scoffed from the back, rolling his eyes. Yeah, alright, the Mark of Cain had not just corrupted him, Dean was definitely beside himself. That might’ve just been the most concerning thing she’s ever heard him say.

Sam was still busy clearing trash out of his seat. A glance towards the woman next to him confirmed his suspicions that her side wasn’t any cleaner.

She picked up a black bra from the floor, along with a ripped condom wrapper. Lovely. Crumpling both the foil and the fabric in her fist, she sent the damned things flying out of the window.

“Good to know someone was having fun the past few months,” she grumbled, pain obviously lacing her tone.

Again, she had to remind herself that this wasn’t Dean. Not really. Or at least a Dean that wasn’t thinking straight. Still, the idea of him roaming the streets like the world was a banquet at his feet, while she was working day and night to save him, made her sick to her stomach.

Knowing she wouldn’t like Dean’s response anyway, she turned on the radio. She didn’t want an explanation, much less any smug mockery. All she wanted was to get back to the Bunker and put an end to this nightmare.

Just like she had promised.

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saphira-approves · 10 months ago

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Okay no I’m not done talking about swords, and their names, because sword names are IMPORTANT okay and they MEAN THINGS—

I rambled in the tags of this post about Eragon and Murtagh naming/renaming their swords to be positive, compared to their fathers’ respective negative sword names, but I want to go further into it.

First is the obvious one, Morzan’s Zar’roc, Misery, and Murtagh’s Ithring, Freedom. I’m almost certain Morzan names his sword as an offensive measure—and I don’t mean offensive as in insulting, I mean it in the combat sense. It’s a curse, almost, upon his enemies: any opponent he faces with this blade will be struck by misery, literally. But one thing we know about Morzan: he’s not particularly wise, and even his best works backfire on him. We see it with Selena, and his confidence that she loves him too much to betray him, so he never warded against her. He named his sword Misery, and Misery is all it brought him: he joined Galbatorix, brought the downfall of the Order, and lost his dragon to nameless madness; he killed Brom’s dragon, making an enemy of the man who once had idolized him and sealing his own demise by Brom’s hand; he threw Misery at his own child and pushed his wife to betray him, which ultimately led to the downfall of everything he had ever worked for. Talk about a curse. He upheld Misery, and Misery came right back to bite him in the ass.

And then Brom took Misery from him, and sequestered it away, and eventually gave it to Eragon without telling him its meaning; and Eragon wielded it without knowing its meaning or history, trying his best to do good with it, and even when he did learn its history and its name he resolved to work to give it a better legacy. After all, a good sword is a good sword. But Murtagh, Morzan’s son and heir, was not done with Misery, bore too painful a scar from Misery to let it go—he took Misery from Eragon and claimed it as his own, claiming his birthright, yes… but taking Misery away from Eragon, in the very same moment that he also protected Eragon from capture and forced servitude, the fate that had befallen Murtagh himself. Complicated as feelings all around may have been, intentional as the act itself may or may not have been, Murtagh here is very much intentionally shouldering that burden. He fully believed that Eragon was another son of Morzan, he could have easily justified rejecting that part of his history and his father’s legacy and offloading it on his younger brother, and yet he didn’t. He took it for himself and declared it his own.

And then he called it Freedom.

After enduring torture and enslavement and a hundred other humiliations, he took Misery in hand and said, no. I do not uphold you. I do not fight for you. I fight for Freedom, for my own and my loved ones’, and for the Freedom of all. He looked at the horror of his past and refused to let it define him. He looked at his father’s mistakes and refused to be bound to them. He took a name of offense, of attack and hostility, and changed it to a name of preservation, of defense, of peace.

And then there’s Eragon, with Brisingr, Fire, and Brom’s mysterious Undbitr, Void-biter. At first glance it may seem that they have absolutely nothing to do with each other, but I would not be here if I wasn’t going to loudly and fervently declare otherwise.

My guess for Brom’s reasoning of naming his sword Undbitr would be somewhere between edgelord teenager antics (look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn’t have wanted a sword name Void Biter at twelve years old) and his admiration for Morzan, who named his sword the simple yet devastatingly clever Misery. Void-biter, bite of death, the bite that would send his opponents to the void. To darkness, to nothingness, to anti-life and anti-hope. A sword lost after his dragon’s death, never seen again, and yet Brom himself succumbs to the bite of his own personal void: he dedicates himself to vengeance, throws everything he has of himself into orchestrating Morzan’s downfall, and the downfall of Galbatorix and the rest of the Forsworn for good measure. It’s implied, from Brom’s own admission of fearing his son would hate him and Oromis’s discussion of his near-suicidal madness after Saphira’s death, that revenge is all Brom lived for until he met Selena—and even after he met her and fell in love with her, I suspect his need for vengeance is what ultimately decided the events leading both to Morzan’s death and Selena’s doomed reunion with Murtagh. Brom may have lost Void-biter, but the void consumed him anyway.

And then there’s Eragon. Yes I’ve said that already but if anything can sum up these books, it’s And then there’s Eragon. The first spell he learns is fire. A dangerous force, certainly, one that can easily break control and wreak untold havoc and destruction, but what force of nature doesn’t fall into that category? He could easily have learned, and thus be represented by, wind or ice or lightning, or even just pain or break. But he didn’t, and he’s not. He wields fire. A force of nature, a destructive weapon… but also the foundation of a home, fire in the hearth; the fuel of invention, to shape metal and glass; and most importantly, a light in the dark, the hope of dawn in the long cold night. Eragon names his sword Brisingr, and it’s not merely a weapon: it is a beacon. His father was consumed by darkness, but Eragon is the one who guided him back to the light, who gave him something to live for after he had defeated his enemy and lost his love; Eragon was the figurehead of the rebellion, the spark that drove a passive resistance into the blaze of true revolution; and now Eragon builds the new hearth of the Dragon Riders, to tend and defend it for future generations.

What a change from misery and the void.

Fire, and freedom. Hope, and peace. Family, and love.

I think Selena would be very proud of her sons.

#inheritance cycle #christopher paolini #eragon shadeslayer #murtagh (inheritance cycle)#brom (inheritance cycle)#selena (inheritance cycle)#morzan (inheritance cycle)#saph scribbles #murtagh spoilers #very light but still there #im normal about these books im so normal about these books (lying)#need a murtagh and eragon reunion STAT i need eragon to be all mushy and proud of murtagh for his growth as a person #while murtagh is VERY uncomfortable and fully expecting to be kicked out but refusing to say anything because the hugs are nice even #if he won’t actually admit it

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skiiyoomin · 2 years ago

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Seventeen vernon - sex under the stars? I mean it's Romantic sooo and wait him wearing a gold chain which has your name on it and you wearing one with his name on it🫣

ღUnderneath the stars

ʚSinopsis: Stargazing is one of your favorite activities. Unfourtantely, living in the city can't provide that, so Vernon makes it his personal mission to take you to the countryside. Everything is super sweet and soft, however, when you show how much you appreciate him through touches and kisses, the situation naturally escalates to something more.

ʚContent: SMUT CONTENT, public sex, fem reader, fluff, vernon can fuck the daylights out of me under the stars too

⤑Back to navigation

a/n MISS GIRLIEEEE YK DAMN WELL IMMA DO IT

You sighed wishfully as you leaned on the kitchen counter, gazing out the window, a melancholic look on your face as you looked up at the dark sky hoping to find the smallest of twinkles from the stars.

A couple of hours prior you had been scrolling through a folder of photos your mom had sent containing all of your childhood. While you laughed at some out of of self embarrassment at your child self, others hit a wave of nostalgia that made you reminisce all the good times you had. Many of your summer photos were taken out in the countryside, after all, it was a family tradition. Stargazing was an absolute must do whenever you went out of the city, leaving you awestruck by the immensity of the galaxies and it's million stars every single time.

Eventually, as you and your siblings got older, each one moving to many different places, holding such traditions was becoming increasingly difficult.

So, while looking at those pictures, you realized it had been years since you were able to experience seeing the array of millions of stars sprayed out in the sky.

You felt arms, your boyfriends arms, snake around your waist, his head plopping onto your shoulder as he pressed a gentle kiss on your said shoulder.

"Something's on your mind"

It wasn't a question. Knowing you couldn't lie to even if you tried, you nodded, affirming his statement.

"Wanna talk about it?"

You turned around to him, once again sighing. "It's just- You know those pictures my mom sent me?" He nodded in response, listening intently "Well, while looking at some of them I realized it's been a really long time since I went out to the countryside to stargaze, I mean I know it's sounds kinda stupid but it was a tradition and-"

He pressed his lips to yours, cutting off your rambling. When he pulled away, he pressed his forhead to yours, looking you deep in the eyes "Baby, listen, nothing you say or feel is stupid ok? I'll take you stargazing"

Your eyes immediately light up, a smile spreading on your face "Really?" He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, smiling at your enthusiasm "Of course, let's go"

"Wait, right now?"

"Of course!" He exclaims as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

You can't help the giddiness coursing through your veins as you watch Vernon grab all the essentials for your small trip, feeling that same nostalgia like before.

Not long after, you were in the passenger seat of Vernons car, driving out of the city, soft music playing in the background as you looked out the window, once in again in hopes of seeing countless stars appear.

Soon enough, Vernon drove through a route leading to a secluded camping area with huge trees blocking any view from the main road.

Like an excited kid, you hopped off the car, quickly helping Vernon place the many soft blankets on the ground, urging him to turn the car lights off.

While it took you a second to adjust to the sudden dimness of light, there was no mistaking the sparkle of the millions of stars placed in the sky. You couldn't help the soft gasp that escaped your throat as you looked up, the shining stars reflecting in your eyes. "Wow" you softly breathed out, feeling a sense of breathlessness. "Aren't they beautiful?"

"They are" But he wasn't looking at the stars, instead his gaze was fixated on you, they way your mouth hung slightly open as you craned your neck upwards, the way the moonlight and the stars shined down on you like a goddess, he could never get enough of you.

Feeling his gaze on you, you turn your head to look at him. You couldn't help the light blush covering your cheeks as you felt a sudden shyness under his stare. He took your chin between his fingers, gently guiding your head to face him, inevitably making your eyes drift to his. His eyes shifted to your parted lips. In answer, you leaned forward, taking his face between your hands.

You pecked his lips over and over again, repeating thank yous and i love yous between said kisses. When you leaned in once again, it was Vernons turn to take your face between his hands, keeping you from parting again. Your lips molded together in perfect sychrony, as the kiss got increasingly passionate, you snaked your arms around his shoulders, tangling your hands in his brown locks, eliciting a groan from him.

Gently, you pushed him down, crawling on top of him. Soon enough, your kiss got heated as your tongues intertwined. However, air was becoming increasingly needed, forcing you apart and leaving you panting for oxygen. Before you could catch yourself, Vernon switched places, with you underneath, capturing your lips once more. His lips drifted down your jaw, placing kisses down your neck that left butterflies in your stomach. It wasn't long before his lips were on your sweet spot, suckling on it as he left purple marks on your skin.

Your hands once again tangled in his hair, pushing him impossibly close as your lips let out explicit gasps and moans. His hands found place underneath your shirt, slowly gliding up until they found your chest, his thumbs rubbing slow circles on your nipples, feeling them harden underneath your bra. Your shirt and bra quickly came off, allowing Vernon to continue drifting his kisses down to your chest, but not before placing a quick kiss to the necklace he gifted you hanging around your neck with his name on it. He took your left boob in his mouth while taking the other in his hand, causing gasps from you as you arched your back in pleasure. He took his time givign attention to both of your boobs, taking his sweet time to feel your reactions underneath him. However, you both knew you needed more than that.

He was quick to unbutton your pants, lowering them along with your panties. You desperately spread your legs, giving full show of your wet pussy, glistening in lust. Vernon felt his hard dick twich in his pants, showing how desperate he was himself for release.

Lowering them, he carefully postitioned himself in your entrance, slowly entering your needy hole. He placed his hands on your hips as you both simultaneously moaned in pleasure. Slowly, Vernon began to thrust, giving you time to adjust to his thick size, though he began to loose control as the feeling of your tight hole drove him to thrust faster and harder.

He set a fast pace, inducing moan after moan from you, each one louder than the last.

"F-fuck, Vernon, harder please!"

His grip on your hips tightened as he lifted them up while you placed your legs on his shoulder, allowing him to plunge deeper into your spongy walls until he hit that spot that had you throwing your head back, screaming his name. "Ooh my god, right there"

He continued slamming into your g-spot, the filthy sound of skin slapping on skin and your moans mixed with his low groans filling the area around you. You didn't have to tell him you were close for him to know. The arching of your back and contracting muscles giving away the coming orgasm. He wasn't far from his own climax, feeling his dick twich inside of you. "Baby can you try holding on for me?" You responded with a whine, unable to produce any words.

His thrusts began to slow down, becoming sloppier by the second. His thumb found its way to your clit, circling the nerves until you screamed in pleausre, your mind going blank and your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you felt your orgasm crash down. It wasn't long before he felt himself climax as well, thrusting until he was milked dry.

Slowly he pulled out, standing up to pick up the box of wipes in the car. Carefully, he wiped you both off, helping you put your clothes back on. He laid down next to you, pulling you close to him as you placed your head on his chest, gazing up once again at the long forgotten stars.

"Thank you, Vernon"

He softly smiled at you, placing a sweet kiss to the crown of your head.

"Anything for you sweetheart"

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zipstidbits · 8 months ago

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hi zip! 👋 i'm just really curious about how you got into astrophysics 👀 and what careers interest you in that field if you don't mind sharing ☺️ i just think it's so cool, but like, in the way of someone who knows absolutely nothing about astrophysics except that it's probably really hard and also rockets 😛🚀 have a lovely day! 💞

hi zesty!!!!! thanks so much for asking, i don't mind sharing at all :))))

how i got into astrophysics:

both my parents are second-generation americans so education/college was always The Big Goal growing up. this translated to my parents really emphasizing math and science skills and i got really interested in science this way. (the post-cold war american cultural emphasis on science as a whole probably contributed to this as well, lmao.)

i ended up momentarily ditching the science dream because i started struggling with math in middle school. i can do it, but my adhd means i struggle to hold numbers in my head (do mental math) and sometimes i can be slow/need to write things out more than others/make silly mistakes/and then get bogged down by imposter syndrome. this was like 10+ years ago so i had zero diagnoses and minimal support so i hopped onto the anti-math train.

i never stopped liking science though. i want to know everything and imo, science contains the answers to everything and is how we'll learn all that is unknown right now. once i hit high school and science class started having a shit ton more math i started to view math differently. it became the whole 'the enemy (math) of my enemy (the unknown) is my friend' thing. thankfully, math, when applied to physics concepts, makes more sense than when in a pure math class, so this became a very doable arrangement.

i also started consuming a lot more pop-science/science in the news around this time. neil degrasse tyson, the one astrophysics class i took in high school, and my dad who played a lot of star trek and pbs space videos on youtube to bond with me opened my mind to the most beautiful thing ever (space). i just think it's the coolest thing ever and the unknowns are so cool and i want to know what's going on up there so bad!!!!

this (and some spite*) led me to apply to college for a BS in physics. doing just physics and not astrophysics was sort of a safety net because i thought i'd really like particle physics too but it turns out quantum mechanics is evil and fucked up so i chose to stick with astrophysics as my concentration, lmao.

*i felt like a lot of my peers in high school assumed i couldn't do this because i wasn't naturally good at math/physics and i took a little more time and effort (i spent a lot of early mornings and afternoons in help sessions, lmao) and a part of me wanted to prove them wrong.

then, this past fall/winter, i applied for a bunch of astrophysics phd programs because i've thankfully got a BS degree and i've made my mind up on what i want to do in life (study/learn about space). i got rejected from 7 out of the 8 schools i applied to which was terrible in the moment but great now because i didn't really have to choose what program to accept, lmaoooooooooooo.

careers that interest me:

i very much enjoy teaching (i was a teaching assistant this year) and i would really like to continue it. i could probably do that in most research jobs by mentoring others in a lab/research setting but also being a professor sounds really cool and appealing to me since i could do research and traditional teaching, lmao.

i'm kind of willing to give most astrophysics research jobs a try, i think? the only line i'd really draw is i don't want to work anywhere near the american military-industrial complex for moral reasons

thank you again for asking zesty!!!! sorry for rambling so much and i hope you have a lovely day as well!!! <33333

#first of all seeing you in my inbox brought me so much joy :))))) <33333 #secondly i am so sorry this is so long/if this is more than you were expecting #i feel like my answer is a little complicated and summing it up as 'space is cool!' would be too much of a lie?#i unexpectedly ended up with a lot to say lmao #zip answers #zzzzzestforlife

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pillarsalt · 5 months ago

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Hello Ms Pillarsalt, I feel awful at the thought of using you as a pseudo-therapist but I just don't know where else to turn (no one knows I'm gender critical) and you are extremely thoughtful and kind every time you answer asks.

I've become very good internet friends with who I suspected was a trans-identified woman and I just got confirmation of it today. She's sadly long since begun the "" medicalization"" process, but she uniquely has absolutely never mentioned her gender identity at all to me. She doesn't even do pronouns in bio, pronoun introductions, making trans headcanons in her fanart/works, nothing. She even completely ignored my noticing that the indie zine she writes (completely non-trans-related) oneshots for has a website that makes it very very clear they're by and for genderists (which caught me off guard when she sent me the link to it!) like it wasn't even A Thing Central To The Org she's part of.

She has so many common interests with me (which are very much fandoms that are mainly populated by gnc and/or trans-identified women), she's very kind, and we both really enjoy talking to each other for hours and hours. (I really do enjoy our talks, outside of the few times she says something misogynistic of the trans-ideology variety, like tying femaleness to femininity and sexualization "but because I'm *celebrating* it I'm progressive, serve cunt queen 💯 but the deep sense of despair I feel when that gets applied to me it must mean I'm not female, there's absolutely nothing inherently wrong with gender roles of course but the feminine one is just not for me", you know the deal.)

So I'm not at all conflicted about being friends with her from an interpersonal standpoint, I've never ever felt like I couldn't befriend trans-identified people because of my beliefs. (Exactly the opposite in fact! I hope that just being Me while being """cis""", and not at all mentioning my gc views ever, can be a positive influence to them!) But this is the first trans-identified friend I've gotten this close to and I was surprised to feel this deep sense of depression and despair about it. Like I feel this way knowing about how widespread misogyny is in general, but when it's affecting someone you know and care about it makes it more real. And less escapable.

It's hard to turn my brain off and not think about how her syntax and fandoms and idolization of male artists and characters to the point of roleplaying and cosplaying are so... female. Her analysis and interest of characters' relationships, her career, her hobbies in general, it's just female all the way down. And yet because it's not *feminine* (it's stereotypical gnc and/or autistic introverted female stuff) she must not be a woman. (I know the thought, I've had it myself.) Her voice is so deep I second-guessed myself about her being a woman at first, and now that I know she is for sure I fear so deeply for her health knowing what she must have done to get it that way. I guess it's possible she used a filter, it was a voice call, but I don't know.

It's just a special kind of despair to see her talk about the things that make her happy and now as she does, she's using that enjoyment as reinforcement that she can't be a woman. It's what all TIFs do (I know, I was one), I think it's partially why they get so invested in their fandoms (aside from likely being autistic, guilty again): indulging in their interests when, according to misogyny, they're "abnormal" for a woman to like, is like they're crafting a big Bat Signal saying "Look everyone, I can't be female, I like [X]!!!" as they do it.

I'm sorry, I'm rambling so much. I just intimately know and empathize with what my friend believes about herself and women as a whole. I want to help her, but because I was (almost) her once I *know* I can't. I can say "I'm being a good influence by being a gnc non-trans-identified woman ^w^" all I want but honestly I don't know if it works. I've never worn makeup or expressed hatred of my body, and yet my sister-in-law still wears a full face every day and got plastic surgery. I think someone has to want to change to be able to. Unfortunately.

I'm rambling again, sorry.

Like I said, on a person-to-person level, my friend and I are so fine. It's just depressing to be reminded of the pervasiveness of misogyny if I want to voice chat with her or see her. Or hear about her passions, knowing they're not just things she enjoys, but also "proof" of her non-female-ness to her. Even if I thought I could say something to change her mind, it'd be completely out of line to say it because she, again, never brings up her gender identity. I just don't know what to do. I love being friends with her, but I hate the misogynistic voyeur inside her that joins all our conversations.

Hi anon, no worries about venting here, I'm always happy to give some input but also don't forget I'm just some guy.

You seem to be a compassionate and intelligent person, and you obviously care a lot about your friend. I've been (and am currently) in similar situations like the one you've described, and I know how distressing it can be to try to balance both your concern for your friend, your moral conflict with their viewpoints, and trying not to offend them lest they push you away or accuse you of phobe crimes. There's no real great solution to your problem, I think you probably already know that.

People with deeply held beliefs are not going to be open to changing their minds if they aren't ready to do so yet. It does really suck not to be able to say what you're thinking, but in my opinion, the best thing to do is stay the course - keep doing what you're doing. Keep talking to her like you always have, show her she can trust you. There may be a reason why she never brings up trans-related topics with you; maybe she's already questioning the rhetoric behind the ideology? I know from my own experience and what I've heard from others, when you start questioning gender ideology, the first instinct is BAD THOUGHTS SHUT IT DOWN and to lean into it even harder. That's by design. But you can show her that you are a safe person to talk to about the Bad Thoughts. I know you said that you don't know if "being a good influence" works, and I'm sorry to hear about your sister-in-law. I really believe that modelling feminist behaviour does work to influence your female peers, but it might take her escaping bad influences first for her to realize the misogyny behind her thought processes. It might take years too, that's normal. I think pushing back on her sexist flawed logic without getting too overtly "terfy" could help too. Or you could throw in a "It's nice to see that so many woman are interested in [subject she thinks isn't for women] nowadays!" Anything that encourages self-reflection.

You said "I don't want it to have to be my responsibility, women's responsibility, to combat misogyny alone. But the unfortunate reality is that we're the only ones who care so we're the only ones who can make a difference," and it seems to me like you're taking it on yourself to fix this woman's misogyny problem on your own. Sometimes this just isn't possible. Ultimately, even though she's your friend, you aren't responsible for her actions. She's hurting herself, but only she can choose to stop, so you cannot blame yourself for not digging her out on your own. You're just one woman! Let go of your sense of obligation; you're doing what you can. And if her internalized misogyny gets to be too much for you, take a break and take care of yourself, it doesn't make you a bad feminist. Patience and understanding towards other women and towards yourself are the feminist practices to employ in this situation.

Be well and take care 💜

#ask

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instructionsnotincluded · 2 months ago

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urgh i’m sure you’re sick of hearing about it but i have no friends who watch obx and idk where else to channel my feelings 😭 I AM SO UPSET. I genuinely can’t believe they’ve done this, i was lulled into a false sense of security by the announcement for season 5 because i thought surely Rudy would hang on for one final season. I was so convinced rafe would die after his goodbye to sophia that i was distracted from the real danger (sidebar i hated that they build up that relationship just to end it in one sentence over a phone call, i really had hope after rafe telling her it was okay).

I wish they’d brought it to a close this season so badly and just given them a happy ending. The worst part is i was genuinely enjoying part 2 for the most part even with the crazy plot lines. I was hopeful we’d get some real resolution following JJs crash out with him facing up to his issues and talking it out, particularly with Kiara.

The lack of Jiara was genuinely so jarring and obvious i assumed it was intentional and would come to some sort of head wherein JJ would acknowledge how distant he had been and there would be some kind of emotional breakthrough/makeup for the couple but NO. like they really gave us nothing like the handshake when they parted ways had me screaming WHAT WAS THAT.

the death was so so badly done like obviously we would never be happy with JJs death but there were so many better ways around it, having him actively die protecting the pogues not just randomly being stabbed while standing around, having him actually get to say goodbye to them?! POPE NEVER GETTING TO SAY I LOVE YOU BACK?? and like why was he buried in the sand in fucking morocco that literally broke my heart like alone and to be forgotten and never visited in the fucking desert?? Im so angry i’ve been so excited for this season for the longest time and had so much hope based off part 1, i really felt like they’d been listening to the fans and giving us what we wanted in terms of season 1 vibes and i was so hyped to rewatch it all once i finished yesterday, but now the entire thing feels so tainted??

he suffered so much for absolutely nothing and no reason whatsoever. i feel i can’t even rewatch the parts of pt2 that i enjoyed again because they’re so tainted by the jarring energy between rudy and maddison now that i know it’s not part of the plot. it’s so glaringly obvious that none of this was planned, even if there’s some truth in them initially wanting JJ killed off there’s no way they would’ve followed through with it after seeing how much of a fan favourite he became. like they really gave bro an entire arc of suffering with no resolution other than him saving sarah then just killed him??

i feel so upset today idek what to do with myself, i can no longer enjoy any of my jj content without feeling so heartbroken. at least if they’d just had him leave or given him some form of resolution before his death the whole series wouldn’t feel so tainted… sorry for this insanely long ramble i just needed to offload this somewhere. thank god for people like you working harder than these god damn writers to produce actual good plots 😭💗

Never be sorry! We're all upset! I haven't seen any post or response defending the season, like I do really think everyone hated the ending and hated the way it went down. I've seen a lot about just wishing it had gone down different, not that he didn't die, but that it was for an actual reason. Which is a complaint I have about a lot of actual books. I'm not upset someone died, I'm just upset that it always feels pointless and makes the story feel like it should never have happened.

I was also lulled into the false sense of security with season five. I thought for sure it was because Rudy wanted to leave and they decided to give it a proper ending and not doing anything drastic with his character. Oh how I was wrong. My hope is that Rafe and Sofia are able to work through things in season five, and that they can get to a better place, because I do think they really love each other, and I do think they still do. But I guess we'll see if they force Kiara and Rafe together or not...

You can very much tell that there is a lot of tension between JJ and Kiara because there's a lot of tension between the actors. It was not hidden well at all, they barely interact with one another and if you haven't watched Season three or the first part of season four, you would never know they were supposed to be in love. If anything, it looked like they hated each other.

JJ's entire death scene and the scenes following were just piss poor. Everything about it was bad, and I think it's because everyone knew that this was going to be bad. Everyone knew this would end the show. They're literally watching and filming the end of this series and these stories and they couldn't do anything to make it better. I think it feels and looks so bad, because they felt the same way we do about it.

I'm upset too, it's been a trash week and it feels like the one thing we were looking forward to made it so much worse. It's ok to be upset, and it's ok to not want to see or read anything to do with the Pogues right now. Totally understandable. I felt the same way right after, like do I want to take a break from Audrey and JJ for a while? But I decided that JJ's still alive as long as we write him, as long as we love him, and I think we all deserve that.

#obx-chats #season 4 spoilers

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samioli · 1 year ago

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Ive noticed this trend on social media that people have become...very individualistic and very me me me focused. I'm about to ramble a bit and I hope it makes sense.

Basically, I agree that curating your own online experience is the way to go. It absolutely is. Block whoever would be harmful to your online experience, totally. However, I've noticed this pattern, especially in fandom spaces, that people are on a very one-strike-and-you're-out mentality and contract they don't even know about. And like, I don't know about you, but that's exhausting to me.

And, I'm not just talking about people you've talked to once or even a few times. I'm talking about people you have been friends with at some point in time. I see so many people dropped by their so-called friends the moment that person makes a mistake or acts out, hell, it's even happened to me.

Of course, I'm not going to tell anyone what they can or can't do. That's for you to decide. But it genuinely makes me sad when even if the person apologizes for their actions, they are dropped as if they're nothing.

Where's the room to grow? To learn and do better? What's the point of friendship if you're not even going to let that person adapt--let the friendship adapt and grow even stronger?

Obviously, there are some really horrid people out there who never try, who never get better. But that isn't what I'm talking about here.

Again, obviously how you navigate your personal relationships is up to you. But damn, this is depressing to me.

If you keep cutting out everyone in your life who has ever upset you, there's going to be nobody left.

#just something i was thinking about #dont mind me

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good-beanswrites · 10 months ago

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*Knocks on door* heard we could ask for director's commentary on our punishments...would like to know what you were thinking for the Es Quest Bad End in more detail....

Haha, sure 😂 It's all under the cut, my rambly thoughts in pink!

You open your eyes.

I'm a sucker for the repetitive loop starts, I had to open with something recognizable :) Writing in second person present tense was a really new and fun project for me, haha. Also, not that this took a long time to draw, but it gave me a new appreciation for you adding a drawing to pretty much every update omg >:0

The temple looks the same as it always has. The thought usually comes as a relief – after a particularly difficult hero, the return to routine is a blessing. Seeing everything back in its place always fills you with a sense of peace. God once explained that all of existence is a circle. Something about eternity and cycles and perfection. You didn’t quite understand, but you enthusiastically told Him that you did. You didn’t want to appear as a clueless child. And anyway, you grew to love the loops.

My attempt of channeling autistic coded Amane... both seeking the familiar/routine no matter the cost, and trying to act more knowledgeable to avoid the shame of not understanding :( Both in canon and in esquest I'm so emotional about how Amane finds comfort in things that normally are healthy -- religion, community, family, rules -- but they aren't healthy in her case. I tried to paint the loops/eternity as something good here, planning on flipping it around by the end.

(Also, I went with the catholic practice of capitalizing He/Him for God -- I know Amane isn't catholic but I liked the effect)

But not now.

This time, your head whips around, looking for something that should be here. Well, it shouldn’t be here, but you expected it to be.

You pace the chamber’s echoing floor, but there’s no sign of it. Did you really expect it to be here? Did you really get your hopes high? You should not have been so naive. The hat isn’t here. How could you have been so stupid?

Ah, the painful divide of being hopeful, but trying to convince yourself you were never hopeful in the first place, or that it was wrong to be, so that the disappointment stings less :(

“What are you looking for?”

You nearly startle at the voice. God stands behind you. He does not sound pleased.

“N-nothing!”

The word come out in a panic. Then, as you’re struck with the realization that you just lied to God, your eyes drop to the ground. “I mean… it’s nothing of importance.”

She's just a kid!!! Kids lie on instinct when they panic!!! (I mean, adults lie on instinct when they're panicked too...) I wasn't sure how rebellious you view her in the story, but I felt like she loved/feared God enough to immediately try and correct her mistake without necessarily admitting to it. A smooth cover up so that she doesn't feel guilty but also doesn't get in trouble. I feel like she'd be toeing this line a lot...

He steps closer, and you shy away from His suspicion.

Despite the glare He shoots up at you, God’s voice is even. “Are you sure?”

Once again, I'm sure how omnipotent he is in your version, but I pictured him knowing absolutely everything. He knows how high she had her hopes. He knows what she's hiding from him now. But he's playing it cool and making her come out and say it.

“Y-yes. I thought… last time there was…” You take a moment to collect your thoughts. God pauses as you do so. He is always patient with you. He loves you, after all. You inhale. “The last hero tried to change things, but they did not. I knew they couldn’t,” you lie, “so I was just seeing the proof.”

“Yes, they failed. There is nothing to look for here.”

“Of course.”

I debated on having Amane actually witness Es defeated, had proof of some kind. I decided that leaving it up to God's word made it hurt more -- readers (myself included) would still have hope that maybe is Es really is coming back, and God is just saying that to keep her complacent. The unknown makes it even more painful to watch Amane give up that hope and turn her back on the possibility.

God leaves you, then. The temple drops into silence. He is right. There is nothing to look for. You aren’t quite sure what emotion you’re left with. Your chest feels as empty as the chamber around you.

The next hero, however, finds out exactly what you were feeling. They take one step into your cell, and you tear them apart.

I was trying to keep these are drabbles but honestly there could have been a whole fic focused on this in-between time: how long did it take before the next hero came? What did Amane do when God told her she'd have to do it all again? I wanted to make her Big Choice having to do with accepting punishments, but I could have easily made this the Big Final Choice. What was it like, walking down to her cell and locking herself up, after everything? Is the new hero painful because they remind her of Es, they are nothing like Es, or she doesn't even give them a chance to find out?

It all happens in a moment. It shouldn’t be them walking through the door. You scream, accusing the flailing hero of things they never could have done. You cry, accusing yourself of things you never should have done. You let your claws tear however they please.

Looking at the mess before you, you feel like the monster everyone feared you were.

You don’t really care.

Brief moment of showing just how much pain she's in but still can't process her emotions so she lashes out in violence, but also.... one (1) moment of catharsis as a treat. Go Girl Fuck Em Up! Also giving the audience a brief taste of hope that she's accepting herself and realizing how powerful she is (hinting towards her using that power to stand up for herself) only to drop it immediately after ;-; sorry ;-;

That is, until God appears once more. He looks on the scene with disgust. It’s the type of face the villagers would flash your way before turning away to whisper something. It’s the look you saw from your parents, a silent warning about what was about to follow. You knew this situation was no different.

You were monstrous, and you would be punished as one.

“This type of behavior is not why I chose you.” God says. “I chose you to be special.”

This was the closest I could get to the sting of "I'm not mad, just disappointed." I think if God was openly angry or cruel Amane would challenge him much easier, but she's so busy caring if she made people proud, if she didn't disappoint them, if she was good enough for them, that those things hurt the most to hear.

“I understand.”

“Come with me.”

This was right. This was just.

Once again a little catholicism while knowing Amane is her own religion -- there's a prayer at the beginning of mass where you chant "It is right and just [to give thanks to God]" It sounds pretty normal on its own, plus I might get to jumpscare people with it lol

Your feet remain stuck. Es...

No. You do need to do this.

For most of my planning process, I was set on using a little photoshop so that the final, desperate ask would come from you, actually! But I was really committed to the emotional pacing of the ending, and nothing takes someone out of the rhythm like "I would not fucking say that" 😅 The same thing stopped me from asking some of the typical commenters to send stuff in (plus I didn't want to implicate them in my crime 😅)

It was really fun considering ways that a fourth-wall voice may influence my story, but I knew the most emotional route was just some simple pleading right at the end. I wasn't sure it it would still hit as hard with the second person pov -- would it really feel like Amane was turning her back on You if you were already immersed as Amane? But I tried anyway asdfsdf

These voices, they were wrong last time. Only one person had proved undoubtedly correct this whole time, and you should have listened to Him from the beginning.

There is a reason everything is circular. The loops make sense. Routine means perfection. Change never brings anything except pain. This time, you will be good. You will be good enough.

By this time, I wanted the cycles to suddenly feel suffocating to the reader, and reminding them of the many, many more loops Amane will be trapped in after this ends. And I'm still breaking my own heart with how she values "being good" over being treated decently...

You follow God.

Your chin is held high. You need no saving form heroes, or voices, or anyone. You’re right where you’re supposed to be. You’re special. You may not be perfect, but that is why you must endure these lessons. God must love you so much, since he is willing to teach them again and again. How patient he must be.

She is special, and is strong, and not just a weak child who relies on others to save her, but!!! In this case she does need saving!! She needs people looking out for her and protecting her!! That's not a shameful thing to admit! Even putting God's manipulative love aside, I feel like her insistence in canon to never be treated like a child just shows that she can't accept needing any help whatsoever -- to do so is the exact same as admitting she's weak/a failure/etc.

He turns his face away, in time to miss one last tear that slips down your cheek. You hear the smile in his voice.

“There’s a good girl.”

Just. Reminding everyone. And hurting myself. About how Amane will literally sacrifice herself physical and mental safety just to hear that said about her. Ah.

#:(((#if i had to relive the pain again then so do you ;-;#but !!!! thank you so much for the ask!! i did have a few bonus thoughts that might be interesting haha #yeah... i Really wanted to make one of the asks from you (what could hurt more than your own favorite character turning against you?)#but i was too worried it would come off as more off-putting than dramatic 😅#lol if theres anything that doesnt quite fit with your canon feel free to let me know...#thats another reason i avoided that transition scene -- we're still learning about the behind-the-scenes of her preparing for heroes to com #and i didnt want to say something totally off #👍👍#commentary

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meimi-haneoka · 1 year ago

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È il mio 10 anniversario su Tumblr 🥳

It's apparently my 10th anniversary on Tumblr 😳😳😳

This blog definitely didn't start as a CCS blog, or not even a Clamp blog, I remember I was in my Saint Tail brainrot/withdrawal period, and I wanted to ramble about it all alone on a personal space, always hoping that Tachikawa sensei one day would write the extra chapter that she talked about on her blog...hence why I chose this url. For this and another personal reason, actually. I also loved to RT all the nice screencaps and edits for my favorite anime...

...then 2016 came and the love of my life, CCS, came back and my blog was absolutely swept away by the excitement, turning pretty much into a constant stream of CCS content and chapter commentary for Clear Card each month. When the anime came out in 2018, things only got worse 😂 but then in 2020 I started to realize about the translation differences between the English version and the original Japanese, and I decided that my beloved story deserved better than that, better than being misunderstood like that, especially the new characters that in the meantime I came to love so dearly...

So pretty naturally, I started to vent my frustration compiling all the mistakes/differences every month, in a very "whoever is willing to read it, is welcome to do so" fashion. For my convenience the differences are always included in my commentary. I haven't gone around promoting my posts very much, it's basically always "I run into someone confused about a line in the Eng ver/got some facts wrong, I tell them that the original JP actually says something else and I leave a link to my blog".

The more the story went on, the more I wondered if I was stepping on anyone's toes for doing these posts, but with my immense joy it seems they got Clamp's blessing, so I'll keep doing them till the very end of the story.

In between these commentaries, I throw some other translations I do mainly for myself (Twitter Spaces where Sakura is mentioned, interviews especially about the anime, etc) and that I like to organize more or less neatly in one place, and that people can share if they want. And also my fanarts, even though they never do big numbers here. But heh, I'll keep sharing them here too, cause it's my blog after all.

So yeah, 10 years of this. There were definitely times when I've hated this website and its community since things were becoming pretty toxic, flames started randomly out of nowhere, I just hope once the anime will be back it won't be the same shit again. I stopped looking at the CCS tags because of that and other reasons connected to that, so unless one of the people I follow shares it and puts it on my dash, I almost never reblog CCS art/edits/gifs etc. Cause the pretty artworks aren't worth wrecking my mood because I found the nth person shaming something that I love (and the people who love that thing, with it). Sorry about that, my blog is pretty boring in that sense.

Luckily, Tumblr brought me also good things, so I guess it makes up for that. I've met lots of people from my current CCS "circle", here.

To be honest, I know I have 2626 followers (as of today), but to this day I still wonder why. I highly doubt all of them are here because they're interested in my posts, probably not even half of them, lol (and I do my best to kick the bots). Nonetheless, thank you to all the people who interact with my posts ❤️ and thank you for sending me nice asks every month! 🙏 I don't always reply to them right away and some of them I leave for later when I have a downtime (like this one ask that's pretty broad in topic and I'm keeping it for when I have a little more time and nothing else to talk about).

Since Clear Card will continue for a little more than expected, the monthly appointment here will continue in parallel, and I'm already preparing my next "trivia" post, it's a topic I wanted to talk about since looooooong time. 😉

#10 year tumblrversary #tumblr milestone #10 years on this hellsite?!#Naaaaah #You gotta be kidding me #I feel so old lol #Personal

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dcbbw · 1 year ago

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Sunday Six 9.24.23

Happy Sunday evening, Tumblrs! I know I have been MIA for the absolute longest, and wanting to give a huge THANK YOU to those who know the dirty deets about what’s been going on this summer, and being the shoulders, ears, support, and encouragement, I need to carry on and carry through one day at a time.

Despite posting two dribbles over the past day or so, not saying I am on the comeback trail, but I have been putting fingers to keyboard, and sharing story ideas. While they are not part of today’s Sunday Six, I am working on Sins of the Father; a part two to Dead in the Water (the How to Get Away with Murder AU), tentatively titled Tell Me When I’m Telling Lies; and a Riam one-shot that may become a casual series titled Happy Family.

What I offer to you tonight dear readers are two new ideas (well one isn’t that new):

Church Folk (the MegaChurch AU) based on Wonder’s worst ever version of Riam; she looks like a cross between Wendy Williams and Dionne Warwick, and has six fingers (five whole ass fingers and a thumb); Asian Liam is a dead ringer for Joel Osteen. They are co-pastors of the First, Last, & Only Cordonian Church of God in Christ where the mottos are:

We’re Alphabet Friendly!

God LOVES a Sinner, and so do we

Jesus Ain’t No Joke!

Think of every megachurch scandal, and give Riley Tammy Faye Baker’s hair …

A Summer Place—The Graduate which is an age-gap romance between Liam and Diana, who is Drake & Riley’s daughter. Except Liam doesn’t know, and Diana knows nothing about Cordonia except it is where her parents’ once-great love story originated.

There will be two versions to this story; Version B is titled A Summer Place—Mrs. Robinson, where Riley has an age-gap romance with Andreas, Liam’s son who visits NYC for the summer before starting University. Again, they have no idea of the other.

I realize others are writing age-gap/forbidden romances, but I am hopeful that my ideas and execution will make mine different from what's out there. And it’s me; by the time I finish writing the stories, it isn’t as if I’ll be glutting the market with the trope.

Okay, enough rambling; sneak peeks are below the cut, and as usual everything is in a state of rough draft and published product may vary.

Church Folk (song inspo: Church Clap, KB/Lecrae):

Their courtship had lasted two years; at Liam’s insistence, it had been chaste as well. At least for one of them.

The couple attended church together: Monday night Praise and Devotionals, Wednesday evening Bible study, couples therapy on Saturday mornings, 11am Sunday Sermon.

Between work and church activities, Liam and Riley dated; meals, museums, hikes, volunteering at soup kitchens. No matter the time or venue, all tended to end with them getting hot and heavy in the back seat of his car: Moans, groans, fogged windows; deep French kisses, groping of breasts and fondling of balls, arching and thrusting of hips. All the while keeping their clothes on.

The son of a preacher man never allowed himself to finger Riley nor for her to stroke his manhood.

Penetration was completely out of the question.

Riley often thought it was because of her 6th finger, and that despite his protests, Liam really could not deal with it. But he assured his bride-to-be between desperate kisses that it didn’t matter. Saving themselves for marriage did.

Liam Osteen Rhys firmly believed Riley had been sent to him; her polydactyl was a sign from God Himself that this woman was to be his wife. In the biblical sense, her extra finger was a sign of both wealth and that she was a messenger of God. Liam needed the former, FLOCC needed the latter. In the scientific sense, persons with polydactyl were proven to be stronger and more dexterous than those without.

Yes, Riley B. Williams was his good thing, and he wasn’t letting lust interfere. So, after every date while Riley sat alone in her bedroom with her battery-operated boyfriend and Pornhub pulled up on her phone, Liam visited Maybelle Nussbaum, his high school sweetheart.

If all had gone according to Liam’s plan, he would be wedded to Maybelle already, but his father absolutely forbade an inter-faith marriage. Only one version of God would be worshipped in the Rhys family, and THEIR God believed in ham, bacon, shrimp, and one day to celebrate the birth of Christ.

With Maybelle, Liam could go all the way, and he did. Every time. Sometimes protection was used, but most times not. The future preacher was convinced God wouldn’t allow anything bad to happen to him because he always sought forgiveness afterwards.

On their wedding day, all of Cordonia’s press outlets were present, as well as most of the town; the Rhys family was practically royalty in the small suburb, and everyone wanted to be in attendance for the wedding of a lifetime. Liam stood at the altar with his father, best man and groomsmen, occasionally looking over the crowd still being seated.

His eyes widened when the doors to the ceremony room opened and Maybelle Nussbaum strode through, wearing baggy sweatpants, a vomit-stained tee shirt, and her hair in a messy blonde bun. A swaddled infant rested in the crook of one arm; her free hand pulled a rolling suitcase behind her.

Liam had broken it off with his lover exactly 13 months earlier; he needed to focus on being a husband and ensure no hint of scandal touched his betrothment. He did it via text message and promptly blocked Maybelle’s number and deleted their chat history. And that was the end of that.

Or so he thought.

“Here ya go, Liam! You left this in my uterus right before you blocked me,” the new mother said loudly and cheerily as she placed the baby in a non-plussed Liam’s arms.

The murmurs and whispers amongst the guests began immediately. Constantine’s complexion turned a vague shade of purple. The groomsmen’s eyes went between Maybelle and Liam, who was sputtering and stammering as he protested.

“YOU CANNOT LEAVE ME WITH THIS CHILD, MAYBELLE!” Liam thundered.

“Why not? You did it to me,” Maybelle retorted as she rolled the suitcase up to the altar. “Everything you need is in there. I’m gonna skedaddle now. Take good care of her.”

The scorned lover slipped out a side door just as the Wedding March began to play.

A Summer Place—The Graduate (Version A, Liam)

Song Inspo: Parallel, Emlie Kahn

The server and the sovereign stood at the balcony’s railing as they awaited their food. The dock surrounding the sea harbor was gaily decorated with colorful streamers and balloons. The intricately painted dragon boats sat in their slips, bobbing against the gently cresting aquamarine sea while crew members worked on last minute inspections and details before the race.

Diana’s chocolate brown eyes were wide with excitement as they took in the scene before her.

“This is amazing! I’ve never seen anything like this. Montana is basically bull riding, which is literally flags and cowboy hats. And the ocean … it’s so blue and clear, like something out of a painting!”

Liam studied her profile, wondering why he had the nagging feeling he had seen her before. Her olive complexion, high cheekbones, the curvature of her full lips. It was as if he had seen her features on another face, but not in this particular order.

“It’s the Aegan Sea,” he gently corrected her, “and yes, it’s a beautiful sight.”

Diana felt her cheeks flush crimson, as embarrassment flooded her body. She stared up at Liam contritely. “I’m sorry, you must think I’m a goof!”

Liam’s arm reached out and his palm gently patted the back of her hand. “Why would I think that? You simply didn’t know. It’s your first time here.”

Diana’s eyes went between Liam’s hand on hers and his eyes, which were filled with a gentle emotion.

“You’re fine,” he assured her as his other hand ran fingers through her hair, tucking strands behind her ear.

She felt a pleasant shiver at his touch, which she quickly dismissed as her imagination. Yes, Liam was manly perfection with his trim physique, head full of hair untouched by gray, and the face of a Greek god. But he was her father’s age and had women across the country and continent ready to do his bidding.

She was a tourist that would be leaving in a couple of months. A nobody, 24 years his junior who didn’t know an ocean from a sea. Diana slowly pulled her hand away from his.

“So, what’s for lunch? I’m starving!” she said a little more loudly than intended.

“Oh, you are in for a treat!” Liam grinned. “Mediterranean seafood pie, scallops in a lemon garlic cream sauce, lobster tails stuffed with crabmeat, crab imperial …"

“Oh my God! It’s like Red Lobster!” Diana exclaimed as she clapped her hands together.

Liam looked puzzled. “Red Lobster?”

“It’s an American surf and turf chain restaurant. It’s delicious!”

“I can only hope Portavira lives up to such a lofty ideal.”

Tagging: @jared2612 @ao719 @marietrinmimi @indiacater @kingliam2019 @bebepac @liamxs-world @mom2000aggie @liamrhysstalker2020 @twinkleallnight @umccall71 @superharriet @busywoman @gabesmommie1130 @tessa-liam @beezm @gardeningourmet @lovingchoices14 @mainstreetreader @angelasscribbles @lady-calypso @emkay512 @princessleac1 @charlotteg234 @alj4890 @motorcitymademadame @queenmiarys @choicesficwriterscreations

#dcbbw writes #my wips #liam x riley #liam x oc #trr au fanfic #writer on tumblr

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