#only in a platonic and completely vengeful way

[doctorspaceman]

they're hot and they should've killed Jimmy and Kim in season 6

[aphroditelovesu]

Yan!Mom Hera Headcanons (Platonic)

❝ 🦚 — lady l: I kind of thought of this after reading a lovely reader's comment and remembering some concepts about Hera as a yandere mother so... Here it is! Ah, @natashenka-br this is for you, I hope you like it! ���🏻❤️

❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, jealousy, mention of manipulation and unhealthy platonic relationships.

❝ 🦚pairing: platonic yan mom!hera x gender neutral!reader.

You didn't remember anything other than that Hera was your mother. She was everything you remembered and loved, from your first thoughts to the present day. She was always everything to you and you were everything to her.

Hera was all you knew and loved, your sweet and loving mother, who would always be by your side to love you and protect you from all the evil that exists in the world.

All you thought about was how loving and perfect Hera seemed to be. She was so patient and kind with you, always encouraging you and applauding your every achievements with great pride. She was the perfect mother.

At least that was yours and Hera's point of view. There was nothing scarier than the goddess of marriage and women when she was furious, and luckily for you, that anger was never directed at you.

Hera was always careful not to show her fury to you, she didn't want to scare you and make the child she loved most fear. She would never have that, just like she would never let you leave her.

The goddess loved you with all her heart, her always serious and boring expression quickly perked up when you were around. You were everything she could want, you were her perfect, beloved child. If she could sew you to her side, she would.

Hera is extremely possessive and jealous of you, and that's nothing new. You are hers, her child and that says more than enough. She will not tolerate any type of external contact, especially if it's from Zeus. She will not allow him to corrupt you.

Zeus and none of the other gods will be allowed to approach you, with the exception of her other children. She doesn't really like the idea of Ares being so close to you because of his nature and she wants you to remain pure, but she prefers him over Hephaestus.

Hera, if she gets the chance and the opportunity, will leave you as a child forever. She knows you should grow up and live your life, but she doesn't want any of that. Maybe with a little persuasion you could get permission to grow up to sixteen at least, but Hera would become much more suffocating.

She will not tolerate any kind of possible love interests you may have if you grow up. You must remain pure and untouched and she will unleash her fury on anyone who dares to corrupt you. You were her perfect child and no god/goddess or mortal will lay their hands on you.

The goddess is overly controlling and if you dare disobey any rules she may set, she will be completely shocked. You were her perfect, obedient child, so why were you acting this way? She would blame everyone for this, Zeus's bastard children, the other gods and even her own husband. But she will never admit guilt, that the reason you reacted like this is her fault.

It's not easy to deal with her and it never will be. Hera is vengeful and possessive and she has eyes everywhere. You could never leave her, even if you wanted to. Which you don't want to do, right? After all, she is your mother, the only thing you remember from your childhood. And she would always care and protect you, even if she had to manipulate you into it. But everything would be fine in the end, after all, mom always knows best.

[ghostgirl101]

Imagine making friends with Cassidy, the young boy possessing Golden Freddy.

|| Word Count: 522 || Platonic Fluff ||

A/N: Goldie's my favourite character from the FNAF world, so I had to write a bit of something for him .-. if you want to see anything specific for any of the FNAF. movie characters then go ahead and request some stuff, as long as it's not smut, and platonic/childhood sweethearts with the missing children :)

Ever since you started working as a night guard after Mike Schmidt’s resignation, surprisingly, you aren’t attacked by the vengeful animatronics who stalk the building. If anything, they’re protective. Especially Cassidy, the quiet young boy who always seems to be watching from the shadows. He’s killed someone before who got too close to you. You’ve even seen him smile once, a massive rarity.

He lingers in the corridor and watches you from the distance with an unreadable look, a hint of a smile on his face. You glance up from the camera screens to meet his calm, but equally sharp and intense stare from across the hall, piercing through the darkness cloaking the entire building, generators always seeming to fail and leaving Freddy's in an ominous night-cloaked tone.

"Hi, Cas," you say softly into the dark room, Cassidy tilting his head ever so slightly to the side in an almost curious response. You can't help but smile slightly at that, the traces of childhood and its blissfull innocence, not completely snuffed out by the horrors that took it all away from him so many years ago. He says nothing.

"Come to keep me company?" You offer with a half-smile, reaching out a hand in his direction, slowly and steadily, ready for him to reject it in silence and step back into the blackness that he seems to so effortlessly emerge from.

Cassidy hesitates for a long moment, before taking a soundless step forward, gazing at your hand blankly, as if not entirely trusting the gesture. But then, slowly, slowly, he stretches out his arm and smaller hand to meet yours, cold dead fingers brushing against yours. You smile fully, squeezing his fingers between yours gently, comfortingly, your other hand brushing back his fine blond locks away from his eyes.

"Poor thing," you find yourself mumbling aloud to yourself. "You're freezing..."

It's a good question of if Cassidy can actually feel the chill, but it doesn't seem to bother him. The foreign positive touch is nice and soothing, and a ghost of appreciation makes his mouth twitch into an almost-smile. He rests his head against your shoulder, breathing out a small content breath from his nose, as your fingers skim the boy's hair. He looks so little and quiet and distant, and for a moment, it seems like a ridiculous idea that he could be capable of anything close to murder, though he most certainly is.

You glance back at the cameras absentmindedly... then again. A frown tugs at your brows, and you peer closer at the digital, hazy image of the abandoned party room... and an intruder, someone who had found their way into the building, or was very likely lured there, lying still and cold on its floors.

"What...?"

Your voice trails off in realisation, and you roll your eyes, half amused, before looking back to Cassidy with a brow raised, as if to say, "really?"

Cassidy, of course, blinks back up at you with unfaltering innocence, his gaze only sharpening with matching amusement and something familiarly dark and unsettling that lingers in the halls of the Pizzeria.

"He fell asleep."

[floatyflowers]

Dark Platonic Mothers! HOTD/GOT (Cersei, Alicent, Sansa, and Rhaenyra) x Reader

Cersei Lannister

"You never love anything in the world the way you love your first child"

You are Cersei's first and only trueborn child with Robert.

Even though, your mother hates your father, doesn't mean you are hated, it is quiet the opposite.

Cersei would sacrifice everything to ensure that you stay by her side.

She would fight off any possible arranged marriages that Robert might have in mind for you.

Marrying you to Robb Stark? Cersei will make sure that Robert has horrible nights, until he removes this idea from his mind.

Joffrey doesn't dare to harm you in any way, because he knows what his mother would do to him if he touches a hair on your head.

After your younger siblings' deaths, Cersei becomes filled with paranoia that she might outlive you too.

She will make sure that you are kept safe even if it means stripping you away from your freedom.

Alicent Hightower

You are her favorite child without a doubt.

Maybe it is because you are not as drunk and perverted as Aegon or as vengeful and dangerous as Aemond or as dreamy and strange as Helaena.

Of course, there is also Daeron but he is in Oldtown, so he is not around as much for Alicent to favor him.

As a baby, you never caused tantrums when she came to spend time with you.

You consider her your friend, and tell her all your secrets.

Even that secret where you had a crush on a stable boy.

Strange how the boy disappeared the next day with a trance.

When Otto suggested the idea of marrying you off to Tyland Lannister, Alicent turned the idea down.

She would never give up your happiness, she would kill for your sake.

Sansa Stark

You are hers and Ramsay's daughter.

But you were given her last name, as Sansa didn't want you to be connected to the Boltons.

She thought she would hate you, but when she held you in her arms for the first time, she couldn't help but love you.

Like a little pup, you started following your mother around ever since you learned how to walk.

Sansa prefers it that way, you and her spending time together.

You filled the hole in her heart after her mother's death, she wants to have the same mother-daughter relationship with you as she had with her mother.

Everything was going on well, until Arya decided to visit Winterfall.

The moment your Aunt started speaking about her travels is the moment you realize you want to explore the outside world.

Sansa made sure that her younger sister is not welcome to speak to you again, especially after she accused her of locking you away like some bird.

Rhaenyra Targaryen

Your mother turned into a completely different person after the death of your younger brother, Luke.

She announced the annulment of your marriage to Aemond, even though it was already consummated.

She has forbidden you from returning to King's Landing to get your daughter, claiming it was too dangerous for you, and that your daughter is better off with her father.

Rhaenyra can't bear to lose you just like how she lost Luke or Visenya.

When you try to escape, you are caught and your dragon is taken away from you, given sleeping herbs to put the beast to sleep.

When you called her a hypocrite for wanting to protect you as a mother, but at the same time, forbidding you from seeing your own daughter.

Rhaenyra would only hug you tightly and forcibly by grabbing into your head.

"You have to sacrifice for me, just like I sacrificed for you and your siblings"

This is when you realize that your mother truly deserves to be compared to Maegor the Cruel.

[toukotiredforthis]

What can completely break your muse?

In what ways does your muse express their love to someone else (platonic, familial, romantic, sexual, or otherwise)?

What's your muse's favorite food dish? Are they able to make it themselves?

Misc. Headcanons Meme || Accepting!

What can completely break your muse?

{ that's a tough one to answer; she's a resilient one to say the least. 'completely' break is quite a criterion to reach with her!

a true 'the only time you can cry is when it's over' adherent to the very end.

the idea that anyone (especially someone she knows) could be seriously hurt or worse under her watch is painful, but neither hell nor high water would have an easy time preventing her from taking vengeance.

although in a sense, couldn't someone driven solely by vengeance be considered 'broken,' too? }

{ she'd more than likely come back as a vengeful ghost at whomever did her or others wrong, if she fails in life. }

In what ways does your muse express their love to someone else (platonic, familial, romantic, sexual, or otherwise)?

{ frequent proximity, occasional banter, playfulness and at its peak, vulnerability. it's an accomplishment if you find that she sticks around knowing that you're there. if she messes with you, but doesn't come to blows, she (at the very least) thinks you're fun. }

{ if she opens up to you about times that she's felt weak or hurt, that's trust. these facts may seem obvious to the average person, but it means so much more to someone like her. someone who subconsciously feels herself a reviled, unappreciated atlas trying to hold a world together. }

What's your muse's favorite food dish? Are they able to make it themselves?

{ katsu curry! there's a place in saffron city that sells a whopping 600g tonkatsu over a bed of fresh rice and a nice, spicy sauce with generously cut carrots and potatoes. she pines for it daily, having to make do with the smaller cuts she can get her hands on to fry up herself. it's a lot of work, but she'll assure you, it's worth it, even if it isn't the same. }

[swordofazrael1992]

🏳️‍🌈 jean paul valley!!!!!!!!!!!!

OH I AMM. BITING i will talk abt this topic FOREVER

jpv’s gender is truly girlfag to me. and imo her breaking away from the order of st dumas and her + azrael deciding to use their abilities to protect and save can be a trans narrative—EVERY prior azrael in their lineage was male, and every prior azrael was a weapon used by the order to deliver vengeance. and of course there’s the obvious gendered implications of those two paths (being merciful and protective as “feminine” and then aggressive and vengeful as “masculine”) that i think are SO interesting to explore. at the same time though i don’t think her gender identity lacks masculine facets, or is completely separate (or even separate at all) from masculinity. and this of course adds nuance to the prior conversation: azrael is now the angel of mercy, but that doesn’t mean they’ve completely divorced themselves from the concept of vengeance. that long ass ramble is to say: i see jpv as bigender, preferring a more gender nonconforming presentation and also identifying with transfeminine identity. i do also tend to say that i think she uses she/he pronouns, but most of the time im talking about her i end up using she/her

and for sexual identity: girlfag also, obviously, applies here. i’ve never been able to recognize her on-panel attraction to women as genuine or even present. it really feels like how i (boydyke) would look at men as a “i want to be them” and everyone around me interpreted as “i want to be with them” to the point that i assumed that’s what it was as well. admittedly, this is probably influenced by the fact that the first thing i ever read of her WAY before i became obsessed with her was tynion’s TEC comics, and she and luke are very 🏳️‍🌈 in that, but i also should mention that her and luke’s relationship is the only one of hers i’ve ever been able to interpret as romantic.

and thus i have recently been toying around with her being somewhere on the ace/aro spectrum, although im not 100% sure where. the majority of her expressed attraction has, as previously mentioned, felt very surface level to me, while SO MANY of her most important relationships have been platonic. i’ve also been thinking about the idea of her and luke as platonic/queerplatonic, and i think exploring some of her other relationships as queerplatonic could be SO interesting. like qpr jpv and babs???? i need to eat them

in summary: girlfag, transfeminine, aspec

and then there’s ALSO azrael ofc. i see him as genderless but not in an identifying as agender way more of like a. never occurred to him to have a gender and he’s so genderless that identifying with a gender identity term doesn’t fit for him. like “what’s your gender” “i am the angel of vengeance” “okay but what’s in your pants” “i have a flaming sword” “is that a euphemism” “*pulls out actual flaming sword* no”. i mostly use he/him for azrael because i genuinely just think it doesn’t occur to him to use other pronouns, and if someone were to bring it up he’d just see no reason to try and change. not in a denial way i just think he’s genuinely like. transcended the need for pronoun changes. although i do occasionally fuck with the idea of him using hy/hym pronouns. his gender makes sense to me but i cannot explain it. and then similarly i can’t explain his sexual/romantic orientations he is just. i think he’s similar to jpv in that the majority of his meaningful connections and relationships are platonic but i think (for example, if jpv was with luke romantically) he could end up building a connection with a partner that wasn’t strictly platonic. whether that would become romantic i can’t currently say because i haven’t fleshed out my jpv and azzy ace/aro spec headcanons. although at the end of the day i just don’t really think labels are super important to az? like he’s just kinda *waves hand* there. although i DO think identity is important to him. that might seem contradictory to what i’ve said previously in this ramble but i think that while he doesn’t identify with labels i do think he identifies as like. being other than what the order of st dumas would force him into being and being other than what the world would force him into being. azrael as a character, especially recently, is about forging your own path and that you are more than what people might force you to be and i think he would find comfort (or at least vindication) in the fact that there are these core parts of himself that are so incongruous with what would be expected of him, yknow? like as previously discussed with the concept of azrael being forcibly masculine, and him (not just jpv) being able to move past that and both define what being azrael means to him and define what gender means to him. overall i have a lot of thoughts on azzy but i haven’t been able to solidify them and Decide on them the way i have jpv which is something i must change immediately

in (outer world) presentation i’d say that azzy is also gender non-conforming but in a far more fashionable way than jean paul. azrael would be coordinating like runway ready looks while jpv has the worst fashion sense imaginable which is so funny to me. also i think azrael would be absolutely CRACKED at makeup don’t ask me why i just think he’s very good at it

LONG ASS POST OVER. i’m less insane now

[retvenkos]

digging | f.h.

requested The Umbrella Academy - Five Hargreeves x Platonic!Reader, angst

tw: death, mentions of suicide, asphyxiation imagery, burning imagery

word count: 951

song: boulevard of broken dreams |  ✒️

A/N: I got really into this concept, actually. So if anyone wants me to continue, hmu. I cut my idea short for word count purposes, so if you guys want me to go off, I can.

Summary: In the first days of the apocalypse, someone stumbles upon Five.

In his first few days in hell, Five hadn't noticed the suffocating feeling of complete and utter silence.

His mind was reeling, then, his senses scrambling for purchase as he tried, again and again, to send himself backward in time - to wake up from this sick dream where the universe was tilted sideways, and the world was on fire. 

Perhaps he hadn't noticed the stillness because the bleeding skies were full of his boyish pleas, anguished cries, and resentful swears. This reality of hellfire didn't yet feel deserted because it wasn't - Five was here, and he filled it with his panicked desperation.

It was at the end of those last days that he met you. 

Five was exhausted and despondent, having used up all of his drastic measures and sensical hypotheses. He was sitting on his knees, his hands pulsing weak, blue light, his mouth moving, hoarse words forcing their way out. He was heaving, his chest cavity aching for some kind of release. But he had spent it all, and now there was nothing but ash.

He heard your soft and distant approach from farther off than he should have been able, and he even picked up on your exclamation of surprise and increased pace as you stumbled over the rubble. You must have realized he was alive and not just another rotting corpse. Your voice asked questions he couldn't seem to understand. You grabbed Five by the shoulder, and he felt surprisingly woozy. The world tilted once more before everything went black.

He woke, shivering; night had descended, and its freezing chill was vengeful - bitter recompense for having let them burn. A fire popped in front of him, its orange flames offering light without warmth. Five was still wild, and his eyes searched for you in the half-light, his teeth bared. You were to his left, a stranger covered in soot and earth, regret clinging to you like a disease. Five could practically smell it. You made no effort to move, just looked at him, blinking, and a thousand questions attempted to tear from Five's throat - a thousand accusations, a thousand tears. 

Only one made it to the surface.

"How did you find me?" His voice was like sooty gravel, and you offered him a dusty, dented canteen. He made no effort to move. You sighed and set it on the ground.

"I heard you. We're the only ones making sound here."

And then it hit him. The silence settled over his entire being and pressed downward like he was in a shallow grave. It squeezed the air out of his lungs and smothered every thought. Five was buried alive, and there was no moon or stars to tell him otherwise. Just a blanket of ash. Just the smell of decay. Just the utter silence Five knew would plague him for the rest of eternity.

You breathed deeply, and it was the sound of a ghost. Five turned to find you staring. "Do you know how you got here?"

And your question had plagued him ever since.

Five hadn't deigned to answer, then, just picked up the canteen you had offered and callously drank it dry. It tasted gritty - you must have tried to filter it yourself.

"I was saved by a miracle, I think." You flexed your hand before you and curled them into gentle fists. "I used to have this gift of summoning force-fields - shields that could protect me from anything. They saved me, but now they're gone." And there was mourning in your voice, like a part of your heart had been ripped out and crushed - the very essence of who you were dashed upon the ashen ground. You were bleeding, still. "Such power was made for this moment, I think. Do you wonder if we were destined to survive this?"

Where he had come from, powers were no miracle. Where he had come from, saving the world was the goal - surviving afterward was never discussed.

"If we were, our destiny is shit."

And you scoffed, but once again, it was a ghost. Silence clawed at Five's edges. He wanted to speak - to fill the void - but he didn't know what to say.

You saved him, once again. "Should we bury them?" 

Your words sent a shiver down his spine, but Five bristled against it. You were looking behind your shoulder, and Five turned.

Allison. Klaus. Luther. Diego. Only Vanya was missing. 

And him.

Five turned back to the fire. It spat at him - embers flying. "They're already halfway in the ground."

"Digging graves is easy," you countered. And your haunted silence spoke loudly, speaking in anguished tones you had yet to use, lamenting this living hell like a drowning siren.

"How many times have you done it?"

"Eight."

More silence. Five could feel the itch at the back of his mind. He needed something to fill this oblivion - even if it was the scrape of earth. Even if, by burying them all, he was proving this was real - that he couldn't escape. If he buried them, should he lie in the grave with them? Would you allow him to do it? You had already dug eight graves. What was one more?

Five shook himself. The insanity was talking; the ash was churning in his mind. 

He stood, and you followed in suit. You pulled a shovel out of a red wagon you had waiting nearby. There had to be some soft ground somewhere. Five looked at the bodies beneath the piles of rubble, and he grimaced at the way his hands shook. He swallowed dry. "If digging is easy, we'll make quick work."

-- taglist: @fives-cup-of-coffee, @theletterhart​, @brokenandheadoverheels, @writerdream22, @lotsoffandomimagines, @neelia-thedaughtherof-athena, @coffees-and-creams, @cooloaflandhero, @swanimagines, @multifandomfix, @amortensie // message me if you want to be added!

[bi-bard]

Badass Duo - Jack Kline Imagine (Supernatural)

Title: Badass Duo

Pairing: Jack Kline X Platonic!Reader

Requested: by @greatpsychicflowerbanana

Word Count: 1,188 words

Warning(s): violence, cussing

Summary: (season 13) Dean gives (Y/n) a chance to take Jack on a hunt without him and Sam.

Author's Note: I changed the request a little bit. It's just one hunt instead of a collection of moments.

Hey! I did a rewrite of the ending of Supernatural. It took a really long time to complete, so it would mean a lot to me if you check it out. Here’s a link! (it’s on my personal account)

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

"Dean, please!"

"No," he said as he walked into the kitchen. "The worst idea is to have two extremely powerful kids go off on their own."

"I have had complete control for years," I snapped. "How is Jack going to learn if they don't go out into the world? I can teach them. I know more about this topic than anyone!"

"Sam," Dean asked.

"Sam hasn't used his powers in nearly a decade and he agreed with me already," I pointed out. "Please. Just let me try. The minute something goes wrong, I'll call you."

He stayed silent for a moment.

"Please," I begged.

"Fine," he replied. I nearly cheered but he stopped me. "The moment something goes wrong, you grab the phone and call me."

"Promise," I said before walking over and hugging him tightly. "Thank you!"

"Yeah, yeah... you're welcome," he chuckled.

Jack walked by the door and smiled. They were already dressed and ready to go. Backpack on and everything.

"You already told them I said yes," Dean asked.

"You have trouble telling me no," I shrugged. "Can I take the impala?"

Dean clenched his jaw, knowing I'd need the weapons. He'd still have something to drive but the rickety truck was not as nice as Baby.

He sighed before sadly handing me the keys.

"Call me every day, let me know you're safe," he explained as I went to leave the room.

"Got it," I called back over my shoulder.

On the way to the motel in the town where the hunt was, I decided to have a tough conversation with Jack. Well, not as tough as it would've been with Dean but it was still important.

"Hey," I said, not looking away from the road. "I know the powers are useful but... for safety's sake, we should avoid them if possible."

"Okay," Jack seemed confused.

"It's just to keep us from relying on them or potentially hurting others who aren't doing anything wrong," I explained.

"They're for emergencies only," they asked.

"Exactly," I nodded.

They nodded back, "Okay."

They pulled out my laptop so they could look at the details of the case. As they read, I nodded along.

"Okay, sounds like a vengeful spirit," I said.

"So we just gotta burn the bones," they replied. I nodded. "Whose bones?"

"No idea yet," I shrugged. I looked at them for a moment. "We'll figure it out though. This is what hunters do."

--time skip--

Jack and I were walking around the backyard of the town's "haunted house". It was the origin point of the local legend. It led us straight to the ghost.

It was a woman who had been killed by her husband in a fit of rage. She was buried in the backyard in an unmarked grave.

I had run through the house and found the husband's journal. It was tattered and full of excuses, but he also marked her grave. He said he looked at it every morning and could always "think of a reason that the house was better off without her."

If men had one thing, it was the audacity.

We stood where her body was supposed to be. I sighed.

"What's wrong," Jack asked as they started digging.

I followed their lead, also starting to dig, "Nothing. It's just... I can see why she's so pissed. Her husband seems like he was an absolute assbutt."

"'Assbutt,'" Jack asked.

"Don't ever repeat that in front of Sam and Dean," I pointed at them. They nodded and continued digging.

We hopped out of the grave after we were done. I poured some lighter fluid on the corpse. Jack tried to get the lighter to work. Keyword being "tried".

"Do you want me to-"

"No, no, I got it," they mumbled. They tried a few more times before looking at me, "Will you?"

I nodded, taking the lighter. It worked on the first try and I dropped it into the grave. This was a rare one. It almost felt too easy.

"I'm gonna go stash this dude's journal," I said. "Meet me by the car."

They nodded and headed to the car with the shovels and lighter fluid.

I was walking back down the house stairs, slowing when I heard floorboards creak. Either that was Jack or it was someone far more dangerous. I reached to the back of my pants, where I kept my gun.

I slowly walked down the rest of the stairs.

It was a person.

Or seemed to be.

"Hey," I called as I got closer.

Before I could do anything, I was telepathically slammed against the wall, gun pushed away from me.

"Winchester's kid," the person... woman... turned around. "Nice. Thought I'd find one of you here."

I clawed at the invisible hand around my throat. She let her eyes flash black in front of me. I gritted my teeth.

"I'm here for Lucifer's kid," she said.

That's when the door slammed open. The demon looked over before getting slammed away from me. I looked over at Jack for a second before running to the demon. I grabbed both sides of her head.

"Maybe next time," I growled.

The demon's body shook as she burned before she fell to the ground.

I took a deep breath and relaxed, my powers subsiding. I turned around and faced Jack.

"Was that a good time to use my powers," Jack asked. It wasn't a mocking question. They genuinely wanted to know.

I nodded, "Yeah, that was a perfect example of when to use your power."

"Can we go home now," Jack asked.

I nodded again, feeling my throat, which was sore after being choked.

"You're hurt."

"It's fine," I shook my head on the way out. Jack stopped me in the doorway. "Jack, I'm okay-"

They didn't listen, they reached up and touched my forehead, healing me.

"When'd you figure that trick out," I asked.

"It just felt natural," they shrugged.

The two of us walked out to the car and packed up the supplies. We loaded into the car and started our trip. I called Dean quickly. We should be able to get to the bunker by morning.

The drive home was full of Dean's music playing through the car. I sighed at it.

"Jack, will you open the glove box," I asked. They nodded. "There's a plain white cassette with my initials on it."

They held it up for me to see. I grabbed it from them and exchanged the cassette tapes. Driver picks the music. And I was driving.

I smiled at my own cassette started playing through the impala. It was great.

--time skip--

We walked into the map room. I yawned loudly but it got caught in my throat when I was crushed in a hug.

"Hi Dean," I mumbled.

"Good job," he said.

"Thanks," I replied. "I love this hug but I've been driving all night and really want to sleep in my bed."

Dean chuckled at me, "Go get some rest kid."

I nodded before heading out. I smiled to myself.

I made him proud. I had truly made Dean proud.

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[jasdiary]

EDIT: I’VE HAD THIS IN MY DRAFTS SINCE THE GOD DAMN EVIL ALBEDO EVENT LMAOAOAO

but fr the event just fueled these headcanons i had seeping in my brain, they’re so funny. aunty Eula and her lovely little nephew Bennett.

THIS IS STRICTLY PLATONIC!! JUST AN AUNT AND HER ADOPTED NEPHEW LMAO

My brother loves playing as Bennett and I love playing as Eula ever since i got her so uhh Eula as Bennett’s Guardian hcs HAHSBSJ

cw’s: Suicidal thoughts??? not what i was going for but it could be interpreted as such 😭, Mentions of oppression

• One of Bennett’s dads had been oppressed along with his family by the Lawrence clan, so it was only right he tell Bennett to be weary of the Spindrift Knight of Favonius

• Bennett’s a good boy so he listens to his dad ofc, but also keeps his heart open because Bennett’s too kind of a person istg

• He ran into Eula while buying supplies for his next adventure, the shop owner just would not sell Eula that bread!!

• “Goodness!! You must think i’m some kind of idiot to let my precious goods go to some..some Lawrence!!”

• Eula was not having the best day. Everything seemed to going wrong. She knew better than to let something like this get to her but everyone’s eyes were on her. She felt too vulnerable. She’s trying, she really is but she doesn’t know how much more she can take.

• Eula just put her mora back in her pouch, mumbled an apology and left with a sorrowful face. It only stung more when she saw the prideful look on the store owners face, knowing she won.

• Bennett couldn’t help but feel his heart pang with pain as he watched Eula leave. He knows he should be careful around her but he had to do something!!

• “Excuse me ma’am!! Do you have any breads left?” It was the least Bennett could do.

• “Oh, Bennett!! Of course dear! here you are!” The store owner was ever kind and gentle with Bennett.

• “Captain Eula!! Please wait!!!”

• Eula groaned internally, thinking it was another one of those rookie knights she was tasked with teaching. She turned around on her heel and came face to face with someone she didn’t expect.

• “Bennett? Whatever could you want, i’m a little busy right now.” She actually had a pretty free schedule today. But after everything, she just wanted to go into her quarters and hide underneath her blanket.

• “I uhh..saw what happened at that shop earlier..It wasn’t fair!! And I know how hard you work as a Knight of Favonius, let alone a captain, so I thought i’d get you that bread!! If you don’t want to accept it from someone like me that’s completely fine i understand 100%-“ Bennett rambles, Eula took note of that.

•”Thank you, Bennett. However, i’m not someone you can pity so easily. I will..I will ha-have venge..ance…” Eula couldn’t finish her sentence without her voice straining as she held back all these overwhelming emotions.

•How could some kid from the Adventurers Guild have a more generous mindset than a Knight Of Favonius???

•She felt like this should definitely be added to her list of be vengances but looking at Bennett’s concerned, scratched up little face made her heart crack and shatter.

•In order to not look as intimidating, she bent down a little to be face to face with Bennett. As if he was some kind of dog…

•”Captain Eula, I’m unlucky but i’m not blind! I see how everyone treats you and it’s just..so unfair!! I mean-i’ve never experienced it to this level but I sure do understand how you feel to an extent. Your family doesn’t dictate who you become because you’re your own person, so just be yourself!! Oh, by the way..I totally look up to you, hehe!”

•Eula wanted to sob. sob like she’s never cried before. But she had to remember that they’re still in public and she can’t just break down in front of this kid.

•Eula stared at him. Without knowledge, she let her guard down and a tear slipped down her cheek. She looked up, thinking it was raining.

•Quickly wiping her stray tear away, Eula lifted her hand and gently caressed the top of Bennett’s head.

•”I happen to admire you quite a bit as well, Bennett.”

•Honestly, who can resist Bennett???

•After that, Eula worked little by little to show a softer side of herself to the people of Mondstadt. eeeven if that softer side was still pretty vengeful…

•She also made sure to keep an eye on Bennett whenever she could, making sure to see him before he goes off on an adventure.

•It’s like a mom sending her kid to school 😭😭 She always makes sure to ask if he had food, medical aid, a sharpened Blade…

•But Bennett appreciates it so so much!! He couldn’t be more grateful to have someone send him off and wait for him to get back!!

•At some point, He accidentally called Eula “ma” and the way they both collapsed to the floor collectively ANSKSBSKSBSJ

Anyways i love Aunty Eula and Benny

[madeyoumyvillain]

☕ maylen slander 🤭

Thanks for the ask bb @darklingswhxore ☀️🖤🌘💛

*me to myself, slowly,but with a lot of feelings* oh my fucking god my time to shine has come

This is gonna be long, apologies🌻

Where do i even start with blade boy?

to me,he didn't matter ONE BIT in the first two books, because my innocent self thought "hey,this is an ETL story,Darklina endgame no matter what and Malyen will just,,,go away" but,alas,I was fooled and baited by Leigh Bardugo. But that rant is for another day. My problem with Malyen isn't just that he's boring and basic and has the personality of a broken pencil. It's deeper than that. But he's someone so irrelevant to me,that I don't like chanelling my energy towards him. But let's go.

My problem with Malyen is,he seems very real. The way he treats Alina,the way he's filled to the brim with victim complex,the way everything he says to her is something I've heard myself,the way he thinks that he should be rewarded for being there for his best friend. Basically,he's the embodiment of what a real toxic man is like. Notice how I emphasized on real? Because men like him exist. And we deal with them everyday. They belittle you. They gaslight you. They slutshame you. They mock you for being happy and independent. They say they're scared of you,even when you don't mean any harm,when you're the more powerful one for once. They scream at you for flinching. They keep on reminding you of the things they did for you,even if you didn't ask them to in the first place. They think tht can talk on your behalf. They. Are. Real. Alot of people argue that Malyen was just 17 and dealing with alot so we can't hate him,they also say he's the less toxic choice for Alina. But this isn't a competition of more toxic and less toxic,it shouldn't be. You're either toxic,or you're not.

I know and I understand that Aleksander was toxic too. But Aleksander is a centuries old shadow summoning grisha. Aleksander is a fairytale villain meanwhile men like Malyen are very real. And as someone who has been in an extremely emotionally abusive relationship,the way Malyen went ahead and kissed Zoya rather than talking and understanding Alina's situation and why she flinched,it reminded of the times I was misunderstood,of the times when I flinched and was punished with a cold shoulder and ill treatment. I choose to ignore Malyen and the shitty endgame in the books,but how am I supposed to ignore it when it happens in my reality too? Bardugo very recently mentioned how she was in an abusive relationship herself when she was writing SnB,so after that info,I'm supposed to hate Aleksander, right? Because according to her he is the embodiment of her abusive ex,but what she seems to forget is,the main relationship in the books isn't Darklina,it's Malina. And Malina on its own is still a very,very toxic and weak ship. Alina mutilated herself just because she didn't want to leave Mal when the Grishas were testing her. In the beginning of SnS,Mal for once does not care that Alina is getting sick and frail because she's not using her powers. More than once he mentions how he's scared of her and how he wants the old Alina back. The same Alina who you ignored the whole time,Malyen? The same powerless and dependent Alina?

I'll be very honest,I started to love him in RnR. Yes,love him. His and Alina's platonic dynamic makes me SO happy. They'd be perfect as friends. But by the time the book ended and Alina lost her powers and even after being offered by Nikolai to rule Grishas and Ravka,she said no,how much should I bet that if Malyen stayed dead,she would've said yes? Malyen got EXACTLY all that he wanted,Alina legit got nothing. But how can I blame either when both of them are equally selfish? Yes,Alina is selfish,that's something I'll rant about some other day.

Thoughts about show! Malyen? He's not even the same person he is in the books and I'm so sorry to say that Malyen on his own is great but the 8 hrs of Malina? Not something I'd like to go through again. Show! Malyen is funny and is there for his friends and has his own struggles but if you have to completely drastically do a 180° on a character,it proves the point that he wasn't nice in the first place. If he was already the amazing character we were told he was,why would they not follow anything he did or said in the books? Why did they choose to make Zoya a racist on top of the meangirl bully plotline which already made her unlikeable yet make show! Malyen this embodiment of Mr. Perfect that he isn't? Isn't it fucking hilarious how people sympathized for him for losing Mikhael and Dubrov yet shit on Aleksander for being so vengeful after seeing centuries of his people, Grisha and Ravkan alike,dying,burned on stakes, experimented on while he could do nothing to stop it? Hypocrisy,hm? The only thing in commow show! Malyen and book! Malyen have are their names and being a tracker because the rest is just different, drastically different. And if they're gonna stick to the Malina propaganda in S2 too,then can someone make a compilation of all Darkling/Darklina/Crows scenes and send it to me? Because I won't be watching it.

These are my opinions and my opinions only,I respect anyone who does or doesn't agree. Do tell me what parts you agree with. Thank you <3

[ikevamp-shrine]

Thank you @yanderepuck​ for giving me the courage to post this😊❤

Please ignore the crappy drawing of her, but that's kinda what she appears like in my mind. I will be writing with her character in future posts.

Name: Elizabeth Tudor

Vampire Type: Lesser Vampire

Height: 5’4

Birthday: September 7th

Occupation: Former Queen of England

Appearance: 

Long, curly (and extremely thick) strawberry blonde hair, fair skin, red lips, and intense icy blue eyes. Her stance is strong, regale, and respectable. Her skin is littered with smallpox scars (only a few, very unnoticeable ones residing on her face, neck, and hands). Her expression is usually blank and unreadable. Her movements are controlled and polite. Her brows thick and stomach soft. Legs long and fingers thin and graceful. There are patches of freckles on her shoulders that mix with her scars causing a unique blend of color. Thick thighs and pale, maintained feet. Smaller breasts.

Childhood:

When her brother, Edward, was born from her father and his new wife, Catherine, her line to the throne was pushed back even further (she was declared third in line). Thankfully she was not neglected instead her father, known for his cruelty, treated all his children with affection and love. She became very close with her half brother and was said to be inseparable. She was also very close with and benefited from the love her step mother, Catherine, showed her.

When her brother, Edward, was born from her father and his new wife, Catherine, her line to the throne was pushed back even further (she was declared third in line). Thankfully she was not neglected instead her father, known for his cruelty, treated all his children with affection and love. She became very close with her half brother and was said to be inseparable. She was also very close with and benefited from the love her step mother, Catherine, showed her.

She was taught a rigorous education normally only given to male heirs and was applauded for her perseverance and memory. She became fluent in French and Italian which profited when conducting diplomacy years later. Her involvement with the Reformation shaped the course of the nation, but she held no interest in religion.

With her father’s death, her step mother married the lord high admiral, Thomas, which resulted in his decapitation due to his intent to rape and impregnate Elizabeth forcing her to marry him in order for him to rule the kingdom. He was said to be overly flirtatious and acting inappropriately familiar with the young girl when around her (which one of the reasons she doesn’t like Arthur, his flirtatious nature reminds her of her past).

She was raised around sexism and taught that women were likely to act on impulsion and passion making them unfit to rule. Men were taught the arts of war and told they are the ones who dominate women while women were urged to keep their head down, mouth shut, and attend their needlework. She had remained unmarried, her want to remain single overshadowing any thoughts of seeking out relations with a man. She was rumored to have burst out in tears when Queen Mary, her older sister, had proposed to marry Elizabeth to a duke. This became a national concern when Elizabeth became queen and refused to take a husband, going against the belief that a woman’s place was a wife. It also raised worries that she would die childless, ending her bloodline, and giving Elizabeth’s title to Mary, Queen of Scots, a catholic posing a threat to the Protestants of England.

Dislikes: 

her privacy being intruded on, loud talking, 3am, those who play weak and stupid or whine to get what they want, people who are lazy but still expect to reach their goals, women who chase men and believe they need a man to be successful in life, messy rooms, fake personalities and cheaters (in both games and relationships)

Likes: 

walks in the garden at midnight, the sound of the birds singing their life’s song as the warmth of the day’s first rays of sun trace her skin, reading, learning new things, burning candles, smiling faces, happy children, the smell of freshly baked bread, warm blankets, animals, the laughter of children, hunting, dancing, and horseback (bareback more often than naught)

Personality: 

She appears cold at first because of her bluntness and blank (almost annoyed) expression. Unreasonably serious with a strong sense of duty, responsibility, and morals. She is a firm believer in working harder than everyone else to achieve greatness. A highly intelligent woman that believe women are equal to their male counterpart. Extremely stubborn in a non-disrespectful way. She is adaptable, disciplined, dignified, and confident with a wit and tongue as sharp as, if not sharper, than any of the residents. She is blunt, doesn’t sugarcoat the truth, and is always honest. Focused, logical, and exceedingly loyal to those she decides to put her trust in. She is protective and straightforward but rather quiet. She tends to keep to herself. She is paranoid and distrustful when meeting new people but will not show it. She tries to work on it, but she can be very vengeful when it comes to people betraying her or hurting those she loves.

Preferred company: 

Theo, Leonardo, Isaac, Jean, Vincent

Relationships (platonic, romantic, etc.):  

Jean- platonic with a chance of something more

Has a deep understanding with Jean. They don’t really talk about each other to each other; their conversations mainly consist of stiff, dead toned jokes that you wouldn’t be able to tell they were jokes until specified. She is one of the few people that has actually seen a sober Jean smile. He is extremely protective of her and will stand behind her just so he has the peace of mind that her back is guarded. If she asked, he would show her what is under his eye patch, no matter what lingering emotions he has on the ‘ugliness under the fabric’. His blade is always ready, his mind perfectly clear, when it comes to the safety and well being of the woman he had found himself connecting to in ways no one had before. Often, they go horse back riding together, Napoleon will sometimes accompany but its only when her and the former solider are alone does she throw her head back, her laughs unrestrained while the wind rips through her hair and clothing. Jean will race her and chuckle at how free she looks, but of course she doesn’t hear. Spares with and helps better the woman’s defenses and attacks along with Napoleon  

Mozart- platonic

Sometimes Mozart look for her and demand Elizabeth to listen to his new piece until she raises an eyebrow, daring him not to correct his wording. He’ll swallow thickly and glance off to the side, a scoff on his lips as he apologizes. She’ll nod and follow him to music room. Mozart will stare at her impatiently until she gives her honest (and extremely blunt) opinion. He values her words and while alone the pianist will replay the slight quirk of her lips as she praised his efforts. He has a small obsession with her and it drives him insane

Vincent- brotherly platonic and Theo- they horny for each other but don’t want to cross that line of friendship so they dance around their feelings while making out every once in a while

Has a soft spot for Theo and Vincent because their relationship makes her think of her brother. She only sees Vincent as a brother and will only allow him to do her makeup when he asks to, but with Theo its completely different. She sees Theo as a partner, a man she shares many values and goals with. She respects him and their shared opinions on responsibility and productivity. They understand each other intuitively and can conversate with just fleeting touches and quick glances of their eyes. There is a thick sexual tension that builds between them overtime resulting in hurried, frantic, sloppy kisses in hallways where the couple battle for dominance by pushing each other against walls and gripping roughly at the other’s clothing

Napoleon- just housemates (not friends or lovers)

She can and usually feels uncomfortable when around Napoleon. She has chalked it down to the fact they are both the leader ‘alpha’ types that ruled enemy lands. Truly, they just don’t have much in common and find it hard to build a meaningful relationship. Spares with and helps better the woman’s defenses and attacks along with Jean

Arthur- just housemates

Can sometimes get too snippy with Arthur. While she does find enjoyment in his jokes at times, she despises the sexual aspects of the author. Finds his skirt chasing habits understandable but disgusting. Admires his intelligence but can’t stand how he is able to tell you where have been just by the dust on your hand (she likes her privacy). Will play chess and pool with him even though she knows she will lose just because she enjoys playing. Will sometimes have deep conversations with Arthur in front of the fire place, both nursing a glass of alcohol, their eyes never leaving the fire as to not break the imaginary protective barrier around the two that eye contact will shatter. Smirks at his quirks and jokes sometimes and it literally makes Arthur’s heart leap because ‘damn a queen just found amusement in my joke.’ He internally freaked out the first time he met her mainly because the mansion now had two previous rulers instead of one and the newest one scared the living daylights out of him.

Comte- there is nothing between them

Doesn’t trust Comte as far as she can throw him. She can see the darkness in his heart and his past behind his eyes. She can see the death he’s caused- the pain, and while she knows that she, herself, has caused the death of many, she still has a deeply rooted gut feeling telling her to stay away from the pureblood. He wants her trust but soon realizes her opinion on him is similar to Jean’s. She will not take any gifts other than what is necessary from him (ex. Dresses for parties)

Dazai- just housemates

Dazai tries avoiding her. He feels suffocated when around and the victim of her stare. He feels as if her eyes and actions pick him apart and leave his in his barest, rawest form, and it scares him to no end. She does find his window habit hilarious though and will give him a hand up when he falls

Shakespeare- they don’t get involved with each other

She can tell Shakespeare’s mind is being manipulated, by what is the question she has yet to reveal though. She can tell he is dangerous. One who’s actions are watched and controlled by another always are. His unpredictable nature and mysterious, secret filled smile is what causes her to feel uneasy around him. She doesn’t ignore him, but she doesn’t want to be involved with the playwright and his actions so she tends to just quietly leave the room when he enters. He is polite to her and compliments her when they do talk but his fancy wording sometimes annoys Elizabeth, especially when she just wants to get away from him. She believes he is a good man at heart lead astray by forces more powerful than him, but still finds his company rather unnecessary. 

Sebastian- they respect one another, are not friends but have decent conversations

Has an interesting relationship with Sebastian. She wouldn’t call him a friend, she has very few of those so it is understandable, but she does respect him for his work ethic just as he respects her for her accomplishments and standing in history. She let him interview him once and nearly laughed out loud from how excited he got. They always have a cup of coffee or tea in the morning together, Elizabeth not quite woken up yet so they sip in comforting silence. Sebastian usually asks how she slept and she responds by telling him about her dreams if she had one. She’ll end up helping him cook breakfast.

Leonardo- friends with a chance of something more

Elizabeth appreciates Leonardo’s straightforwardness and honesty, so they have a decent trusting relationship, but his matureness makes her feel like a little girl again and it bothers her. Her thoughts tend to be: she was a queen; she ruled a country with a strength that rivaled even the greatest men, she should not look at this chain-smoking man with admiration in her eyes like a giddy school girl, flustered over a boy telling her she is cute, while around the Italian. The start of their relationship was rocky, due to Elizabeth’s personal feelings on the man- Leonardo could have cared less, but soon enough they started to appreciate each other’s qualities. Leonardo is mainly the only one she allows to touch her hair. They often speak Italian together on the balcony as Leonardo smoke a cigarillo and Elizabeth reads.

Isaac- they have the chance of being more than friends but their relationship is mainly just comforting one another through their presence and (when needed) touch- they also trust each other whole heartedly

Adores Isaac and will purposely sought him out just so she can listen to his calming ramblings while he tinkers away, a book in her hand and two cooling cups of coffee on the surface closest to the pair. He gets so red around her; at times he turns snow white from the intensity in her gaze and how her eyes never stray from her company. They share an endless loyalty to each other. Neither knows when the bond form, it just happened on its own (and very suddenly). Isaac has lost control and bit her but instead of reacting in anger she accepted it and pulled him closer, shuddering with each frenzied suck against her neck, her nails gently scratching the scalp of a whimpering Isaac. When Isaac finally came to his senses, he tried pulling away, his voice thick with unshed tears as his panicked words rang through the air until Elizabeth grabbed him and held him close, shushing Isaac as he trembled with regret and guilt in her arms. They had held each other for hours until they feel asleep in each other embraces. Isaac will link pinkies with Elizabeth when he is being picked on without realizing it for support and something to ground him so his thoughts don’t run too wild. Elizabeth will just glare and clear her throat and Arthur will shut his mouth while looking at the former queen as if he was a kicked puppy. She has a habit of fixing his clothing or hair after he nervously pulls, picks, or twists at it- Isaac doesn’t even notice it after a while. His face does burn intensely though when she places a hand on his overactive, bouncing knee when he is anxious.

Fun facts:

Due to her makeup being poisoned by her undetermined enemy, which resulted in her death, she refuses to wear any cosmetics other than what Vincent personally makes (learned how to from Leonardo) and puts on her skin himself when going to events if he asks to.

She tends to wear clothing that covers all skin other than her neck and face when leaving the mansion due to children being scared by her smallpox scars.

She usually never strays from wine unless her emotions become a little too overwhelming for her to just push the feelings down, only then will she drink something stronger.

Elizabeth is a quiet, peaceful drunk that tends to curl up on the couch, her shoes discarded on the floor, her hair loose and flowing over the decorative pillow she’ll grab and hug tightly to her chest.

She died a virgin and has remained one ever since her resurrection.

The former queen is hesitant to allow others to touch her hair from her past concerning the loss of said strands (a result of surviving smallpox), but if she trusts someone enough and knows they’ll be gentle she’ll let them style the curls, even if she is tense the entire time.

Prefers to braid her hair herself and wrap in into a bun due to the protective nature of the style.

Loves sleeping in but is often unable to due to insomnia.

She is highly particular when it comes to cleaning and organization. She has told Sebastian not to worry about cleaning her things or doing her laundry, instead she does it herself with up most focus and determination.

When she does open up or is around the boys long enough, they realize her heart is truly kind and nurturing instead of what she appears when first met (a cold-hearted woman with a resolve like steel). This is especially apparent when around animals.

She is very sarcastic and doesn’t mean any harm but usually her joking words sound hateful due to her dead tone and blank face.

Her voice is deeper and soothing, most times holding no emotion which creeps Dazai and Arthur out

Lives by “no pain no gain”

Doesn’t waste her breath on hate- if she doesn’t like someone or feels as if she can’t trust them then they just don’t exist to her. She won’t hesitate to cut someone off without warning.

Has a bad habit of bottling her emotions which causes her to explode when pushed over the edge resulting in one of the very rare moments where her anger creates an electric static in the room that demands the attention of anyone present. She doesn’t shout or scream but her words are sharper than a blade, her eyes burn with a fiery rage while she takes control of the room, overwhelming anyone (even Napoleon) and making them feel as if they are an ant beneath her boot.

Her eyes freak many people out- they feel as if the ice like orbs are staring straight into their soul, picking apart their insides, leaving nothing but shredded organs and an empty husk of what used to be a strong mind.

Can always tell when someone is lying. It’s a gut feeling, and her gut is always right.

She still wears her coronation ring on her wedding finger as a sign of her symbolic marriage to her people and country

[wangxianficrecs]

❤️with you, I am home by tellthemstories

❤️with you, I am home

by tellthemstories

M, 47k, wangxian

Summary:  “I can’t go back home alone, Lan Zhan.”

Wei Wuxian gets a summons to return to Lotus Pier for marriage proposals. To avoid this, he convinces Lan Zhan to come with him and pretend to be his cultivation partner.

Excerpt:  “Platonic cultivation partners. Good friends who hunt vengeful spirits together. Sworn brothers.”

“Brothers,” Lan Zhan echoes. Still so impassive, still so calm. Sometimes Wei Wuxian wants to crack him open to see what’s inside. He’s got better over the years at reading Lan Zhan’s micro-expressions and can usually tell what sort of mood he’s in. His thoughts, however, are still a mystery.

“Would it really be so hard?” Wei Wuxian asks, “To pretend to be my cultivation partner? To like me above all others?”

“I already like you above all others.”

And look.

See.

Lan Zhan just has this way of talking sometimes, this way of stating things like they’re fact and not completely absurd to say out loud. Like Wei Wuxian is ‘the best cultivator’ he knows, or that he ‘doesn’t mind’ spending time with him, or that he ‘likes his laugh’.

No wonder Nie Huaisang said he was an eligible bachelor, Wei Wuxian thinks. Imagine if he was actually trying to flirt with someone.

modern au, modern cultivators, fake/pretend relationship, fake dating for Reasons, meeting the family, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, sharing a bed, domestic, oblivious wei wuxian, ‘this fic is like emotional edging’, (comment sums up entire fic), jealous lan wangji, thick as a brick wei wuxian, drunk lan wangji, pining, idiots in love, only one of them is an idiot, feel good fic, favorite, @tell-themstories​

(You may wish to REBLOG as a signal boost for this author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[aster-aspera]

We made universes out of bitten lips and broken hands

Chapter 1: The leaves like broken shards of stained glass

Relationships: geraskier (platonic, romantic, qp, whatever)

Warnings: non-graphic descriptions of injuries, canon typical monsters

Masterlist

Read on ao3

Jaskier huddled deeper into his hiding spot, his breathing echoing loudly against the rough rocks that dug harshly into his back. The sounds of fighting had fallen silent a while ago, and Jaskier really hoped it was because Geralt had finally gotten rid of whatever he was fighting.

Something brushed past Jaskier’s shelter and he stifled a whimper, trying desperately to become one with the rocks. Where was that damned witcher when he needed one?

The dark pressed in on him from every side, damp seeping into his clothes and skin, leaving him shivering and dreaming of the warm inn they had left behind.

If he didn’t get a good account of this fight from Geralt he was going to kill the man himself.

Something heavy thumped suddenly against the rocks and Jaskier flinched violently, bruising his elbow. Maybe he should have listened to Geralt and stayed at camp.

Growling resounded from outside and he felt his stomach drop as all hope that it was just a startled deer or a branch evaporated. No animal made a sound like that.

He scrabbled in his doublet for his dagger, praying whatever monster it was couldn’t hear him. What had Geralt said it was again? An Alp or something?

A huge claw scraped along the lip of the small cave and Jaskier swallowed. Whatever it was, it seemed in no hurry to attack him quite yet, which probably meant there was no vengeful witcher after it. Just his luck.

A sharp clang resounded and a part of his rocky shelter crumbled away. Jaskier decided he was not going to wait out his death cowering like a frightened rabbit and took off, wringing himself out of the hollow and dashing forward as quickly as he could.

He had no idea where he was headed except away, scrambling madly up the hillside, loose rocks skittering under his feet. Nothing followed him, or at least, as far as he could tell with his flimsy human senses. Only his harsh pants and the rustling of the mountain could be heard. Till something under his feet gave. A misplaced step, a loose rock. Whatever it was, it was enough to send him sliding some ways down the steep hill, a crumble of rock following after him.

Something heavy and blunt hit his arm and an agony so sharp and sudden he couldn’t even scream shot through his hand. The pain made his vision go white for a minute as he bit back a scream, trying desperately to not alert the monster. He couldn’t contain the harsh sobs that tore themselves from his chest.

The sharp white flaring that had invaded all of his right arm only seemed to increase, growing so hot it felt like it could rival the sun in its scorching heat.

He scrabbled upright, unceremoniously janking his arm out from under the rocks and trying not to black out completely.

Whatever was after him was not going to wait patiently for him to regain consciousness, and he would like to spend his last moments upright, thank you very much. And preferably not in a dark mountain range, but it seemed he couldn’t be too demanding.

He took a few stumbling steps forward, pressing his good arm against the rocks for a modicum of stability.

He shuffled forward, painfully slow, breathing heavy and laboured. Rocks clattered behind him and he flinched but didn’t look back. Whatever it was, he wouldn’t be able to outrun it either way. More rocks skittered, tracing a path ever closer to him. He put another step forward, gritting his teeth against the wave of nausea that rolled through him.

Something brushed his shoulder, heavy wet breathing panting in his ear. He froze, blood running ice cold in his veins, all the pain in his arm forgotten.

“Geralt?” He squeaked, praying for his witcher to show up soon.

Something growled in his ear, low and threatening and Jaskier couldn’t contain the whine that built up in his throat.

Something heavy abruptly shoved him forward, driving his bad arm squarely into a sharp rock and he couldn’t contain his pained yell. A hot spray of blood splattered across his face and he looked up to meet Geralt’s eyes, black as ink from the potions. He sagged against the rock, relief turning his limb to putty.

“Took you long enough,” He said, and his voice came out embarrassingly wobbly. Geralt just huffed and walked back to camp. Jaskier trailed after him, trying his best to keep his legs under him and walk as straight as he could manage with an arm that felt like it had been ripped right from his shoulder. His whole head was pounding and he could taste blood and bile in the back of his throat.

He curled up in his bedroll as soon as he got back, cradling his hand close to his chest and breathing heavily through the pain. He could hear Geralt walk around the camp a few times, presumably checking the perimeter and making sure Roach was comfortable. Jaskier briefly debated telling him how much his arm hurt, but the world went dark before he could make up his mind about it.

The pain didn’t fade with the morning light and while Geralt packed up their stuff, and periodically grumbled for Jaskier to wake up, he kept his eyes closed, breathing through the harsh throbbing and running his thumb gently along the bones jutting oddly from his skin.

He flexed his fingers experimentally, and found he could still move them but not without a flare of pain and nausea so strong he felt dizzy.

Eventually Geralt dragged him bodily from his bedroll and Jaskier struggled into his doublet and pants. The witcher didn’t seem to notice, mounting Roach and barely waiting for the bard to catch up.

He trailed after horse and witcher for the better part of a morning, occasionally humming a song to himself to keep his spirits high. He wasn’t enough of a fool to attempt playing his lute like this.

Eventually though, he spoke up, tired of only the dust and the birds to distract him from the throbbing that was slowly tracking a path up his arm.

“My hand hurts,” He announced, and Geralt didn’t even look at him.

“Geralt,” He whined and the witcher finally deemed him worthy enough to glance back.

“You’re fine,” He said gruffly.

“No I’m not, it really hurts you oaf”

“Then don’t play your lute.”

“I wasn’t even...,” He groaned when Geralt turned away again, apparently done with the conversation. Stupid fucking witchers and their high pain tolernace. The idiot probably thought he was just whining for attention.

He trudged through the rest of the day on wobbly feet with a pounding head and an aching arm.

That evening Geralt handed him some cream to numb the pain and Jaskier’s frustration melted like snow in the sun.

With Geralt’s gruff reassurance that it would probably heal in a week or two, he even found the energy to help with their evening meal, and compose a new song while he did it.

The witcher left him a spot close to the fire and gave Jaskier the biggest piece of meat, so the bard figured he was feeling at least a little guilty about ignoring him that morning.

It did not, in fact, heal in a week, or even a month. He managed to keep his hand still for about a week, refraining from playing his lute or even attempting to write.

But a bard can only go without his signature instrument for so long. The few performances he tried to give with just his ethereal singing voice were not as well received.

After being kicked out of their room for a second time after the whole inn had come together to lob bread at him (and wasn’t that a throwback), Jaskier finally braved his instrument again.

His hand did not seem to agree with that decision, if the lightning bolts of pain that ran through it were anything to go by. For every sharp stab through his joints, his smile turned a little sharper, a little more plastic. He grit his teeth through every wrong note he couldn’t prevent as his fingers cramped up, and downed a few more pints of ale than he usually would. At least the fog from the alcohol took the sharpest edge off the ache.

Geralt shot him an indecipherable glance from his brooding corner occasionally, usually when Jaskier had just hit a wrong note. He had no idea if it was out of concern or just annoyance at his fumbling.

At least he made them enough money to stay the night, and even get them a decent meal.

Geralt curled up closer than usual that night, a warm weight against his back. In a bed this big they would usually leave some space between. Not that Jaskier was complaining. The warmth soothed the ache just a little, and he was always happy to be so close to his witcher.

Geralt ran a hand through his hair, and Jaskier froze in surprise, blinking up at him owlishly.

“Go to sleep, Jaskier,” He rumbled.

He closed his eyes, curling up close to Geralt and breathing deeply, hoping the restless thrumming radiating from his arm would settle soon.

They parted for winter soon after, the witcher heading off to Kaer Mohren, Jaskier finding a court to hide in for the season.

His hand didn’t grow better over the months, the bone of his thumb jutting at an odd angle and a painful twinge running through it every time he moved it. But it was not like he had the time to let it heal.

He needed to earn his keep, a bard didn’t get a place at court for solely his charm, and people needed entertaining through this dark and dreary winter.

So Jaskier played for hours, ignoring the way his hand trembled as soon as he stopped, and the dull throbbing that kept him company every hour of the day.

He yearned for the warmth of summer, for his witcher to come back to him so he could return to the dusty country roads and there weren’t a hundred people waiting for him to perform.

His smile didn’t slip all winter, and he kept himself busy between performances with all manner of scullery maids and guards. Had it been any other time, he was sure he would have enjoyed it. But now, as soon as the snow showed even the slightest signs of melting, he practically scrambled out of the castle, barely sparing the beautiful young queen a second glance when she told him to return soon.

The open roads felt like a breath of fresh air after the musty halls and he picked a bunch of the first few spring flowers, braiding them painstakingly into a crown to adorn his curls. The stiffness in his hand was growing worse with the day, the pain so bad he struggled to even clothe himself. He left the lute alone for a few weeks, tired of the constant pain that came with playing it.

He ran into his witcher eventually, a few weeks earlier than he usually would. His heart jumped up into his throat when he caught sight of that familiar snow white hair and before he realized what he was doing, he was bolting down the road to his friend.

“Geralt!”

“Jaskier,” Geralt greeted in that low rumble of his, and Jaskier swore he could detect a note of fondness in his tone.

“How was your winter, my dear friend?”

“Not your friend,” Geralt grumbled.

“Yeah, yeah, you keep saying that, but you don’t fool me. And besides, doesn’t answer my question.”

“It was fine.”

Jaskier smiled. Fine in Geralt’s book generally translated to something like ‘absolutely amazing, I had the best time’.

“Well if you must know, mine was splendid as well. The lady of the court was just the kindest, most stunning lady. I was hard pressed to leave but I figured I couldn’t leave my dear witcher without his bard.” The lie felt bitter on his tongue and he adjusted the strap of his lute.

“You should have just stayed.”

“Rude,” Jaskier protested, and he knew Geralt didn’t mean it. For all his grumping, he really did seem to appreciate Jaskier.

That evening, Jaskier hid his lute in geralt’s saddle bags, and the witcher only gave him a questioning look, before begrudgingly lugging their bags up the stairs while Jaskier haggled about their room prices.

He didn’t play for the next few weeks. With the witchers only just returning from their mountains, there was more than enough work for Geralt, and he didn’t complain too much about paying for their rooms. Jaskier kept himself busy sweet talking both innkeepers and mayors, so they didn’t try to cheat Geralt out of his coin. For the most part, it was all very agreeably, if he ignored the ever worsening pain in his hand.

“You haven’t been playing,” Geralt said one evening, when Jaskier was focused intently on cutting spits for their evening meal, the stick tucked under his armpit while he whittled at it with his left hand.

“Oh now he notices,” Jaskier said venomously, “I thought you didn’t like my music?”

“I don’t…” Geralt struggled for words and Jaskier turned back to his stick, something acid and rotten settling in his stomach.

“Why don’t you play anymore, dandelion?”

The nickname gave Jaskier a pause. A memory of happier times, when lovers would whisper that name in his ear and patrons would use it to cheer him on. It wasn’t something Geralt had ever called him.

“I can’t, not anymore.”

Geralt brow furrowed in that incredibly endearing manner, and before he could even ask, Jaskier was already spilling his story. The whole ugly mess of pain and anger and failing. Of fingers that could barely strike the right chords and a hand that was too weak to hold a quill. Of being so fucking terrified because music was all he was and he was losing it.

Geralt stayed silent for the most part, only interjecting to ask for clarification when Jaskier's rambling became too desperate and incoherent.

And when Jaskier started crying, deep heaving gasps spurred on by the knowledge that the one thing he loved so much was being taken from him, he carefully wrapped an arm around his shoulder. Jaskier buried his face in Geralt’s shirt, muffling his sobs in the worn fabric.

That next day, Geralt took him out to a healer, and sat with him as they poked and prodded his hand. Jaskier slipped his good hand into his and Geralt squeezed it reassuringly.

The healer looked up at them with a concerned frown, biting their lip as they shifted in place. Jaskier curled up closer to Geralt, taking courage from his solid presence.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news,” They said, and Jaskier felt his stomach bottom out. “The nerve damage is pretty severe. It...It probably won’t heal.”

“Oh,” Was all he managed to say, his head filling with a rushing noise and his heart thumping up into his throat. He focused on the grey wall in front of them, desperately trying to blink back the hysteric tears that threatened to overtake him. Suddenly Geralt’s hand felt like the only lifeline he had left.

“Is there nothing that can be done?” Geralt asked when it became clear that Jaskier would be of no use anymore.

“When the injury was fresh we might have been able to heal it, but it’s been too long now, and repeated use has done it no good. If he avoids using his hand the pain might become more manageable, but that’s about the best you can hope for, I’m sorry.”

Geralt just nodded and paid the healer, almost dragging Jaskier out of there to get them away from that stifling room that smelt of rot and sickness and despair.

They curled up close together again that night, Geralt rubbing gentle circles into Jaskier’s back and wishing he could offer more, wishing he could fix this somehow.

[philliamwrites]

The Dawn Will Come [Chpt.5]

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Dimitri x Reader, Claude x Reader, Edelgard x Reader, Yuri x Reader, Edelgard x Byleth, lots of minor pairings

Tags: #gn reader, # platonic love byleth & reader, #reader is a tactical unit, #angst, #slow burn, #subplots, #unreliable narrator, #pining, #remporary amnesia, #reluctant herp, #canon divergence, #lost twin au, #many chapters, #original content

Words: 5.4k

Summary: Waking up in a forest without any knowledge of your past and who you are, you join the house leaders of the Officers Academy to search for a way to return your memories. Unfortunately, the church has different plans for you, and Fate places you in the centre of a cruel game with deadly stakes. It certainly doesn’t help to fall in love with a house leader who is doomed to be your demise.

Notes: Chapter 4 | Chapter 6

Chapter 05: Born to Trouble

Man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward.

[Hiob 5:7]

    A breeze picks up loose leaves and carries them over a steep hill. The sun, directly above your heads, emits no blazing head and still, wearing light armour and carrying weapons leaves a layer of perspiration on your forehead. Every minute marching towards where the Eagle House students and their astute professor are waiting builds worry and the desire to turn around and put as much distance as possible between you and them but the rope tying you to the task called obligation makes it impossible to sate it.

    A slight pull makes you pause and scratch the thin skin under your eye, the feeling so strange as if someone is tugging your mind in the complete opposite direction. Now that is a new sensation, and you’re careful to remember that when answering the onslaught of questions Hanneman will surely prepare once he’s back. Feeling no pain, you write it off as exhaustion for now, already looking forward to relax in the sauna later and wind down.

    “Is something the matter, Herald?” Dimitri asks. Save for a few scratches and a smudged cheek, he looks fine and appears to be in great spirits. You want to lick your thumb and wipe off the dirt but smearing spit on the heir of a kingdom might not be a great idea in front of his future subjects.

    “Everything is fine,” you, the Liar, say with as much conviction as your conscience allows, which is surprisingly easy. Maybe you were a performer before your amnesia, acting on a stage for an audience that celebrated you switching roles with an ease like changing clothes. Dimitri as well trusts your words, though he could as well be playing the role just to lessen your worry.

    The last possibility to stall the unavoidable confrontation vanishes. They are waiting for you near the stronghold just beyond the forest from which you emerge after another painful, tense march. The remaining Black Eagle students are positioned in a triangle around Byleth. At its tip stands Edelgard, strong and tall, her axe ready to strike whoever stands between her and victory. Flanking her are ever-brooding Hubert and—

    “Linhardt?” you gasp, freezing on the spot which makes everyone sticking to your heels walk right into you. Sylvain only saves himself from falling because he quickly holds onto Dedue who tolerates it like a friendly bear allowing a little bird to sit on his back.

    “Is he doing something?” he asks, tiptoeing to get a better look. “What’s going on?”

    You point a finger at the Black Eagle student. “No one told me it was allowed to bring students back from the sidelines.”

    “Because it isn’t,” Dimitri says, patiently pulling a twig out of his hair. “Those who have lost cannot re-enter the mock battle.”

    You stare at everyone separately, hoping it carries enough weight for them to understand your problem—rather why is no one questioning the obvious? They consider you with as much confusion though, at least something you have in common.

    “Then why is Linhardt participating again?”

    They share worried glances.

    “Herald, what are you talking about?” asks Dimitri with a crease between his eyebrows.

    It is enough to make your next protest come out more desperate. “An hour ago, Felix and I dealt with Ferdinand and Linhardt. I told you!”

    “But—” Sylvain’s face goes blank with surprise. “Didn’t you say you guys got Ferdinand and Dorothea?”

    “Dorothea?” You didn’t even know she participated. “No, I swear, we— Why would I claim something different?” They lack the answer to that just as you and any minute pondering it longer is stolen by a vicious MiasmaΔ that splits a tree behind you in two.

    “Hey!” Sylvain shakes a fist at Hubert. “Use magic only in moderation!”

    His answer is another MiasmaΔ that nearly knocks Sylvain off his feet. Before you can form words, Edelgard takes a swing at you. The hit would have undoubtedly leave you with a concussion were it not for Dimitri’s quick intervention. He deflects her blow though his lance gives a worrying crack.

    “Dimitri.” Edelgard’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “It’s time. We can finally settle the question of who’s stronger.”

    “Very well.” Dimitri’s stance doesn’t falter even as sweat gathers at his temples. “I accept your challenge. With you as my opponent, I won’t hold anything back.”

    Edelgard’s mouth twitches. Dimitri demands with a sharp jut of his chin for you to get out of the way. You don’t argue. Not with the rest from the Eagle house approaching. Dedue, reading your mind, or rather the frantic look in your eyes, charges towards Byleth, leaving Linhardt and Hubert to Sylvain and you.

    You focus on Linhardt, mouth burning to question, “What spell did you use to switch places with Dorothea?”

    He is so baffled by that, you move without thinking—a swift strike, the sword turned midway so the blunt end smashes into his nose. He stumbles back with a sharp cry, a hand flying up to stop the blood running in rivers down his uniform. There is no time feeling bad for catching him off guard like that. A picture flashes before your eyes. You throw yourself to the ground and feel the lance swipe over your head not a second too soon. You roll back up on your feet, glaring at Hubert. He simply raises a brow in challenge. Sure, you accept, fully aware there is only one way to win against him.

    “Edelgard!” you gasp in horror. Hubert’s head twitches but he doesn’t fall for your scheme.

    “Really, Herald? I know Her Highness can take care of herself. You need a better trick than that.”

    “Really? Then how about this trick?”

    This time, Hubert whirls around and is greeted by Sylvain’s fist to his jaw. Combined with your MiasmaΔ, he doesn’t stand a chance. That victory is only short lived though. Out of nowhere, Byleth appears and knocks Sylvain out, not batting an eyelash. She towers like a vengeful spirit, arriving to seek retribution. Trying to move around her, you don’t leave her out of sight for once, your mouth dry and your heart beating so fast your ribcage hurts. The tension is thick enough your swords could cut right through it. It is so tense, in fact, you only manage a dry, “Hey.”

    Byleth raises her sword. “Hello.”

    “Great day to … you know.” You mirror her movement. “Clobber each other with wooden swords.”

    “Less talking, more fighting.” Byleth charges.

    You turn and run away.

    She immediately pursues like a wolf chasing after a deer. If you weren’t so focused on moving your legs as if your life depended on it and not tripping over something, you could swear someone from the sidelines is cheering for you. Someone sounding like Claude.

    “Herald, try a surprise attack! She’ll never expect you to stop and swing your sword at her!”

    No, no, no, he can come down here himself if he has a death wish. But another chance emerges before you, one waiting in the lush thicket that you disappear into in hope to lose her. That hope is quickly vanquished when twigs and dry leaves break right behind you shortly after you breach the edge of the forest. In your panic, you grab onto a branch and pull it with you until you’re sure the blow will at least make Byleth stagger to catch her breath. When you let go, she already knows what you’re up to. With a vicious blow, she breaks the branch and throws her sword at you when you try to run past her back to the field. The pain is unlike anything you’ve felt during training. It brings you to your knees, the stronghold in sight and yet so far away from the forest’s borders. The impact knocks all breath out of your lungs, making you unable to call out for help.

    Byleth stands before you, her sword back in her hand and risen to deliver righteous punishment—until it isn’t Byleth, it is a man, but you can’t see his face, his features hidden by dark shadows.

    Don’t, you think but your mouth forms “You don’t have it in you” instead and before you know it, you speak those words out loud. The picture disappears in a flash so bright, a paper bursting into flames, pain explodes in your head before everything zooms back into painfully sharp focus.

    Something changes in Byleth’s eyes, her hesitation a surprise immediately costing her gravely for Dimitri appears by your side, facing her and a desperate sound of relief escapes you because that means Edelgard is out of the game. It is only a battle of stamina at this point, the battle blurring as you stumble to your feet and help Dimitri to overpower Byleth even though your back is a medley of pain. Judging from how her reacting slower, you get a picture of who from the Black Eagles was fighting the most up until this point.

    Everything happens too fast. It takes one turn, one swipe of Dimitri’s lance, incredible luck that Byleth starts to get exhausted, and a second later, her knee gives in and she’s on the ground, a wooden edge to her throat. The silence is only disturbed by the second roar of trumpets signalling the end of the mock battle.

    You gasp.

    Dimitri gasps.

    Byleth blows a strand of hair out of her face, her face a blank slate.

    Screams and shouts erupt from where everyone else is waiting for you, drowning Jeralt declaring the Blue Lion’s win.

    “Herald.” Dimitri’s smile dazzles you more than the sun’s light, radiant and handsome. “We did it. We did it thanks to you.”

    “No, it was you—” A wave of fatigue washes over you from overusing your power. Exhaustion smothers you, so suddenly that your vision blurs around the edges. Your limbs are leaden; you feel as though you are sinking into mud. Before you hit the ground, Dimitri catches your arm and steadies you.

    It is the unpredictable comedic sort of timing were the cosmos decides it is the right timing for the rest of the students to catch up.

    Sylvain lets out a loud, suggestive whistle, appearing way too chipper for someone just brought back to consciousness thanks to white magic. “Who knew His Highness would decide to court someone wide out in the open like that? Did you invite our dear Herald to dinner first?”

    Ingrid pushes him hard. “His Highness isn’t like you,” she says at the same time Dimitri asks, “But I do plan to invite our Herald to dinner.” All eyes are on him. It is suddenly really hot even though his gauntlets around your arm are cold. “We all are invited to celebrate our victory with a feast in the dining hall.”

    “Aww, goddess help him,” Sylvain sighs, looking like he’s about to facepalm his hand through his forehead.

    Any response on your part is delayed by Rhea and Seteth reaching your group after congratulating each student who participated on their work.

    “Congratulations on winning the mock battle, Herald,” Rhea says, looking incredibly pleased. From the very beginning she’s probably expected nothing less and you wonder if her smile were as content had you failed. “You showed great leadership and trust in your students, who all did exceptionally well.” She’s smiling at every one of them like a proud mother. It leaves a warm, fuzzy feeling inside your chest, her contentment a beacon that banishes the last shadows of doubt in your heart. You could get addicted to this feeling.

    “Now, please return to the monastery,” Seteth advises the students. “We have a few matters to discuss with the faculty members.”

    As the students disperse, Dimitri quickly ducks his head in your direction. “We will speak more later.” He trails after his friends, falling into step with Dedue.

    “Look at them, being so excited. How adorable.” Manuela smiles, not showing any signs of anger about losing the fight or exhaustion flicking the students back together. “Good job leading them, Herald.”

    “And yet, I must advise you to participate more actively in the battle itself next time.” Seteth crosses his arms in front of his broad chest, not sharing Rhea’s idea on how a good job looks. “Professor Byleth showed great assistance and fighting spirit. You would do well to learn from her.”

    Byleth gives a little shrug when you glance at her. She doesn’t seem to care much for that.

    “Don’t be so stern, Seteth,” Rhea chastises him fondly. “There is still so much room to grow for all of them, our dear Herald, Professor Byleth and the students. For now, let us return and allow them a moment of respite. Their first real mission awaits them at the end of next month.”

    Seteth pulls a face as if he bit into a lemon but doesn’t object.

    “I have one concern myself,” you quickly throw in before tracking back, wondering how no one else mentions it. “When Linhardt and Dorothea—”

    “I would like a word,” Byleth suddenly says, grasping your wrist lightly in such an easy, familiar way you immediately shut up. They leave you two to it as you follow them a couple hundred feet behind, both silent though the voice in your mind doesn’t shut up about the dozen of questions bouncing back and forth. After what feels like hours, Byleth finally says, “You noticed it, didn’t you?”

    You stare at the road, a yawning void in your head where just a second ago a cacophony of questions caused a headache, unable to put two and two together. When it finally clicks, you wipe your head so fast in her direction it pops in your neck. “It was you? How did you do it?”

    Byleth doesn’t answer immediately. Her gaze drifts over the treetops, calmly swaying from left to right. The battle has concluded half an hour ago, but it already feels like a lifetime has passed and the peace and quiet of nature around you is like a completely different world. The land surrounding the monastery is exceptionally beautiful, luscious and overgrown with flora that covers the ground in a colourful patchwork rug. How the rest of Fódlan must look like…

    “When we first met, you asked how I could trust you. It will sound strange but you and I, we are connected.” She’s still looking up ahead, now at the towering spires of the monastery piercing the sky.

    Your mouth is dry. “Connected how?”

    She stops now. When she turns and looks at you, again the thread that ties you two together strums in an ancient tune. You stop breathing for that second.

    “You control the flow of the future, and I control the flow of the past.”

    You still don’t understand. Byleth reads as much from your lack of response. “What I mean to say is, I rewind time. When you defeated Linhardt, I turned back time’s hands to have Dorothea walk his path instead to keep my healer. I just never expected anyone would notice. And no one did. Except you.”

    It’s like those words don’t reach you. They recoil from a waterfall that rushes through your ears, distorting the words. When your brain finally finishes freaking out about it, only one thing appears of importance. “You cheated!”

    Byleth wears an expression that clearly states, That’s rich coming from you.

    “I— That—” How can she remain so calm? This information tilts your world, turning every hour you spent lying awake at night in your chambers wondering if you’re the only one with a power like that into a painful memory. “Does that mean you have a Crest as well? If our powers are alike, surely there must be an answer to why we have it. If we talk to Hanneman about it—”

    “You won’t,” Byleth cuts you off, her tone as sharp as her sword. “You will share no word with anyone about what I just revealed, or I will strike you down.”

    The wind picks up, flickering your robes left and right and rocking trees that bow in humility to a force much greater than them—a feeling you can relate to. Cold sweat runs down the back of your neck. This isn’t a threat. It’s a promise.

    “You spend too much time with Hubert,” you manage with a trembling smile only held together when the tension dissipates from Byleth’s face.

    “Professor Hanneman is still studying my Crest,” she says, a tinge of sorrow in her voice that strikes you harder than any danger or threat, “but I can assure you my abilities are not tied to it. I’m sorry.”

    She must have felt what you so desperately wished for: a connection. The assurance that you are not alone in this world with this strange power.

    It makes the way back to the monastery like a march through mud, laden limbs walking towards a goal you don’t know will be worth all the exertion. When the silence becomes too unbearable, you build up the courage to ask, “What are we, Byleth?”

    She drops her gaze to the ground. It is the very first time you see uncertainty hover like a shadow over her face. “I wish I could tell you, but I don’t know.”

    The sky turns an orange canvas when you finally return to the monastery. The last villagers from the small town downhill start returning home, their tools laid to rest inside their carriages. You can’t wait to sink into a nice hot bath, washing away the dried sweat and grime from the battle and change into loose, comfortable evening robes. You don’t come further than past the entrance hall. Leaning against a high pillar, Dimitri is adjusting the loops on his gauntlets, blond strands falling into his face like golden strips of sunshine. Before you reach him, Byleth says with a light touch to your elbow, “Please see Professor Manuela about your wound, okay? You did great today.” You promise her you will and watch her until she disappears through a hall leading to her personal quarters.

    With your attention on him, Dimitri looks up and stands straighter. He grins at you, his smile sudden and jarring like a thunderclap.

    “I have been waiting for you, Herald,” he says and takes you by the wrist. The cold of his gauntlets bites at your skin, making you hiss. His hand immediately drops, and he turns around in panic. “Oh, apologies. It is difficult to control my strength sometimes and—”

    “No, no, that’s not it. I was just a little surprised.”

    He sighs in relief. “Still, I am sorry. I will try to refrain from doing that in the future.”

    “Dimitri.” You graze his clothed underarm with a finger, unsure if that was a wise decision when his eyes widen in surprise. How is it you only notice now how long his eyelashes are? “I think we have seen today I am not that fragile.”

    His eyes jump away, avoiding contact, the blush creeping up his neck clearly standing out against his pale skin. He clears his throat. “I just wanted to make sure you will join us for dinner. I was not joking earlier when I said we should all celebrate our victory.”

    “Are you guys sure? I’m not your teacher and in the end, I didn’t do all too much.”

    Dimitri shakes his head. “Nonsense. You fought with us and led us to victory. We would love to celebrate with you, and while you won’t be with us all the time, I’d love nothing more than to share our happiness with you. Joy can be so fleeting, after all, and I’m sure the rest of the class feels the very same.”

    “If it really is okay with you all…” You glimpse over at him. Why not. Why not enjoy some leisure time with the students. You could surely use it to get to know them better and distract your thoughts from Byleth’s revelation. “Just give me some time to get ready. I’ll see you in the dining hall.”

    “Actually, please come to our classroom,” Dimitri says. “I don’t know how Sylvain managed it, but the kitchen’s head lady allowed us to dine in the classroom.”

    Your brows fly to your hairline. Dimitri answers with a little, low chuckle. You both have a pretty good idea how he managed to pull that stunt.

    Back in your quarters, you wash away the dirt and pick a simple robe the colour of freshly pressed parchment. The water’s heat renders today’s injuries to a dull pain save for the scrapes on your knees that still burn but are clean now. Hunger quickly catches up as well, dispersing your last doubts of intruding the class’ celebration. After leaving your room, you stop by the infirmary where Manuela makes quick work of your remaining wounds with her magic, turning purple bruises into faded yellow spots you immediately forget once you step out and head to your destination.

    The tables are already laid, arranged into a formation that resembles a circle allowing conversations to flow easily. You expected them to be already stuffing their faces but when you step into the Blue Lion’s classroom, the only source of light is a dim candle flickering in the middle of some students huddled together. Only Mercedes’ soft voice is audible, not counting the little whimpers from Annette or Ashe shuffling as he tries to hide behind Dimitri who appears to be the only one invested in her story.

    “… no one knows how deep the tunnels underneath the monastery run. But once they reach where walls are built from skulls and bones, they turn and go back … or try to do so, for who knows what horror lurks behind every corner.”

    “Nooooooo,” Annette cries, clutching to Dimitri’s sleeve. “Why would anyone go somewhere like that?”

    “A-and who built it in the first place? Tunnels lined with bones…” Ashe shudders, still looking smaller than Dimitri even though he is the one sitting.

    “A fascinating idea.” Dimitri’s excitement, bright as a spark, doesn’t bounce over to his friends. “To imagine there could be a whole civilisation living right in plain sight like that.”

    “I can’t imagine we wouldn’t notice,” Ashe reasons. His conviction would be more credible, would he not still cling to a white tail of Dimitri’s shirt. Before you can join and see if you would fare better listening to stories about haunted and forgotten places, Sylvain steals past you, his voice making you jump. “Shouldn’t you guys be finished by now?”

    Seeing your sour expression, he simply winks and hurries inside, carrying a big steaming pot. Followed by the rest of the Lions, they carry plates with dried meat, slices of bread, vegetables and cheese, and place them on the tables for everyone to just pick whatever they want. With a flick of your wrist flames flicker to life inside both fireplaces and the candles on top of the chandelier above your heads. Everyone hurries to find a seat. The students have all changed out of their battle garments into the academy’s summer uniform, its fabric much lighter than the heavy embroidered regular uniform they wore upon your first meeting.

    “My dear friends.” Dimitri raises a cup, holding the thin stem between slender fingers. It would look more elegant were its contents not simply orange juice. “To our victory today and many more to follow.”

    They raise their cups to toast except for Felix who knocks his drink back as if it were strong liquor he desperately needed to sit through this evening gathering. He doesn’t look as pale as before. A quick check up by Manuela after the battle affirmed that he was alright and simply fatigued from countless sleepless nights spent at the Training Grounds.

    The other participants don’t look too bad either. Bruises that vividly blossomed hours ago have faded, swollen purple eyes already start to heal—all certainly thanks to Manuela’s quick work. Sylvain surely won’t be as successful chasing girls with a shiner that makes the prettiest violet jealous of his colour and Dimitri tries to hide it but you don’t miss him tensing from time to time or moving his hand towards his side; probably a bruised rib he doesn’t want anyone to know. He catches your stare and offers a slight, boyish grin under half-closed eyes that only whispers of a shared secret only meant for you two. It does a funny thing to your stomach, a flip or drop, a light twist like missing a step and the fear of falling only to meet solid ground a split second later. You quickly look away and focus on spreading curd on a loaf of bread, not trying to think too much about how the muscles strained under his clothes wielding his lance or the fierce determination colouring his eyes a shade brighter when victory is in palpable proximity.

    You feel a piercing gaze, hot like a solid touch on your skin. Quickly whipping your head around, you catch Felix’s glare from across the room, completely ignoring whatever Sylvain is telling him. It leaves you completely tense for the rest of the dinner, wondering what his problem is and why he is so hostile towards Dimitri specifically. You’ve heard from some students who have walked into an argument those two had, something about a massacre two years ago but details, as is their nature, grow hazy over time and distort until they evolve into something completely different and unrecognisable.

    Felix holds your gaze for a long second, and it is only later after you all clean the classroom from your festivities and decide to retire to bed that you catch him by himself. The monastery at night is a desolate, lonely place save for a couple stray souls wandering about, either on their way to their chamber or out for a quick, last evening prayer inside the chapel. Felix’s destination is none of those as he strides towards the Training Grounds and you call out to him. He slows but doesn’t stop his step until you catch up. “You’re on your way to training, right? Shouldn’t you call it a day? Especially after what happened—”

    “I’ve got no time sitting around and making smalltalk,” Felix snaps, and a month ago you would have thought he aimed his anger towards you but recently you’ve discovered he’s towards the whole world—always glaring, always hissing like a cornered, wounded animal. “There are more important matters like growing stronger—”

    “And suffering from overexertion, I suppose.”

    Felix pulls a grimace. “It was a mistake I don’t intend to repeat. You saw Professor Byleth’s strength. It took two of you to win, and even then, it was mostly luck. I just want to try out some moves Professor Byleth exerted today so I can surpass her strength next time I challenger her.”

    “Why is it that you seek to fight so much?” you ask, deciding forwardness to be a better approach than idle chatter with a person like Felix. He doesn’t give immediate response, not because he ignores you, as is your first assumption, but because he gives it some thought.

    “Why, hm… I learnt to thrust a sword before I learnt to write my name. This is how it is for all children in my country, the perfect environment where I could live free of stodgy values and virtues. Grow strong so you may live, and live to grow stronger. That’s what I was taught.”

    It is no secret Faerghus is the land of knights and chivalry, and still it is hard to imagine a small version of Felix wielding a sword even before he learnt how to use a quill, scraped knees instead of black inked fingertips. What a strange world.

    “As long as you don’t forget to take a break should it get too much. Everyone was worried today.”

    “Everyone should mind their own business. I’m not their problem, and they aren’t mine.”

    You’re too tired to argue relationships don’t work like that, any minute longer on your feet and they’ll simply give out. Wishing Felix a goodnight, you turn towards the chapel but don’t get very far.

    “Herald.” Felix is halfway through the door. “Let me give you one advice.”

    “That is?”

    “Don’t get too close to that damn boar.”

    You’re about to ask what he’s talking about, but he continues, “Beneath all that princely polish, he’s an animal, nothing more. He’s strong and skilled, sure. But don’t place your trust in him as a human being. Take care he doesn’t chew you up and spit you out.”

    Not waiting for a response, Felix moves on, leaving you with more questions than answers. Every creature with two eyes can see hostility between Dimitri and Felix crackling like lightning about to strike the ground and burn down forests and villages. But to go this far and say these words about his future king … Words that couldn’t be more contrary to the impression he’s left on you.

    Whatever Felix wanted to accomplish, his words succeed to remain in your head the whole night, driving off any sleep you direly needed after that day. But even without that, your mind is occupied with questions. It is like stumbling into a spider web, sticky tangles everywhere with no way out.

    Who is that man you remembered? It was such a brief, yet striking memory, of what moment you cannot recall. His hostility was evident in his stance, sharp sword high up to drive down with enough force to cut your head from your shoulders. And yet here you are.

    And your words, You don’t have it in you. If you were familiar enough with that person to know this, who was he to you, and what had stopped him? Did he have a change of heart and instead used the blunt end, giving you a concussion and amnesia instead? Where is he now? And would he return to finish his work?

    Since that day, you look out for anyone fitting that built: tall and lean, visible even through robes with a design completely different from anything you’ve seen around the monastery. Asking Rhea or Seteth could be an option, but strangely enough, you don’t want to reveal it to anyone yet, not until you’ve found an answer yourself first.

    That is how your first moon at the monastery passes. Now there are more questions than before, more secrets to carry with no clear goal in sight. Lessons continue, you attend seminars and life unfolds in Garreg Mach, surprising you how easy it is growing accustomed and familiar with the place and its people—some more so than others.

    Byleth still invites you to her obligatory weekend-tea time sessions, rarely accepting no for an answer even though tea isn’t really what you consume to wind down. She’s acting like your talk after the mock battle has never happened and you do your best to mimic her even though you’d love nothing more than to see her power in battle. That opportunity shows at the end of the following month when Byleth and her class are tasked to deal with bandits the knights cornered in Zanado, the Red Canyon, but Rhea has different plans and instead sends you with the Golden Deer House to the village at the foot of the mountain to help clear debris a flooding left on one of the main roads leading to Alliance territory. It takes two days until the stench from the muddy riverbank is completely washed out of your hair.

    There is still no sight of the man from your memory, even though word about the Herald’s return has reached every corner of Fódlan by now. It makes you wonder if it’s less a matter of if and rather when he sets food inside the monastery. No additional memory has resurfaced, no sudden epiphany provides explanation and you doubt that will change even though Seteth drags you inside the chapel to pray for the goddess’ help whenever his time allows. Mostly, you use those occasions to ask her to make Raphael and Ingrid leave some Nirvana Cake for you.

    Then there is your other little secret of course. After another month of waking to an indistinguishable voice calling out to you every once in a while, you’ve grown used to it, finding a strange comfort in someone or something looking over you. Maybe it is the goddess. Maybe she is trying to reach out to tell you something important, to give divine insight and reach out to her followers. You just hope once she comes through to you, her words won’t proclaim hardships and sorrow.

[sometimesrosy]

Hi Rosy, I have a question if you feel comfortable answering. I followed you back during S3/4/5 and you were always super adamant that Bellarke shippers were too negative and that the story is leading up to them romantically being together (even if it ends in a tragedy). Obv, things didn't work out that way, but looking back do you think those shippers had a point/were actually right? Do you wish you put less faith in JR and in the story in general?

I actually do NOT think those shippers were right. I think it WAS leading up to romance and it was being played as a romance, confirmed by Bob and Eliza. 

There was a big swerve in season 7 to take it away from romance. And taken only in itself, season 7 was NOT romantic Bellarke. There was no story leading to Bellarke romance in season 7.  Period. It wasn’t there. They weren’t doing it. 

But there WAS Bellarke romance written into the story from season 1 to season 6. 

Something happened between season 6 and 7 that changed the story from Bellarke romance to nothing. Season 7 ERASED the Bellarke romance.

But in order to erase something, it had to have been there to be erased. 

In fact, it was so imbedded into the story that in order to erase the Bellarke romance, they had to erase Bellamy completely and erase Clarke’s strength of character, and erase Octavia’s guiding character traits, and erase Echo’s loyalty. Season 7 was like a different show. The core of the show was gone. The spine. It was told in an entirely different way. It became an ensemble show instead of one with a hero and a dual protagonist, who had been there since season one. They literally took him out of the show and relegated him to a minor character who had no emotional connections to the other characters. Weird. Very weird.

They erased “the head and the heart”. Which was the center of the narrative of The 100. They just erased it. And pretended that it wasn’t a part of the story to begin with. Along with that, they erased Monty’s insistence that they be the good guys and do the right thing. They erased CLARKE being the hero of the story. They erased Clarke saving humanity but Bellamy saving Clarke. It was a dumb move and just deciding that Clarke and Bellamy weren’t the center of the show meant that they denied the audience the catharsis that we had been waiting for for seven years. Even WITHOUT a romance, we still needed that catharsis, because Clarke and Bellamy were the spine of the show. They held it together.  But removing that romance meant removing Clarke and Bellamy nearly completely.  If it wasn’t there to begin with, they wouldn’t have had to do such a hatchet job on the main characters to get rid of it.

It is the unfortunate truth that a lot of the time, Hollywood stories sell out. They start out strong and then somewhere along the way, they swerve and sell out for money or politics or who the hell knows, a desire to be edgy. I don’t know why they do it, but it is a known phenomenon and you can go back over decades of good stories that go down the tube by the end of the series.

I DID trust JR to tell a good story, and I thought it was evident that he was staying true to his story as he began wrapping up storylines in season 5 that seemed to say he had a Bellarke, Clarke and Bellamy centered storyline to finish. And we got that, all the way up to the second to last scene in season 6. THAT was romantic, no doubt. 

But in season 7 it was gone. As if it had never happened. 

I consider that a failure in storytelling, because you can’t erase canon. You can CHANGE it, but you can’t erase it. And since they didn’t change it to undo the bellarke romance, just erased it, they messed up. They could have stayed true to their story and had Bellarke TALK about their feelings and address them, and then say “but we aren’t romantic and we should stay platonic friends.” There were many ways they could have done that addressing the romance written into the story. They did not. They just pretended it wasnt’ there, and in so doing, removed the main characters and their effect on the story. I ended up being wrong about my prediction, not because the story wasn’t going there after all, but because it was, and JR changed his mind and swerved. Or maybe he never intended for them to actually achieve a physical romance and he just wanted to tease us with it. Although if Bellamy was supposed to be there on that beach, then that would have given them end game even if they never consummated it in the series. Is that why he refused to allow Bellamy to be there? And contorted the story to make him absent? IDK. Seems particularly vengeful.

Do I regret trusting JR? no. Because it meant I could enjoy the story as it was, even up to mid season 7 when it became clear he wasn’t pulling the story together, but ignoring it and erasing the main characters so he could do that.

I honestly don’t analyze a story that isn’t there. Bellarke was there 1-6. It was not there in season 7. None of us can tell the future. We don’t know where people are going to take things, but good stories are supposed to be consistent and follow through with the world they’ve built. If they don’t, that’s a failure. So it was a good story, but it failed to stick the landing, ultimately falling apart at the end in a spectacular way. 

Why it fell apart? Why JR dropped Bellarke and erased Bellamy and turned Clarke into the only person not worth redemption I don’t know. Maybe some day we’ll find out why.

[jawritter]

Finally Yours

**Warnings!!** SMUTT!! LOL. ABO dynamics, Rutting Alpha, Near Farel Alpha, Heat-induced smut, rut induced smut. The implication of male masturbation (brief), Late bloomer reader, language, angst, I think that’s everything!!

A/N: This story was cross-posted from Wattpad! All mistakes are mine! Please don’t copy my stuff!! If you would like to be added to my tag list let me know!! Hope you all enjoy this little ABO Oneshot!

Pairing: Dean x Reader, Sam X Read (Platonic friendship)

Word Count: 3087

********Check out my masterlist!!!*******

MASTERLIST!!!

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Dean’s POV:

Dean pulled himself up from his lying position, sweat dripping from his body. Throwing the toy he’d been trying to use to find some relief across the room, aggravated at the damn thing for not work for him anymore. No matter what he did, he couldn’t find any relief. He’d been in a full rut now for more than a week and a half. He’d hired Omega’s to help him through ruts in the past, but no one really wanted to help an Alpha like him. One that was past his prime.

He was 41 years old and unmated, so he was surprised he’d lasted this long alone without going feral before. Now though, it seemed this rut would be the one to do him. 

Running his hand down his face harshly before pulling down the rest of the scotch in the bottle he’d been drinking he picked up the phone with shaking hands and dialed Sam’s number. He needed to be locked down before he went completely feral. While he still could make the choice not to hurt anyone around him.

He thought when he met Y/N that she might be his mate, but she turned out to be beta. He’d heard all the stories of true mates, and soulmates, but he supposed it just wasn’t in the cards for him. Maybe his fate got thrown off when he was brought back from hell all those years ago, his omega given to someone else while he was gone.

He was hoping against all hope that Y/N would have been an omega, he’d loved her for a long time now, even if he was too afraid to say it. They just weren’t biologically compatible, and there was no changing that. 

She was Bobby’s niece. He’d promised Bobby that he’d look after her after he was gone, and so far he’d kept to his word. 

Now, who would watch over her? He was going to die down here, he knew it, this was it for him, he was going to go completely feral, and his brother was going to have to put him down. There would be no going back for him.

He always thought that he’d go down in a hunt, some vengeful spirit, Djinn, hell a vamp or a demon. He never thought he’d go down like this. Here it was though, no way out. He’d been trying to find a release for days now and nothing. His vision flashes red before him in increments as he dialed Sam’s number. He knew he didn’t’ have long. Growls falling from his chest involuntarily.

“Dean, Is it over, are you ready to go on a hunt?” Sam answered the phone hopefully, Dean suppressed the whine that wanted to escape him.

“Sammy, I need you to come to lock me down…” 

Silence fell on the other end of the phone. Sams’ heart was racing. This couldn’t be. No there had to be another way. His brother couldn’t go feral and leave him.

“Dean, just hang in there, I’ll find you an Omega to help you.”

“It’s too late Sam, I don’t have much time before I lose me completely, If you bring an Omega in here I may hurt her.”

Silence fell on the other end of the phone again. 

“I’m on my way to you Dean, just hang in there, we will figure this out.” 

With that Sam hung up the phone, and Dean dropped it to his side, looking at the toy that lay on the floor across the room from him. His crotch throbbing painfully from his prostate to his knees, causing him to whimper loudly as he fisted himself harshly, getting up to and retrieve the useless toy to try again. He couldn’t give up, even though he was exhausted. Sam depended on him, he always had. He had to fight this.

Your POV:

You watched the desperation run across Sam’s face as he hung up the phone with Dean. Pressing the accelerator harder into the floorboard of Dean’s beloved Impala, flying toward the bunker toward his brother.

You had been with the Winchester brothers ever since your uncle Bobby passed away. He had been taking care of you after your parents were murdered by a demon all those years ago. You were only 8 at the time.

You, like Sam, were a beta. Dean was an Alpha, much like his father before him. Dean had become your most trusted friend and protector over the years that you’d spent with the brothers. You had just turned 25 years old and had been with the brothers since you were 17.

Even though you loved Sam like a brother, over the years you had developed quite a large bit of feelings for the elder Winchester. When you were 15 though, and all the other had already presented by that age, you were still a beta, which meant even after you turned 18 there would be no future for you and Dean. It just didn’t work out that way in this universe. He needed an Omega, there was very little you could do for him.

Still, the heart wants what the heart wants, and you just couldn’t shake the feels you always had for Dean, even after all these years. Even though yourself and Sam where beta Dean still made you leave the bunker, hotel, or whatever and wherever you were at when his ruts would start. He always said he didn’t want you to see him like that, but really you knew he just didn’t want you to watch the parade of Omega’s that he would hire or find at a local watering hole to help him through his ruts.

You and Sam had taken this opportunity to go and see Jody and the girls for this rut. When you didn’t hear from him you both assumed that everything was fine, and going like it usually did. You were about fifteen miles from the bunker when Sam’s phone rang, and you knew something must have been horribly wrong judging by Sam’s reaction. It made your heart seize up in your chest. You just couldn’t stand the thought of anything happening to Dean.

“Sam, what’s wrong?” you asked, watching him closely.

Sam swallowed heavily, looking at you briefly, then back at the road. It was no secret to Sam the way you felt about his older brother, even though he knew you tried to hide it and never would admit it to him.

You knew he knew as well, but you just couldn’t say it out loud. Saying how you feel out loud made it real, and then his rejection was real. You didn’t know if you could handle that.

“It’s Dean, he’s still in rut, he can’t come out of it. He wants me to tie him up, so I’m going to tie him up, and then try and find an Omega to help him. Y/N, he says he doesn’t have much time, he thinks he’s going feral…” Sam cut off his sentence unable to say anymore.

Your stomach twisted in you tightly before letting go. You felt like you wanted to curl up and vomit all at the same time. You couldn’t lose Dean. If he went feral, and you couldn’t help him, and Sam couldn’t find someone who could, you couldn’t think about the consequences.

In what felt like no time Sam landed at the bunker. Your stomach had been doing flips and cramping ever since Sam told you the situation. You didn’t know if it was nerves or the greasy dinner food you had eaten on your way here, but you didn’t have time to deal with being sick right now. So you pushed it down and ran after Sam down the stairs, and toward the hallway to Dean’s room.

Just as you rounded the corner with Sam outside of Dean’s door a smell hit you, something heady, and strong. Stronger than you’d ever smelt before. It was the smell of leather, and pine and gun powered; mixed with something that was unique and appealing. As soon as you smelt it your stomach knotted up on you like someone had twisted a white-hot poker in your gut, then twisted it. Sweat broke out over your skin in an instant.

Sam stopped in his tracks, skidding to a halt, and looking at you doubled over in pain. You couldn’t stop the scream that fell from your lips. Sam dropped to his knees next to you.

“Y/N, what’s wrong!” 

Sam was starting to panic.

Tears were running down your face now. You were scared, you had never experienced anything like this. The overpowering scent was making it hard to concentrate. It filled your senses, making it all you could focus on. Filling every fiber of your being. “I don’t know Sam..”

Through the door of Dean’s room, a low growl eliminated. The sound made your whole body tremble. Sam watched you, realization showing in his eyes.

“Y/N, I know what’s wrong.. You are presenting. Your and Omega, my brother’s Omega. His rut has triggered your first heat.”

“That’s impossible Sam, I’m 25 years old!!”

“Late bloomer,” Sam shrugged. 

Suddenly the door to Dean's room opened behind Sam. You heard the growling sound before you saw him. His eyes were almost black, sweat dripping from his body, it trembled as he leaned against the doorway, his muscles jerking under his skin at random. His eye were hooded as he stared at you, grows mixed with whimpers leaving his solid bear chest.

“Omega,” he whispered, and your body responded to his command immediately, slick coating your underwear in a gush. His scent hit you harder than you’d ever smelt anything in your life. Your body trembled on the floor before him, and your head bowing automatically without your control.

“Alpha..” 

At his title, he purred low in his chest, more slick coating your underwear now, responding to Dean’s obvious approval. Your thought process was falling out of the window. The only thing you could focus on was the overwhelming need to have him.

Opening the door wider for you to come into his room, Dean stood and waited for you, as you stood to your feet and staggered your way toward the tall alpha. 

Your alpha. 

There was no doubt in your mind, Dean Winchester was your alpha, and you need each other now more than ever before.

Sam jumped up and grabbed your arm, causing Dean to snarl and step toward his brother. Sam threw his hands in the air in surrender. 

“Wait, wait, Dean, you said on the phone that you were afraid you were going to hurt an Omega if I brought one here for you.”

“Not going to hurt my Omega Sam, now get out of the way and let her come to me.”

Reluctantly, Sam moved to the side and allowed you to move closer to him. As soon as you were in grabbing distance, Dean’s hot hands were on your body, pulling you close this chest before slamming the door.

“Y/N, are you sure you want this with me? Because I’m too far gone, I’m not going to be able to stop.”

His scent was surrounding you. You were panting as his hands roamed your body, Dean backing you towards his bed. His smell was all over the room, clouding your judgment, and making your head spin. All you could see what him, all you ever wanted was him, all you’d ever want again was him, nothing else would ever matter again.

“I need you, Dean. Please Alpha..”

The words weren’t even good and out of your mouth before his mouth was on yours in a bruising kiss. Tongue diving into your lips.

His tongue quickly dominated yours. His body pressed against yours. His rough calloused hands roaming your body. Picking you up harshly he carried you across the room, quickly laying you down on the bed. For the first time, you noticed that he was completely naked. His thick chest and shoulders heaving with heavy breaths. His muscular arms caged around you as he buried his face in your neck, breathing in deeply and whimpering. Trying to hold onto his own control that was slipping from him quickly.

Grabbing your shirt he ripped it from your body roughly. Buttons flying across the room, clinging as it hit random objects in his room. In one swift movement he had your pants undone, and your bra and panties down in one pull. All along with your boots and socks that went in what felt like a flash.

Sweat was prickling all over your skin. With every growl or whimper that left his lips your body produced more slick, that was now running down your legs.

Once he was satisfied that you were completely naked he looked at you, a deep growl escaping his lips. His own body trembling as he took you in. His thick length standing at attention, bobbing against the strain to reach its goal. A small bead of pre-come gathered at the tip. He was massive. You had heard about the size of alpha’s being impressive before, you had never been with an alpha though, and the sheer size of him was downright terrifying.

A shudder and a whimper ripped through you as another wave of cramps assaulted your body. Getting worse every time there was a fresh wave.

Dean laid his body back over you, Pressing his weight down on top of you. Your body soothed some by his touch and his closeness.

“Going to take care of you ‘mega.” 

Letting him Nussle into your neck, he slipped two fingers into your aching core, curling them inside of you, sending shock waves of pleasure through your whole body.

“So beautiful Omega, so responsive.” Dean purred above you, licking the same spot on the junction of your neck and shoulder. You could feel the familiar coil begin to burn and tighten in your abdomen, just as you thought you couldn’t get any close to the edge your overheated body trembling and twitching, Dean added a third, thick finger into you and fell to pieces.

White spot speckled your vision and you moaned deeply something you had never done before. Dean worked you a little more gently until your body came down from it’s high.

When you opened your eyes again Dean was hovering over you, watching you. Light growls emanating from his chest.

“Alpha, I need you.” 

The words barely above a whisper, but it was the permission he seemed to be waiting for. His eyes darkened even further if that were even possible. Fisting is thick harshly several times before lining himself up with your dripping entrance, he brought his lips to you in a bruising kiss as he sank himself deep inside of you until the tip of his throbbing length hit your cervix.

A deep breath pushed from your lungs involuntarily as your body adjusted to him. His thick arms caged around you. His scent everywhere, making you feel drunk. Your walls already fluttering around him. His body twitching above you, shivering with restraint as he tried to keep himself from pounding into you until your body had adjusted to his.

Reaching up he brushed your hair out of your face and brushed his lips across yours. Kissing you softly before the last of his humanity faded away, and he began to start moving slowly.

He moved slowly at first, purring above you. Then something seemed to snap in him, and a growl rumbled deep in him. He started pounding into you at a brutal pace. Your body responds to him immediately, taking every brutal thrust with ease. Which surprised even you.

Moans and purrs escaping both of your lips, as both of you quickly made your way toward the edge again. Without warning, he pulled himself out of you and flipped you over to stomach, pulling you up to your knees before ramming himself back into you. Picking up his pace even further.

His knot starting to swell and catching your entrance with every push and pull of his body against yours. You tried your best to meet his pace as he pounded into you. His knot swelled even further as his fingers wound their way around, finding your little bundle of nerves and circling harshly with his fingers. Plummeting you over the edge as his knot locked deep inside of you.

A deep growl fell from his throat as his teeth sank deep inside the skin of the junction of your neck and shoulder. The pain quickly erased into pleasure as the strongest orgasm you had ever experience washed over you. Momentarily your vision went black and your body jerked without your control.

Dean slowly withdrew his teeth from your neck, laying you down slowly. His knot still connecting your bodies, and his cum spilled deeply inside of you. He pulled you tight to his chest, purring and licking your fresh claiming mark. Healing it, and soothing it like only your Alpha could.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Dean finally asked after a long while with the two of you just laying there holding onto each other. Adjusting to your new reality, and the warm fuzzy feeling that seemed to be flowing from your Alpha to you.

“I’m okay, but what about you?” you say, remembering why you and Sam had rushed here in the first place. Turning your head so that you could look at him some.

His face looked calmer than you’d seen him in a long time. Tired even. His rut was finally gone. Peacefully purring as he leaned down to nuzzle your claiming mark. Licking it lightly before answering you.

“I’m fine sweetheart, I’m going to be just fine.”

For the first time in a long time, Dean believed what he was saying. It wasn’t forced, it wasn’t a lie, he really felt like now that he’d found his Omega, the woman he’d been in love with even when biology said there was no way was finally his. Everything else would work itself out. Right now his Omega, his love, laying here in his arms was all that mattered to him.

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