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louisfriend-ironsulfide · 2 years ago

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How about something a bit angsty? Maybe hannibal getting some ptsd flashbacks and clarice comforting him or even the other way around?

Or if you're in the mood for something fluffier, them getting a dog for the first time? I feel like clarice would be a huge dog person lol

Cute as hell, thank u! Originally I went with the angst but then halfway through I realised I was basically rewriting this fic that already exists. Go read it if you haven’t, it’s one of my favs and deals with his ptsd well.

I’m incapable of writing short one-shots btw, so apologies.

(Word count: 2508)

She sits before the fire and she stares- or some version of her stares, rather.

And though it is not Clarice Starling, as he is familiar with her, who stares at the fire on these low days, that isn’t to say he doesn’t know exactly what she thinks and feels.

Hannibal Lecter himself admittedly used to seek physical warmth when visions of his past became overbearing. He supposed their histories were similar in that way- both tinged with frost. Him, then, wailing in the cold snow as Mischa was dragged from him and Clarice, then, tiptoeing across icy grass as she fled desperately from the cries of the pleading lambs.

But, although he understood on a fundamental level why she chose to sit before the fire in still silence when she struggled with what he could only consider ptsd, he still found himself unable to help her and that hurt beyond all else.

He’d done his part in easing her struggle months ago- back whilst they’d still been staying on the Chesapeake; her trauma had been an unresolved, gaping wound back then and he’d stitched her right up, yet old wounds itched sometimes and no amount of tender attention could ease that itch when it came. One simply had to wait it out; like a causeless fever.

Hannibal Lecter hated waiting it out. Sometimes Clarice’s emotional slumps could last days- or even weeks. And during those times she could be as cold and withdrawn as the dark memories that ensnared her; she wouldn’t shy from his touch per se but she wouldn't welcome it either, and she’d turn from him in the night, leaving him feeling remarkably alone on his side of their vast bed.

He observed her closely, that evening. More closely than usual.

He was reclined on the far end of the couch in the drawing room, nursing a cold snifter of whiskey, as she sat on the rug at his feet and watched the flames dance lower and lower in tandem with the setting sun. Her eyes seemed to be glazed over. It was as if her very soul had retreated within her, leaving her body to act as a crude puppet in the meantime. And, though he had access to most of her own personal memory palace, he could not reach her when she wandered into the recesses of her mind during these times.

He had a theory, however.

It’d been forming for the last few days and the more he ruminated over it, the more plausible a cure it seemed. He was unable to help her during these periods of depression because she’d become desensitized to him. They lived a fairly solitary life, the two of them, and that was fine for the most part but it was variety that Hannibal Lecter realized Starling needed occasionally, and he was cursing himself for not realizing it sooner.

Before he’d found his way into her life, she’d kept her dark thoughts at bay by occupying herself with playing the role of the righteous hero. She helped people. She saved her lambs; lambs like Catherine Martin and Evalda Drumgo’s infant. As much as she occasionally enjoyed helping him, he was not a lamb and he did not suffice in calming those scarred parts of her psyche. And, although her wound had long healed and the urge to help people wasn’t as insistent within her, it was during times such as these that he realized she needed this release more than ever.

So he decided he’d do just that. He’d give her something to care for. Something smaller than herself; something that she didn’t feel was constantly analyzing her, as he often found himself subconsciously doing.

He stood up from the couch, suddenly, and his frown deepened when she didn’t so much as turn her head.

“Clarice.”

She blinked, but no more.

“I’m going out, mi amor. There’s something I need to collect. I’ll be back shortly.”

Short simple sentences. He feared anything longer wouldn’t reach her. She merely nodded once and he left her.

Hannibal Lecter chose their practical truck instead of the sleek mustang as he pulled out of the driveway, favoring its convenience in transporting cargo and also registering that the cargo he was planning on picking up would likely ruin their beautiful sportscar.

He wasn’t an animal man, particularly, but that wasn’t to say he disliked them. In fact, with the exception of Clarice, he would always favor the company of an animal over that of a human being.

He’d put off the idea of pets for some time, for the notion of cleaning up animal waste didn’t quite appeal to him and it seemed jarring in contrast to the fairly lavish lifestyle they were living, but Clarice needed somebody other than him to keep her company when her mental health took a dive.

And what better company than a dog?

It would be something new to occupy her. Some smaller being to care for to ease the frown lines between her brows when he was unable to. A dog wouldn’t be able to speak back or overcomplicate things in any way. It would be something for her to simply hold when she wished for comfort without the sticky complications of human emotion and communication.

Because, to his dismay, he couldn’t pretend to be able to fix any and all hardships she stumbled across. Something he’d learned quite recently and something he was realizing even more so as he shared his life with her was that people were, at times, utterly unreachable and unpredictable and trying to help Clarice when she was in these dark moods could occasionally be akin to digging around in a splinter and pushing it deeper. Even he, with his pure precision and infinite knowledge, could occasionally needle perhaps just a touch too much. So he’d get her something that could reach her. Something that wouldn’t burden her with complicated concepts such as language and complex emotions.

And she liked dogs a lot, apparently. She’d mentioned her brief time with Pilcher to him, before, and had spoken more about dogs than she had about the poor bug doctor himself. She’d never been able to have one herself because work took her away from home too much. Times had changed, of course.

Hannibal Lecter preferred cats, admittedly, but he’d make the sacrifice. Cats seemed far less work and he fondly recalled the barn cat he'd had as a child who had chased the mice out of the stable often. Cats appeared to enjoy wandering off and looking after themselves which he appreciated, but he’d endure the overzealous loyalty of a dog for her and her only.

He’d spotted one at the kennel some few weeks ago when the idea of buying Clarice a canine companion had first crossed his mind. If it was up to him, of course, he’d purchase from a reputable breeder but the entire purpose of taking this animal home was to nourish Clarice’s need to save something and she’d much prefer a kennel dog with some baggage attached to it, he was sure.

He parked outside and entered, exchanging a brief word with the woman at the front desk who instantly recognised him, for so few upper-class men entered the little kennel that resided on the outskirts of Buenos Aires.

He followed the kindly woman through to the back and was pleased to see the dog he’d had his eye on was yet unclaimed. It was a shiny golden lab, at least one years of age, and full of spirited energy despite its unfairly docked tail and the fact that it was notably underweight. Apparently the creature had been found wandering the streets, abandoned. It’d been checked for diseases; that he’d made sure of. All that was left was for him to take it home and feed the poor mutt enough to keep it happy and healthy. He was sure Clarice would be thrilled.

He paid the small fee, including a generous tip, and was then on his way.

There was a cage and a small assortment of necessary items such as food and bedding already stored in the back of the truck but the excitable creature simply would not stop yapping at his legs and so Hannibal eventually gave in and allowed it to settle on the passenger seat beside him.

He sat there for a moment, staring ruefully at the dog, breathing so heavily that its shiny chest heaved as its tongue lolled from between its chops and dripped saliva on his nice leather.

“Sit,” he said simply, testing it. The dog continued to bounce from paw to paw and beat at the door with its heavy tail. He frowned and tried again.

“Siéntate,” he tried.

The dog instantly planted its wagging behind down immediately and panted expectantly. Hannibal Lecter pursed his lips in satisfaction and then remembered the bag of treats he’d picked up, opening it and throwing one to the mutt. It caught it excitedly and then lay down on the seat to gnaw at the morsel of beef.

And with that, he started the truck and made his way home, wondering at which point he’d become the sort of person to buy a dog for his lover purely because she was feeling a little under the weather.

…

Clarice heard the familiar chug of their truck pulling up and winced, having felt remarkably guilty when Hannibal had up and left so suddenly just an hour ago. His tone had seemed clipped. She figured he was upset with her. It wasn’t the first time she’d found herself struggling with her own frustratingly damaged mind and he was often good at knowing what to do - namely, letting her be alone to work it out of her system - but she’d been out of sorts for longer this time and she couldn’t blame him for getting fed up with her.

She hadn’t moved from her nest on the carpet. She was a little tipsy, too. He’d left his glass of whisky unfinished and she’d saved him the trouble. She realized how pathetic she must’ve looked then and, with a small shudder like the final breath of a dying bird, she sat up and attempted to straighten herself out.

She stood, preparing to meet him when he came in the room so she could apologize for her poor disposition, but frowned when she heard something strange.

She’d heard the door close just down the hallway but it wasn’t one set of footsteps she could hear as she listened to him set down his bags and tuck the keys away. There was something else, too- a padding sound followed by strange clicks like something tapping on the wood of their flooring.

“Hannibal?” She called out; the first fully-formed word she’d spoken in days. Her throat was a little sore from disuse.

He didn’t reply but she did hear him approach, followed by that strange clicking.

Fear of the unknown gripped Clarice for a moment, then, and she braced herself as she watched the door to the drawing room open, unsure as to what he had with him and whether or not his patience with her had finally reached its end after so many happy months together.

And then her sudden trepidation left her as swiftly as it had come, as she was immediately accosted by a blur of calf-high golden fluff. She fell back onto the couch, still a little unstable in her poor state, and the ball of energy wasted no time in jumping up and lathering her face with its tongue, its short tail beating a frantic pattern against her legs as it climbed atop her in a frenzy of excitement.

“Oh my God.” Another few well-placed licks to the face. She managed to get her hands under herself and sat up with some effort, pushing the bounding animal off of her enough so that she could catch her breath and run her hands properly through the tangle of golden floss.

And then she looked up at Hannibal, who had entered the room and seemed immensely pleased with himself, watching the pair of them bond.

The little beast positively collapsed when she began to scratch under its ears and she hit a spot of satisfaction. It rolled onto its back, pale belly up and tongue lolling out like something from a cartoon. Starling felt tears spring in her eyes, unable to handle the wave of emotion that had befallen her.

“I thought you hated dogs,” was all she said- no thanks needed- for Hannibal could see all too clearly the glee that had seized her. Quite frankly, he was just glad she was talking to him at all. He’d missed the twang in her voice.

He smiled and came to rest carefully beside her, reaching out and joining her in petting the excitable puppy, although a little less enthusiastically. “I‘ve said no such thing,” he hummed. “Merely that I’m not overly keen on them. Hate is a strong word.”

Starling bit her lip, fending off tears as she looked back down and continued to scratch away. Now on its back, Clarice could see the puppy was male. “Does he have a name?”

“Not yet. I thought I’d leave that liberty up to you. He’s yours, after all.”

“You mean ours.”

A shake of the head. “No. Yours. I thought you could use a friend, Clarice. Somebody other than myself, that is.” A small smile, then. “I realize there are times that you need your own company, but I can’t have you aimlessly staring at the fire, hardly eating, for days on end.”

“Hannibal…”

“Of course, him being yours does mean you’ll have to clean up after him…”

She smiled ruefully, then- some of her usual light finding its way back into her face. “I expected no less.”

“He’s a kennel mutt. A little underweight, I’m sure you’ve noticed.” A slight tilt of the head. “He needs some love, Clarice. And what better person, hmm?”

His intention for the unexpected gift became clear, suddenly, and Starling felt her chest throb with a strong emotion for which she had no name. The panting dog was forgotten for a moment as she quickly closed the space on the couch and hugged him for the first time in days, which he received gladly- even as he felt a muffled sob wrack her body.

He held her tight, until their moment of peace was interrupted by the pup worming his cold, wet nose in between them; clearly the puppy felt left out. Hannibal Lecter resigned himself to the fact that their solitary life would now be shared by a third companion, although the bright grin on Clarice’s face as the beast clambered onto his lap to lick at her nose eased his crotchetiness.

“He’s gorgeous.” She fussed at him, still smiling. “So he has no name?”

“No, though I suggest you pick one soon so I have some sort of title by which to scold him.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Clarice shot him a look as she babied the pup, and then hummed thoughtfully. “What was that old horse you told me about? The one you had as a kid.”

Hannibal raised a brow, surprised at the niche memory. “Caesar?”

“Yeah, that was it.” She grinned down at the noble, wagging little ball of energy and seemed to preen as she addressed him. “Caesar.”

#clannibal #silence of the lambs #thomas harris #cheesy corny self indulgent bullshit #thanks for the req and the excuse to brainrot-post #I am a dog person to the grave

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jackrrabbit · 4 years ago

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Adversary /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: You make a deal with the devil to save your life, but it turns out Overhaul’s not interested in your soul.

A/N: Remember when I said I was going to do a fantasy collab and then dipped for like 9 months? Hahaha…anyway…

@pleasantanathema @ present-mel @shadowworks—if it’s not too late, here’s my part for the Pleasant & Strider Fantasy AU Writing Collab from a million years ago. Go check out the masterlist and gorge yourself on these amazing pieces!!

Tags/Warnings: dubcon, demon fuckery & occult things, big heresy/sacrilege/perversion of religion, sex in a church ft. Catholic sex guilt, other than that it’s not that bad lol, inexperienced reader, mild degradation, shameless camp and demon-fucking clichés, Overhaul calls you “little girl” 👉👈

He doesn’t look like a demon.

Not that you really know what demons are supposed to look like. But…red skin, right? Fangs and claws and swirling masses of bad energy. Maybe cloven hooves for feet. Yes, that’s the Disney version—but even if you didn’t expect a cartoon personification of evil, you didn’t expect this.

He looks like a doctor, you think. Lab coat hanging open, surgery mask pushed down under his jaw, stethoscope draped over his shoulders. No, he’s a little young to really look like a doctor…an intern, you amend, shifting back in your hospital bed. He looks like he fits right in here, not a hair out of place. Except for, you know, the polished black horns curling out of the sides of his skull.

Overhaul. It was written in the book. That’s the only thing you have to call him in your head.

He’s standing in the center of the sigil you drew at the foot of your bed before midnight, surveying the room critically without meeting your gaze. He looks annoyed—that’s not a good sign, is it?—but then again, of course he’s annoyed. You’d be annoyed too if you got summoned out of your cozy hell dimension in the middle of the night. According to the book, you’re lucky he even showed up…although ‘lucky’ isn’t really how you’d describe yourself most days.

“So,” Overhaul says after a long moment of silence in which you question every choice you’ve made in your relatively short life. “You’re dying.”

You nod.

“And you don’t want to be.”

You nod again, wondering if you’re supposed to be contributing more to this conversation. It’s a bit difficult when your mouth is so dry it feels like you’ve been eating dirt, but you suppose being in the presence of an unholy servant of Satan will do that to a person.

“Fine.” He sighs, frowns, and then finally lowers his gaze onto yours—and you shiver.

Those eyes. No human has eyes like that.

“Make me an offer,” Overhaul tells you, and through his open mouth you catch a flash of sharp white teeth.

Okay. Okay. The chirping of the heart monitor speeds up (as if it weren’t obvious enough that you’re terrified) and you fold your knees up to your chest and fidget with your ring and think. He’s giving you a chance to establish parameters. You’re supposed to start with his end of the deal, the thing you want from him. That’s what it said to do in the grimoire, aka the 19th century demonology volume your creepy cousin brought back from her pagan anthropology research trip in rural France. The one you keep hidden under your bed because your mother would burn it if she knew you were reading about summoning demons.

Offer nothing to a hell creature without first telling him your price. You know the words by heart, both the winding calligraphy of the original French from the grimoire and the rushed scrawl of the English translation your cousin left for you in sheets of lined paper layered between the pages of the book for you to read. Really, this is her fault. She was the one who slipped you the book, who told you that it worked, who snuck you the ingredients for the summoning. She was the one who left a bookmark at the chapter on this particular demon, one that specializes in ‘Contrat pour Remédier au Déséquilibre des Quatre Humeurs’, which she said meant a contract to cure any illness. Even his ‘name’ is translated in her hand, practically an afterthought in the margins of the page.

‘Le Malin qui Ravage et Rebâtit’— Overhaul?

You looked up the literal meaning of this phrase on your own. It did not reassure you.

“Girl.” His voice is cold, irate. Your eyes snap back up to his and it feels like that burning gaze is laser-beaming into your skull. “Do not test me. My time is limited…as is yours.”

You swallow. “How long do I have left?”

“Less than a single human year,” he tells you without a trace of sympathy. “Seven months, twelve days, three hours. Or so. You’ll be too exhausted to leave this bed in four months, and the pain will become intolerable in six… By the end, you’ll wish—“

“Stop,” you breathe out. The heart monitor is beeping wildly and you squeeze your knees into your chest, trying to calm down your breathing. “Stop, I—I want to live.”

“Of course you do.” Overhaul’s lip curls. “How very predictable.”

Be specific, you remind yourself, doing your best to ignore the stifling disapproval from the man—the demon—in front of you. Something about him (maybe how clean-cut he looks, maybe the indisputable authority in his demeanor) makes you want to impress him. But you didn’t turn your back on your religion—you didn’t draw pagan symbols on the floor in chalk, fill silver cups with various questionable substances (including your own virgin blood), and turn the crucifix your mother hung over your bed upside-down so you could let a demon make you feel guilty for wanting to survive. “I want to be cured. I’m okay with whatever natural death I have instead when I’m older, I just don’t want to die of this illness. I want you to make me healthy.”

“Simple enough. What else?”

‘Simple’? Your heart surges with something you’ve felt very little of since your initial diagnosis—hope. “T-That’s it. Just the cure.”

Overhaul glares at you. “Humans… Every vice in the world available to you, and you limit yourselves to the basest priority of survival.”

“But you can do it? You can cure me?” you persist.

Overhaul steps forward (quiet, so quiet you wonder if he really moved) and holds a hand out to you past the foot of your bed—you hesitate, and a second later you can see the muscles in his hand flex, stretching the latex of his plastic gloves tight over his knuckles.

Just do it. You give him your hand. Carefully. Like you’re scared the contact will burn you. It doesn’t (although his skin feels warmer than yours), but after a moment his grip tightens, sliding down past your hand to circle the fragile bones of your wrist and squeeze.

“Ow?” You wince.

The demon’s eyes flicker closed for a second, lips moving silently like he’s talking to himself—and then he drops your hand unceremoniously back onto your lap. “You could be cured before the sun rises this morning. I doubt your stay in the hospital will extend past the end of the week.”

He sounds bored, voice as flat and passionless as it was earlier, but your heart is soaring. Cured. You’ve lived with this illness for so many years, you can’t remember the last time someone told you you could be cured. And getting out of the hospital that soon? You can just imagine taking down all the decorations from the walls of your room here and setting them up in your old bedroom at home. You could see friends on the weekend and not take an oxygen bag, you could get a job or—or apply to college, you could have a life—

“That is…assuming you have something to offer me in exchange for the cure.”

Your stomach drops. You’d almost forgotten about the other half of the deal.

“Don’t tell me I came all this way for nothing.” Overhaul steps back, and the orange light of the candles you set sends strange shadows over his arrogant face. The fires look brighter now, and you find yourself tracing the lines of those shining black horns. In an odd way, they look natural—so organically framing his temples that you can’t imagine him without them.

“N-No, of course not. I have some money—I mean, my mom has some, and I can get it for you…” Which is half the truth. If you know anything, it’s that your mother’s spent most of her savings on your treatment and care. You probably have more debt than you have money in the bank right now—you’d try to get rid of that, too, if you hadn’t read in the book how important it is to keep your request as simple and straightforward as possible.

…Although it’s apparently not enough. Overhaul’s eyes narrow, molten gold irises carved into slits. “Even if I had a use for human money, do you really believe your life is worth so little?”

“No—no,” you say quickly. “I just thought—in case you were interested—”

The air crackles with energy, the candle flames spark bright blood-red, and the hair on your arms stands straight up. “I am not.”

“Okay! I get it.” You wave your hands back and forth, pulling your IV line from side to side with the motion. The book was very clear about staying calm and rational while you work out the terms of the deal, but that’s easier said than done when you have a real live (live?) hell creature in front of you. You always knew this was going to be the hard part—all the stories say there’s only one thing that a demon would be interested in, and no matter how inviting the prospect of living past this illness is, you know you’d rather die than sell your immortal soul to the devil. “I’ll give you anything except my soul! And—and don’t hurt anyone I care about, or— just don’t hurt anyone, okay? Other than that, if there’s anything I can give you, I will.”

Overhaul’s lip curls, baring a thin strip of those unnaturally sharp canines. “And is your soul really so valuable?”

This throws you for a loop. Isn’t that the standard deal? A soul for a wish? That’s how it’s supposed to work—at least in this twisted version of reality where you can summon a demon to perform unholy miracles for you. But if you think about it, it doesn’t really make sense, does it? Why would your soul be valuable to him? You can’t form an argument, especially since you’re not willing to barter it away in the first place.

Your mouth is pursed open as you search for a response, but Overhaul doesn’t seem willing to wait. A gloved hand wraps its way around the railing at the side of your bed, and he leans in closer. “Little girl…what makes you think you possess anything I desire?”

Little girl. You’re not a little girl, you’re a grown woman—and yet there’s no untruth in the statement. In front of him you feel insignificant, immature, weak. You have nothing real to offer, and something tells you that you’re not going to get rid of the demon you summoned without a sacrifice you’re not willing to make.

You twist your ring around your finger—the nervous habit you haven’t bothered to break because you’ve always had more important things to worry about—and the glint of silver in the candlelight must catch Overhaul’s eye because before you even notice him moving, your delicate hand is trapped in his larger one to give him a better view of the tiny piece of jewelry. “What is this?”

“It’s—um, a ring. A purity ring.” Has he never seen one before? Well…actually, that makes sense.

Overhaul turns your hand over in his without touching the band of silver. He’s looking at it closely, inspecting the lovingly engraved cross in the design and the inscription on the other side. “Matthew 5:8,” he reads out.

“…Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God,” you recite cautiously. It feels wrong to speak the words in front of him, but somehow you can’t help yourself.

Overhaul’s hand doesn’t leave yours. “This ring is important to you.”

“It’s a symbol of a—a promise I made to God. To save myself for my future husband.”

“To ‘save yourself’? To save what?”

You can’t believe you’re explaining this to a literal demon. You close your eyes and inhale slowly and taste smoke. “My…virginity. It’s a promise that I won’t have sex until I enter into a biblical marriage.”

At this, Overhaul is quiet. You give him a moment to answer, half expecting him to question why you think God cares about your sexual status (honestly, you’d be lying if you said you haven’t wondered this yourself), but he stays quiet until you peek up at him to try and gauge the look on his coldly handsome face.

He’s still staring at the ring. He hasn’t touched it—maybe he can’t, because of the cross?—and through the latex, his skin feels hotter than a human’s is supposed to be.

“Is there…” you start, but you trail off when you realize you have nothing to ask. You give a little tug to try and take your hand away and you’re surprised when your wrist actually slides out of his grip to fall back on the nest of sheets in your lap. You didn’t think he’d let you go so easily.

Overhaul turns his head to the side, eyes drilling into you so you feel like you should lower your gaze. The candlelight flickers in strange shadows over his horns. “This will do,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“In exchange for your cure.” The demon taps his own left ring finger, the place where the purity ring sits on your hand, and your heart soars. He actually wants that? It’s just a simple silver band, not worth much, but you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe it has some special significance because of the religious connotation. Your mother will be angry you’ve lost it, but you’re happy to cope with that if it means living to actually get married!

“Yes!” you blurt out before he has a chance to rethink his offer. Sure, you’ll miss the purity ring—you’ve had it since you were a kid, after all—but there’s no question you’re getting the better end of this deal. At least in your opinion.

Something flashes through his yellow eyes, something you don’t even want to try and identify. “The contract, then.”

You barely have time to notice that his voice has gentled, that it’s practically silken in comparison to before, when the candlelight flickers again and suddenly the contract is everywhere. Everywhere. Writing appears on every surface in the room, covering the walls, stretching over the ceiling, coiling around the sides of the hospital equipment and decorating your bedsheets until you and Overhaul are the only untouched surfaces in sight. The characters are inscribed in red, dark red like—don’t think about that, you tell yourself squeamishly. You can make out some of the letters, even a word here or there—French, you recognize, mixed with what looks like Latin and interspersed with what you can only guess are runes.

“I can’t read this,” you tell him, fidgeting with your ring for what you now realize will be the last time.

“I only need your name,” he purrs, and then you feel a fragile weight in your hand: a feather, pearl-black and glossy and too large to belong to any bird you can think of, its angled tip glistening with wet ink. There’s an empty space in the writing before you, and Overhaul’s gloved hand comes to yours again to guide you into place.

This feels wrong…then again, of course it does. Even if you’re getting off relatively easy and just losing your ring rather than your soul, you’re still making a deal with a demon. You sign your name, forcing yourself to think about the future you have ahead of you rather than a disapproving white-bearded caricature of The Man Upstairs wagging his finger at you for haggling with a literal servant of Satan. People have done worse things to survive, haven’t they? It’s just a ring.

You set the feather down and Overhaul sighs, thick black eyelashes obscuring his intense gaze for a moment—and then the contract is gone, leaving your hospital room as blank and sterile as it’s supposed to be (well, aside from the candles and all the other ritual stuff you threw together to summon a demon in the first place).

“Are you going to cure—heal me now?” you ask.

“…Patience, little girl.” He’s pulling his glove off, peeling it down his fingers to bare the pale skin of his hand. You catch your breath and wonder what this is going to feel like, and then the tips of his fingers meet your cheek and—

you stop breathing.

It doesn’t hurt.

Or if it does, you don’t remember the pain a second later when breath floods back into your lungs. What you do feel is energy. Strength in your muscles, blood pumping through your veins, every inhale and exhale as light as a bird and freer. You feel healthy. You’re surprised you even remember what health feels like but you do: it’s like you’ve only been half alive, and now life is surging into you and through you and around you, bubbling up in your core like a spring overflowing. You blink rapidly, thinking you might cry from the sheer pleasure of it, but when you open your mouth it’s laughter that comes out. You’re healthy. You’re alive. You barely notice the IV line literally falling off of your skin because the hole where it entered your vein is sealed shut and healed perfectly.

No more needles. No more hospitals. Even without all the monitors beeping out your heart rate and measuring your vitals, there’s not a shred of doubt in your mind that you’re cured.

“Thank you!” you laugh, looking up at Overhaul and for the first time, not caring that he’s evil incarnate. “I feel—I’m okay! It worked!”

“Of course it did.” His expression is inscrutable, but he lets you have a few moments to enjoy your newfound health.

You roll your shoulders back, flex each muscle you can isolate one by one to test, make fists with your fingers and then run them over your hair, which is already thicker and shinier than it was a moment ago. Your body thrums with energy—you want to run, to feel the ground against your bare feet and the cold night air on your face, and you think you could do it! Your legs are already swinging over the side of your cot, ready to run barefoot out of the hospital if that’s what it takes, but before you can stand up Overhaul’s pushing you back down onto the bed.

“Have you forgotten your end of the bargain already?”

Honestly you did forget, but only for a second, only because you were so excited to just be outside again. “Oh, yeah. Of course.” Your hand goes to your left ring finger, ready to slip the ring off and hand it over, but Overhaul shakes his head.

“Not here.”

“What—?”

You’re falling. Your hospital room is disappearing, the image of your walls and your window and your bed disintegrating into yawning black, and you’re falling through it into nothing, into emptiness, and Overhaul’s still-bare hand in yours is the only anchor you have so you clutch onto it and squeeze your eyes shut. You want to scream—that’s the sane thing to do when you’re falling through miles and miles of empty space, right?—but when you open your throat the sound is swallowed up just like the light was…

Overhaul’s hand burns into yours, an improbable lifeline that you pull closer more out of terror than conscious thought. The slick, empty air rushes around you and you think I am going to die like this and then, incredibly, as soon as you’ve accepted your imminent demise, you feel your back mold onto a chilled, flat surface, vertebra by vertebra up to the back of your head, as if you’ve been lain down onto it.

Your heart thuds in your ears and you brace for an impact because your body hasn’t quite accepted yet that it’s not falling anymore—but at the same time, you know you’re lying down on something. You pry your fingers away from their vice-grip on Overhaul’s arm and feel around blindly for what’s underneath you, and when it seems reasonably tangible you let yourself open your eyes.

Way above, vaulted dozens of feet over your head, is a ceiling studded with gilt-edged frescoes and stained glass. It’s raining (even though it wasn’t in the hospital, you think) but through the massive panes of colored glass there’s enough oily blue light to make out that you’re in a church.

You’re in a church, with a demon. Isn’t that against the rules?

You sit up stiffly and look over at Overhaul, who’s standing at your side and looking down at you…which is how you realize the soft, cold surface you’ve been deposited onto is the blanket on top of the altar in the sanctuary. “Where...did you take me?”

“You should know this place.”

And you do, when you look around. It’s empty now and you’ve never been here at night, but this is a church your mother would bring you to when you were little, back before the disease got so bad you couldn’t risk traveling to it anymore. This is where you took your purity vow…the ring feels heavy on your hand. “Why—why—“

“I can’t stand human hospitals. Filthy places… How that reek of illness and death doesn’t bother your kind, I’ll never understand.” Overhaul pulls his latex glove back on. He’s dressed differently now, no longer impersonating a doctor—black shirt, black pants, and a…bird mask in red leather and gold. So are you, as a matter of fact. Instead of your hospital gown, you’re in a gauzy white dress that’s already been pushed up to pool around the tops of your thighs.

The slip is too thin for the cold, and you can feel your nipples standing up under the cloth so you fold your arms over your chest and hug yourself. “Why did you take me here?” The sound of your voice echoes off the walls eerily and you wish you hadn’t spoken so loudly. The reflection of your words sounds girlish, nervous.

“I told you. Your side of our contract.” Even in this dark, the angular features of his face are clearly concentrating—on you. “Are you already having second thoughts? Such a fickle little thing…”

“You mean the ring?” You reach for it again, ready to tear it off and throw it at him if that’s what it takes to see your deal through, but Overhaul snatches your hand away, pinning it above you.

“Not the ring,” he says. “The promise.”

The…promise?

A chill makes its way down your spine despite the heat radiating off the demon’s body and onto yours. “I don’t understand.”

“The promise,” Overhaul repeats—and you hear a sound almost like wings flapping and then he’s on the altar with you, knees straddling your hips as a single hand holds both your wrists above your head. “To remain a virgin until marriage. Your promise to God.”

A streak of lightning cracks down on the other side of the stained glass window behind the altar, illuminating the room briefly in spectacular pits of red and orange and yellow…and then it’s dark again, and the only color you can make out is the gold in Overhaul’s eyes.

“I’m going to break it,” he murmurs, lowering his head toward your ear right as the answering thunder rolls through the sanctuary, up through the altar, up into you.

///

Méfiez-vous de son piège, the grimoire said. Beware of the catch.

Of course it wasn’t just a ring.

Overhaul’s fingers are in—inside you, his middle and ring finger pumping through the length of your cunt like they belong there, like you were made to be touched this way. A mixture of your juices and your own spit cling to the latex because he made you suck his fingers before he put them in you and he hasn’t bothered to take his gloves off—not that you asked. You’ve been too busy biting your lip to try and muffle the moans that he keeps forcing out of you. He’s bracing himself on top of you with one hand and fingering you with the other, so your own hands are free to push into your eyes and hide your face…until he yanks your arm back and stops.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes are screwed shut and you shake your head back and forth, the movement shuddering your whole body right down to your pussy wrapped around Overhaul’s fingers. He slows the movement and kneels back, pushing one of your thighs up into your chest as he does it.

“Look at me.”

And you’re not sure whether it’s some unearthly power he has over you or the plain old deterioration of your willpower, but you can’t refuse him. You crack your eyes open and he’s glaring down at you, skin pale as ice in the blue light. Once he’s satisfied that you’re watching, the demon leans back in to fuck your cunt with his fingers, slowly at first and then quicker when he hits something inside of you—a spot, a place on the inner wall of your pussy that makes you feel like you’ve been shocked— heat blooms through you like blood in water and you gasp and he curls his fingers up to pet over that spot again.

“Wait—wait, that’s—it feels—weird!” You’ve never felt like this before. You’re not supposed to feel like this, it’s wrong.

“I understand you’ve never touched yourself, but don’t pretend you don’t like it.” Overhaul says, voice as indifferent and calm as ever even though your cunt is dripping clear sticky liquid over the plastic of his glove.

He pushes back in and grinds his palm over the little button on the top of your pussy—your clit?—and you want to scream. “No, I—I don’t—nnhh...”

Do you like it? The demon’s body is so hot next to yours, like he’s running a fever except you’re the one going out of your mind… You’ve heard metaphors for sexual pleasure before (that it’s like having something to drink when you’re dying of thirst; or that it’s the ultimate act of intimacy, love in physical form) but all of that’s a fucking lie. There’s nothing to compare it to, no reference that makes sense, because it doesn’t make sense—you don’t even want him to keep going, do you? You’re only doing this because you signed your name on a devil’s contract, because you don’t want to die and there’s no alternative…but that doesn’t explain why you feel so warm from the inside out, why you’re squirming and your hips are rocking involuntarily no matter how much you try to keep still. This isn’t right. You feel like you’ve been lied to.

A good girl wouldn’t like this.

Overhaul isn’t going to let you close your eyes, so you don’t—but the sounds coming out of your mouth are so…indecent (and how can you think these things about yourself? the word feels like someone else is saying it when you hear it in your head) that your hand is drifting up to your mouth before you can stop yourself, trying to stifle all of it…

“Let your voice out. I want you to hear yourself moan.”

Long fingers slide their way out of your pussy and then move up to rub quick little circles around your clit and you moan, like a whore, like a girl getting her cunt rubbed by a demon— “Oh, uhhhn—something, it’s—coming—“ There’s something building up in your core—a peak, a climax, something that makes you fist your hands in the nightgown he put you in (so tight you’re surprised the thin fabric hasn’t torn) and tilt your hips up into him, begging without words because you don’t have any to express what your body is asking for…

But he doesn’t give it to you. Overhaul takes his hand away from your pussy and the shock of the cool air after his too-hot touch is almost enough to send you over that edge—almost. Not quite. And without it, you’re left shivering and quaking, thighs twitching as your baser instincts beg you to just put your hand between your legs for once and hump your fingers to completion if the demon won’t do it.

You’re not going to risk that, though. Not when Overhaul’s dragging your body closer, bunching up the blanket on the altar under your spine, so your pelvis is angled to his… He’s already shirtless and you hear him unzipping his pants but you can’t bring yourself to actually look at him, even when you feel something hard and hot nudging up against your inner thigh and then aligning to your sticky wet slit.

“This will hurt a bit, but I want you to look,” he says, and you don’t even understand at first until you make yourself feel it—his cock, pushing up against your tight cunt to finish this, this perversion of what your first time was supposed to be…

And what was it supposed to be? Roses and candles and soft kisses? A nameless, faceless husband unzipping your wedding dress and making love to you with the lights off? The way the demon touches you should be cruel in comparison but it isn’t, it’s lighting fires under your skin and turning your brains to mush, so how is your body supposed to tell the difference?

It’ll hurt, you know that, you’ve heard enough about sex to know that it always hurts the first time for girls…women. It was already a stretch to fit his fingers in your virgin pussy, so of course his cock is going to hurt. You turn your head toward the window at your side and try on look out at the rain drawing rivulets like veins over the glass, something to focus on instead of him.

“I said look,” the demon hisses, and his hips push forward a bit and you bite off a whimper of pain. “Watch me take your virginity…look at your tight little cunt swallowing me up just like it was made to.”

“N-No—“ you whine, even though it’s not like you can ignore it. “Don’t make me, don’t make me look, I can’t—“

“Then look at me.”

It’s what he wants, some kind of wicked satisfaction he gets off on, but you’re lucky enough to even get an option so you choose that one, shifting your gaze up into his face instead of the place where his cock is pressing deeper and deeper inside you. Overhaul’s eyes are half-lidded and it’s hard to tell from behind the mask but the look on his face is…pleasure? No, that would be too human. Restraint, at least. He could just thrust up into your body in one stroke, but he wants you to feel it for some reason.

Maybe because it’s a worse betrayal of your chastity if you want to get fucked.

Lucky for you, though, you can barely feel anything aside from the pain. The heat you felt building earlier is draining out of you even as Overhaul tilts deeper, layering his chest over yours. You’re almost grateful for the modest barrier the dress provides between your torso and the solid muscle of his abdomen. His cock in your pussy feels like it’s too big too deep too much and it’s the first time you’ve felt like your body wasn’t created specifically for this purpose so you hold it tight.

“Does it hurt?”

A second of clarity makes you want to snarl (of course it fucking hurts, I’m losing my virginity to a demon I summoned from hell) and you dig your fingernails into your palms to stop yourself from saying it out loud. Overhaul pulls out a fraction of an inch and then pushes back in and you feel like the breath’s being pushed out of your lungs. “Yes! Yes, it—it hurts—“

“I can make you enjoy it…for a price,” he sighs, settling into a slow rocking motion of his hips pushing into yours.

And you want to, every sore muscle in your cunt is telling you to give in and give up, give him what he wants so you can enjoy it like he says—but you’d rather hate every second of this than make another deal. You shake your head quickly and because you’re still too afraid to look away from him, you don’t miss the look of surprise that flits across his face before he tamps it down. “I don’t—I don’t want to—like it,” you gasp out between thrusts. “It’s better if—if it h-hurts…”

This time it’s obvious—his eyes really do widen, and you feel some petty triumph at having caught him off guard like this. Who’s predictable now? you think—and then he’s lifting one hand off the altar at the side of your head and tugging his glove off with his teeth, and you don’t even have time to be afraid of what he’s going to do to you because it’s too late, his bare fingers are already stroking over your mound and onto your core, massaging into the flesh of your stomach so he can feel his own cock sliding in and out of you—

and it doesn’t hurt anymore?

You only have a second to try and understand—he cured you, he healed the pain from your first time just like he healed your illness?—before he hooks his grip under your thigh and folds your legs into your chest so he can fuck into you harder than before. His cock slaps into your pussy and you can hear it, hear how wet your filthy little cunt is, smeared through with your juices. It’s sick—the sound of skin against skin, and the moaning you can’t hold back, you sound like a woman in a porno and you wish the pain would come back just so you could keep hating what he’s doing to you. “What—what did you do—“

The demon ignores you. “It feels good, doesn’t it.”

“Nn—“ It’s deeper like this…deeper and rougher and you can feel it. Now that the pain’s been reduced to the dull ache of a stretched muscle, you can feel everything—his cock sliding against that same spot in your cunt that makes you want to squeal, the friction of his body moving against your clit, all of it, everything you wanted to block out— he pumps into you and you hear your breath sobbing out a moan a second out of rhythm, the sounds of you bouncing on demon cock echoing over the walls. “Please—ah, ahhh…”

“‘Please?’ Are you begging—me, little girl?” Overhaul pushes your thigh up and drags his cock through you, excruciatingly slow, forcing you to feel the thick head slide over every gummy wall in your slick pussy.

You shake your head, mewl, try to force your hips to stop rocking back into his and grinding your clit against him. But you can’t. You’re a—you were a virgin, for fuck’s sake! Overhaul’s immortal. Probably thousands of years of experience on how to make you feel like you want this, like you’re only alive in the places he touches you… You’re at his mercy, if he has any. You never stood a chance.

“Then are you begging your god?” His body lowers directly onto yours and like you’re being controlled by puppet strings your arms fold around him and rake your fingernails uselessly into the smooth skin of his back. You can feel the vibration of his mirthless laughter through his chest. “It must hurt terribly…to know he isn’t listening.”

“Don’t—stop, please,” you sob. “Don’t say—don’t stop—please!”

“Listen to yourself, girl—“ Overhaul’s breath is faster now, but you don’t have time to question it because you feel your peak coming again, the tension rising up through your cunt and your abdomen, harsher and crueler than when his fingers were in you but you want it just as much. More. “Has he ever answered your prayers? Has he...ahh, fuck—who’s the one giving you what you need?”

“No— please, please just let me let me, please—“ You’re talking nonsense now, begging for the release—at least then it’ll be over, and you need it, you need it so badly you feel your muscles locking up, cramping, your ankles crossing each other behind Overhaul’s back.

“Good girl,” the demon breathes, and then he lifts off you so he’s kneeling upright with the two of you still connected, his thick, heavy cock still speared in your pussy, and his fingers come down again to rub at your clit. Everything’s so wet you can hear the motion of his fingers slicking themselves through your juices, sliding up and down the little button over and over and it feels so good that a tiny part of you almost wants to drag it out, to savor it, but the rest of your body is going to die, is going to go crazy if the demon doesn’t let you cum right now, right now, right now!

And he does. Praise the Lord. The pads of Overhaul’s fingers pass over your clit one last time and your head rolls back, your throat moves but you can’t even make a sound, your legs shake and you cum.

You didn’t know it was like this.

Your cunt squeezes down on his cock, throbbing and pulsing and your toes literally curl (you didn’t think that was a real thing!) and your vision goes black for a moment and—oh fuck oh fuck i want this i want more how is it possible that i’ve never felt like this—you understand, more intimately than ever, why sex is wrong:

because nothing that makes you feel this good could possibly come without a cost, could it?

///

It must take longer than you thought for you to come back to your senses, because when you regain awareness of your body you’re in your hospital bed. You’re clean, too, and you wonder for a second if Overhaul bothered to clean you up? Or no…he probably just snapped his fingers and transported you back to your room. You’re not really sure how it works.

What you are sure of, however, is that you just got fucked by a demon. You’re sore in places that you didn’t know it was possible to be sore, and there are already bruises forming on the flesh of your thighs from how tight he was holding you. You don’t really have time to inspect these, though, because apparently your…ordeal (if you can call it that) isn’t over.

Overhaul’s still here.

He’s facing the hints of sunrise through the east window, dressed again in the immaculate lab coat and surgeon’s mask. “You’re awake,” he says without looking at you.

You nod hesitantly. You’re not really sure what the protocol is in this situation, but at least you’ve finally held up your side of the contract, right? And so has he. Despite having been up all night doing sinful things, you’re still itching to get out of this bed and test the limits of your healthy body. “You’re…going to leave, right?”

“Yes—”

At that, you sigh in relief and settle back into your starched bedsheets.

“But there’s one more thing you owe me.”

“Goddamnit,” you swear for the very first time in your life. After what you just did, taking the Lord’s name in vain seems like a relatively minor sin.

Overhaul’s mildly irritated expression doesn’t change, but he holds his hand out to you, palm up, the way you imagine someone would if they were helping you out of a car or requesting a dance at an old-fashioned ball. And really, you want all of this to be over—you want to get out of this hospital, you want to taste what the air outside is like, you want to distract yourself from what you just gave up in exchange for a future. At this point you’re just going to have to hope God isn’t as picky about the whole premarital sex thing as you grew up believing.

So you put your hand in Overhaul’s.

Slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid it’ll burn him, he slides your purity ring down your finger and balances it in the palm of his bare hand. It sizzles when he touches it, glowing orange until it eventually burns down into a ash-black circle in the center of his palm. Once he’s satisfied that your pretty little ring has been reduced to nothing more than a scorch mark, he closes his hand around yours and you feel something sharp, painfully hot, etching onto your finger.

It’s over in a second, but you still yelp and yank your hand away from him as soon as he lets you. “Ah—ow, what was that?”

He burned you, he literally burned you! He’s already healed it, but there’s still a thin, pale scar, an intentional one left wrapping around the skin at the base of your left ring finger. Like a wedding ring.

When you look close, you can make out a symbol on the back of your finger where the cross used to sit—and even though your conscious mind doesn’t recognize it, the sight of it rings out something inside your ribcage, deeper and truer than flesh and blood. It’s the devil’s mark, you think. It’s his.

“…A promise,” Overhaul says softly, and even though it’s a chilly morning, you can feel the heat of his hands on yours a long time after he vanishes back into the dark.

#overhaul x reader #chisaki kai x reader #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #mha imagines #tw dubcon #tw sacrilege #tw christianity #overhaul #chisaki kai #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia x reader #boku no hero imagines #my hero academia x reader #my hero imagines #boku no hero fanfic #smut

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theredsuzuran · 4 years ago

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Yandere Muzan x Reader

I apologize in advance for any grammatical errors, also for my crappy writing I hope It does not bore you lol. Slight mention of gore

It was the time of summer

A multitude of people hovering over one another in the vast space of the lively Asakusa city occupying the streets like tiny ants. Unfortunately it was same monotonous sight for kibutsuji Muzan progenitor of the morbid demon race, who seems to be roaming around uninterestingly looking for a suitable prey to hunt. The fleeting lives of mortals, their compassion, happiness, sorrow, pain held no value to him. They are pests who belong in the dirt or beneath his feet, inferior compare to a perfect being like himself. Nothing more than a tool that he won't hesitate to discard after his desires are fulfilled. All of a sudden his gaze felt upon a petite figure near a tailor shop, a large number of people gathering around her.

What's the matter, mister? Muzan inquired to a man next to him.

"if you are new definitely try her kimonos, now make way" the man said quickly as he rushed to the shop pushing all the people away. He was interested to know what the deal was about so he decided to stay for a while hoping it's worth the wait.

After a long delay muzan finally got the chance to view the women. As their eyes locked the dazzling city lights broader than the day itself felt dull in comparison for a moment, the once monochromatic world seems to change vibrantly with her luminous presence, As if goddess Amaterasu, the diety of sun herself have ascended from the heaven into the mortal realm. The demon lord stood there mesmerized by her breathtaking beauty, how can someone so close to perfection exist alongside those barbarians.

"How can I help you mister?" She questioned politely with her soft vocal. His endless thoughts were interrupted breaking the silence.

"Show me your kimonos"

And so his obsession started..

Days passed since his last encounter with the woman. He have come across numerous marvelous humans in everlasting lengthy life but never have his ruby eyes caught a glimpse of someone as alluring as her. The girl possesses an unique aura that differentiated her from the rest of the crowd, able to draw attention from the cold hearted creator of cannibalistic demons. At first muzan was just curious to know about that woman, possibly persuade her to become one of his underling because of the potentials she may carry. He frequently begun to visit her shop to but or sew different fabrics. Gaining basic information, like her name, likes and dislikes, etc. Her grandfather owned the tailor shop which sold finest quality garments from the beginning and were highly respected for their excellent tailoring. Continued by (y/n) at her family's will, who runs the shop with equal undying devotion.

She treated him with such kindness even though he was a ruthless demon not that she knew about it or let alone the existence of demons. The deepest corner of his dark heart illuminated with pure light whenever she was around and he came to the conclusion that she was the ray of sunshine he desires to perceive. Eversince he was cured from his fatal illness the only goal in his life was to conquer the sun which prevents him to achieve absolute perfection, in order to live an eternal and indestructible life or so he thought until that very day his eyes laid upon you. It would be stupid to think that demons are capable of experiencing love, concepts of feelings are completely foreign in their conciousness, it was more like obsession. His megalomania makes him believe he needs you no he wants you.

Alas, if only it was a fairytale. The king does not always gets what he desires and same goes for the demon lord when he finds out that his beloved darling already has a lover. As he witnessed the sight of you hugging your partner with passion. The way her eyes flutter infront of him when he caresses her cheeks making her turn away bashfully and how she hold his hand with her delicate ones while exchanging vows of love and loyalty towards each other made his blood boiled with fury. If anyone who can hold her fragile frame is none other but the demon lord himself yet there she was sharing intimacy with some filthy creature. His narcissistic self was put down with a lowlife, he cannot accept that his (y/n) was claimed someone else's. It was something he would never allow to happen.

"Kibutsuji san would you like to buy something today as well?" The women who now acknowledge his presence asked him cheerfully.

"Should I visit you later" a force smile graced on his pale features.

"Oh no, it's fine, let me introduce you to my fiancee" she said excitedly.

"Nice to meet you kibutsuji san" your fiancee said

"Pleasure to meet you as well" The demon scoffed under his breath but Kibutsuji was quite adamant he knew it was not hard to turn the tables anytime sooner as with a blink of an eye he can get rid of him by simply ordering his underlings without even hesitating to dirty his hands exclusive for his precious darling. But that was not what muzan was planning to do at all as his mind was engulfed with much sinister thoughts.

To insanity?

"You have been restless for a long time, what's wrong my child?" A man asked with a look of concern written all over his face looking straight at the figure of an anxious woman roaming around impatiently within the house.

"Its been a week father since he last wrote a letter to him" she mumbled softly disappointment painted across her features. The father could not help but laugh a little by her daughter's remark.

"Father please it is serious"

"I am sorry sweetheart but it might be that your fiancee is busy with wedding preparation" which made sense because the wedding would be taking place after three day and it was obvious that he was caught up with the arrangement. However there was a strange feeling inside her stomach which made her believe otherwise.

As the days passed the wedding day came close, with (y/n) still not receiving any message from her lover. Worried her to the core at this point all she wanted was to make sure of his safety as something constantly felt off. The guests came in one by one for the wedding ceremony but there was no sign of the groom.

It was getting unbearable for her to remain confined. Ignoring her father's request to stay inside she went outside in hope to check whether or not her lover was approaching but once again she was greeted with emptiness. Her eyes swell up with tears forming on both corners allowing her body to slowly hit the surface as she convinced herself that her lover will never come. The worst was yet to happen and before she could make any movement the ground beneath her feet started shaking and a shoji door opened consuming her into the darkness.

It was just the start of her miserable life under the demon's control.

"So you are finally awake", a sudden voice came echoing into her eyes as she slowly opened her eyes after regaining her consciousness. She moved her hands upwards in order to ease the headache only to find her hands tied up with shackles, a chilling sensation of overwhelming fear filled her entire senses as she remembered what happened prior.

"Where am I? Why am I chained?" Who are you?" she demanded furiously at the mysterious figure infront her which was now advancing at her direction from the dark corner of the dimly litted room.

"You are quite an impatient one?" The man gripped her chin roughly as her eyes protruded out with bewilderment.

"Can't even remember your daily customer?" A wicked smile curved across his countenance.

"K..Kibutsuji san" she parted her lips. Tears forming in her eyes once again. This made muzan even more irritated as he tightened his grip on her chin. (Y/n) whimpered with pain crying out loud.

"Your shouting won't help dear nobody apart from me can hear you scream" he said bluntly with his cold apathetic voice.

"Why?" (Y/n) lowered her head down holding his hand with her delicate ones trying her best to get a hold of him.

"Pardon?" Muzan inquired as he stared at your quivering form with his souless eyes there was no empathy in them or whatsoever although he felt pity. He cannot deny the fact that he was indeed attracted to her that's the reason why he put her into so much hassles.

"Where is my lover?" She asked sternly with her voice shaking a bit.

"Oh" muzan responded his hand still holding her chin tightly. This made her even more anxious she was unaware of the power he might possess and definitely she didn't had any intentions to risk her life.

"Why can't you humans move on and accept circumstances given before you?" it startled her as she cannot process what he meant.

"I don't.. u..understand" she said.

"Then you have to learn to accept me as your partner" muzan replied coldly (y/n) sat there looking at him with disbelief her heart and soul belonged to someone else and for a long time they have been together it's absolutely impossible to change the reality she was accustomed with just because some maniac wants to make her his partner.

"I can never" she murmured with disgust hinted in her voice. "I love him" throwing daggers in his direction not ready to submit her futile attempts of protest should pissed the demon lord even more but to her surprise she saw him smiling menacingly and in the corner of her eyes she saw the figure of her debilitate lover.

"Start from his fingers" muzan ordered one of his subordinate as they began chopping one of his finger making him scream in pain.

"No! please don't hurt him" trying to break free from the shackles she was tied with realizing it was fruitless she fell on the demon's knee begging with all the strength left within her in a last desperate attempt.

"You left me with no other choice, dear" he explained playing his sick games of manipulation on her. This was exactly what he needed to break her mind and she cannot help but rely on him pleading for his forgiveness feeding on his massive ego providing him ultimate satisfaction to witness the quivering frame of his darling clinging onto his knee in pure submission.

"Please I will do anything you say" she requested shaking like crazy.

"Anything?" Muzan questioned raising his eyebrow

"Yes" she replied without any hesitation.

"Be mine"

She already knew that he wanted this and she readily obliged in order to save her beloved, sacrificing her own life. Her only purpose was now to satisfy the demon lord, he was successful until the very end and it won't take long to make her completely his.

#kimetsu no yaiba #kny muzan #muzan kibutsuji #demon lord #demon slayer #demon #muzan kibutsuji x reader #kimetsu no yaiba muzan #muzan x reader #anime

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ah-yes-paris · 4 years ago

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beatles harmonies that cured my depression.

It is important that i discuss this. Well, not really important I just really wanted to share. This is in no particular order either it's just the ones that come to the top of my head lol. Feel free to reblog and share your own 😎

1. The "Woahoooah AHHHHH" from When I Get Home.

Not even words can describe the battery power that starts coursing through my veins when I hear this harmony. I cant even,....LIKE HELLO??? i have never heard such a blessing... Such a well-fitting triplet of voices singing a vowel thats made me feel like i can run 10 miles straight. They aren't real. The Beatles, of course. To this day I don't understand how this harmony exists in this universe. My ears melt everytime. One of my favorites, in case you couldn't tell.

2. The obvious.. "yeah yeah yeah YEAHH" from She Loves You :)

LET ME TELL YOU. oh my god let me tell yo u .. Way back when, when I was a new fan... Good lord. I was literally ascending. ASCENDING. i felt every inch of my body start to lift off the ground. Im sure im not the only one who's experienced this. I remember thinking 'how the wiggle wubble do 3 men sound so GOOD TOGETHER' IT DOES NOT ADD UP PEOPLE THE BEATLES HAVE TO BE SOME SORT OF ROBOTIC BOY BAND GROWN IN A LAB THIS ISNT POSSIBLE how do we live on the same dimensional plane that this harmony lives on..

3. "The magical mystery tour, is coming to take you away, Coming to take you away!" from Magical Mystery Tour.

...

guys. Guys you dont understand. This one line, adds, YEARS. LITERAL YEARS TO MY LIFE SPAN. At this point I am fully immortal. The "coming to take you awayyy" makes my heart POUND. i love this song so much... And this line especially... It makes me go insane. Basically the beatles are manic melody genuises that have successfully spread one of the biggest diseases in musical history. Personally, I think this line was a clear example of why.

4. "Last night I said these words to my girl", "Please pleaase me, oh yeah, like i please you...", "...With you! Oh yeah, why do you make me blue" from Please Please Me.

do i even have to say anything. Well, i dont but i will for the sake of the post. There is so much. So much. About this song that I. I cant even,,. I would choose this song over SO MANY BEATLES SONGS DUDE. not that its cause i think its better than all the others but it just holds such a special place in my heart. Its the only song thats Ever made me feel some intense wave of nostalgia for a decade i wasnt even born in. Its one of the songs that continue to make me question the beatles existance. How could something like this ever come to reality. My brain has never been so pleased in its life.

5. "Carve your number on my wall and maybe you will get a call from me" from If I Needed Someone.

The way that this song was added into my Liked playlist SO QUICKLY...... God. I love george. Hes my favorite after all. Rubber Soul as a whole makes me feel warm inside but this song and this one line just hits so much more intensely for some reason... Their voices just flow insanely well and I just DONT UNDERSTAND HOW. its like an angel choir making its way through the clouds as you see the gate to heaven start to appear. Wonderful song and mind-blowing harmony... The beat is so good too and i just explode.

6. The "ahhhhh Ahhhhh AHhhhh *inhale* AHHHhhhh AHHHHH *inhale* AHHHHHH" from Day Tripper.

HOLY JESUS CHIRST THIS SONG HAS SO MUCH TO UNPACK... There are undeniably A BUNCH of other flawless harmonies in this song but my god the beatles knew what they were doing. Thats all I'm going to say really.... But once again. Power. In my veins. A few listens to this song and you'll find yourself having the strength of 1,000 men.

7. "Oh, now", "All I want is you" from Dig a Pony.

FIRST LYRIC... ITS LITERALLY 2 WORDS AND YET IT CONTINUES TO BLOW MY MIND. Something about the "Oh" ...... Its like an arrow passing through my heart I dont even know guys. Im not lying when I say it makes me feel like im floating. It makes me feel like i can quite literally grow wings and fling myself towards the sun. Dont even get me started on "All I want is you".......it literally triples the effect. It makes me go ballistic. The song is just mindless lyrics but the harmonieeesss.....

8. "Ah girlll.... *inhaeahelrlsseeesh* Girrll...." from Girl.

no words. Like. No words. I cant even. I seriously dont need to explain this one. Im just going to drop the isolated vocals version because if you havent listened to it you are MISSING OUT... you thought the originally recorded song was the greatest cause of your heart palpitations? Well you thought WRONG.

THIS IS.

youtube

9. "I love youwoowooowoowoooo...", "ask me WHYY..", "I can't believe.. Its happened to MEeee", "i cant concieve *doo doo doo do doo* of anymore *dun dun dun* MISERY" from Ask Me Why.

GOD OK LISTEN im just gonna say this now i absolutely adore and favor the please please me album so much i dont care what anyone says ok im such a sucker for their early sappy love songs ITS SO MANY GOOD HARMONIES ESPECIALLY FROM THIS ONE. MY GOD i listen to this and i feel like im with a lover late at night and we're like at one or the others house keeping each other warm and being all romantic and happy. Specifically the part that goes "ask me whyy I say i love you.. (OOOOHHHOOOO) and im always thinking of youuhoohohoo..." LIKE COME ON PLEAEE IT MAKES ME FEEL SO WARM INSIDE AND I SMILE IN AN INSTANT GOD I LOVE THIS SONG SO MUCH. Whenever i think im sad i go "no im not because Please Please Me." And its like all the sudden everything im sad about just poof disappears!

10. "If theres anything that you want.. IF THERES ANYTHING I CAN DOOOO" from From Me To You.

I am so in love with this song you guys i have no idea I LOVE IT SO MUCH. IT HAS THIS LITTLE SWING TO IT SPECIFICALLY BETWEEN THESE 2 LINES THAT MY BRAIN SEEKS FOR NEARLY EVERY DAY. the amount of blessing i get from this song is more than i can comprehend its literally insane i cant even. How does someone do this how did the beatles make music guys I am seriously so dumbfounded like they just sat there and wrote banger after banger like WHAT. this song makes me believe that life isnt as horrible as it seems and if im lucky enough i can just sing and dance to this song for all of eternity. There are also so many other good harmonies in this one as well...

---

In conclusion the beatles have had a chokehold on me for 3 years but I mean their stupid groundbreaking songs keep drawing me back in so.... This has also made me come to the conclusion that the Beatles simply arent real because I still dont believe a band can not only write consistent hits, but also harmonize in a way that causes me to spin around while doing backflips.

Thank you for your time.

#these arent even all the songs..#i just didnt want this post to get too long 😭#perhaps in the future i'll reblog this one and continue with my list #if you read this whole thing #well #congrats!#and thank you!#i know im not the only one who feels this way though #theres absolutely no way #hello bee-ahtle community #beatles #the beatles #beatles songs

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marastriker · 4 years ago

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I know you love Electraboose, so what abt all of the otp questions for them?

OH BOY MY LOVES

1) What's their love language?

Electra shows how much he loves/cares about someone through gift giving. He doesn't know how to express his feelings in any other way, so he hopes that the other person will understand the thought and effort he puts behind the gifts he gives. But Electra does prefer others to show him they love him through quality time spent together. He and CB hang out all the time, even before they started dating, so that's never something he has to beg for.

CB however, shows others he loves them with little handmade trinkets, drawings, etc. He's a "I found this thing that reminded me of you, so here!" He loves Electra showing him that he loves him with physical affection. The boy is touch starved.

2) Who confesses first?

Electra, for sure. He can't hold back his feelings (or urge to fuck CB) for much longer. He confesses, at the expense of short circuiting because he cannot handle the Big Emotion™

3) Who plans the dates?

Electra, since he has tons of ideas on places to take CB. Unfortunately, a lot of these places are high class and fancy, so Electra has to give CB a crash course in professional behaviorism. Regardless, Electra still takes him to fancy restaurants, galas, dancing, etc. Electra secretly loves seeing CB all dressed up and fancy. Even if CB can be less than enthused at the change of environment.

There are a few times where CB invites Lex out to small, simple dates like scouring a Walmart late at night or watching the sunrise/sunset. He takes small pleasures at the simpler things in life.

4) Who's the better driver.

CB, and let me tell you why. He has to be very meticulous and calculating to pull off all the crashes he has. He knows his way around the controls a lot better than your standard engine. Greaseball is just focused on going fast and Electra, while being a bit smarter about it, still relies on others to do the work for him. CB is the master of control. The tiny details.

5) Who likes to be the little spoon?

Both of them, and yes, they will fight over it. Electra likes to be held just as much, but CB just ends up being a little jetpack. CB will whine and complain until Electra agrees to be the big spoon though.

6) What's their stance on PDA?

Electra has absolutely no problem feeling up CB at any and all moments of the day. CB secretly enjoys it, but knows that it can be distracting. He will partake in PDA as well, but he's definitely not as smooth about it.

7) Who shows affection through words?

Neither of them are particularly good with words, but Electra makes a huge effort to get better about it. He practices what he's going to say in the mirror. CB wishes he could try as hard but can never find anything as eloquent as Electra to say.

8) Who shows affection through touch?

Both of them. Touch is very easy for them. They practically can't keep their hands off each other.

9) How do they like to initiate intimacy?

Electra doesn't even have to say a word, he just knows exactly where to touch CB for him to know he wants to get intimate. While Electra is smooth and sultry, CB is a jokester. He will pose stupidly and make the dumbest jokes (a la "draw me like one of your French girls"). Either that, or he'll make random pouty noises. Electra knows what it means and is more than happy to satisfy.

10) Do they have a dream wedding venue?

Electra does, for damn sure. Electra would do most of the planning for any sort of wedding related stuff. It's not that CB isn't interested in helping, he just never thought that he would get married and has no idea how to go about it. All he can genuinely offer is, "I like these colors."

11) How do they comfort each other?

CB swears Electra's kisses could cure cancer. Whenever CB is feeling upset, Electra's embrace and kisses seem to help melt all his troubles away. CB is just really good at cheering Electra up with jokes that make him forget about his problems.

12) What's an ideal evening for them?

They're honestly just happy to be spending time with each other, but Electra has a tendency to like more relaxing evenings like a bubble bath with champagne and yoga. CB wants Electra to play video games or watch a movie with him.

13) Who's the most playful in bed?

They're both rather playful, but CB definitely has more energy for being hyper about it.

14) Who shows affection through gift giving?

As mentioned above, Electra.

15) Who's the first one up in the morning?

Probably Electra, only because they go to sleep at a reasonable time. CB has a lot more trouble sleeping, and therefore more trouble getting up early.

16) Were they friends before they were lovers?

For sure, but not for a long amount of time since Electra might have exploded if he didn't tell CB about his feelings.

17) Who is the better singer.

Not that either of them are bad, but Electra is particularly good. They have that soul 🎵

18) Who has the best jokes?

CB, of course! What's a clown without jokes? He's very clever, witty, and funny and Electra can't get over just how much CB makes him laugh.

19) Who's the better cook?

CB isn't allowed near the appliances and can only make simple stuff and Electra definitely isn't great at first, but comes to be an okay cook. Dinah still outshines them both, though.

20) What's their stance on having kids?

Electra has always dreamed of having little mini mes and doesn't have any compunctions about having kids. CB never thought it would be a possibility and probably thought he'd make a terrible parent. Electra helps him warm up to the idea, even suggesting they have another caboose first so it'll be easier on him. Her name is Rose and she is hot pink.

Thank you so much for the ask lol

#starlight express #stex cb #cb stex #cb starlight express #starlight express cb #cb the red caboose #electra stex #stex electra #electra starlight express #electra the electric engine #electraboose

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mrsmaybank · 5 years ago

Text

Midsummers But JJ x Reader -Everything

Content: Angst, Then Fluff, Then Smut, Then Fluff again. Kook!Reader

Summary: Misummers episode but make it JJ x Reader.

T/W: Violence, Smut, Language, (Sexy) Use of the word slut, ignorant family

A/N: This is so fucking long (I’m sorry) but I like it! It’s a rollercoaster of emotions and its pretty packed. That being said, ty for reading at all lol.

“Mom how could you even say that?” You gulped back tears and looked at your mother in both hurt and disgust. How could she be so insensitive, so cruel, and so nonchalant about the somebody you cared about so much.

“I didn’t like you hanging out with those marina rats in the first place! It won’t be the last time one of your gross friends ends up in a jail cell. That boy is just like his father, a dirty degenerate.”

“Don’t say that!” you spat out at her, tears burning your eyes, “You don’t know what you’re fucking talking about.”

She slapped your face hard, you felt your cheek burn and blood start to pour out of the little skin breaks. You knew that it was wrong to word it like that, but you couldn’t contain it. JJ was the love of your life. And he was nothing like his father.

“Watch your damn mouth girl. Get dressed, look pretty, and smile. If you could stop being selfish for one minute, you can enjoy tonight. It’s very important to your family.” she rushed out and slammed the door.

Midsummers was not your thing obviously, but you usually didn’t mind it. Kie was there, and Pope too, and a couple hours in, you and Kie would sneak off to the Chateau to smoke with JJ and John B, your parents too busy drinking with their obnoxious friends to notice. You’d text them later, Went to Kie’s. The only friend they approved of, solely because she was “A good girl, just confused about her place in society” just like you. Your parents were judgmental and snobby and it disgusted you. They really thought they were better than your friends because they had money. Your mother especially, and she grew up on The Cut. It makes you want to vomit. You sat down at your vanity looking in the mirror and all the nice things around you. You started to sob, five miles from here, there were people with no power or water, working harder than you ever would have to, just to feed their families. And another couple miles away, was your boyfriend, and best friend, a boy who would die to protect you, walk through fire to make you happy, and took anything that came at him, was in a jail cell, taking the blame to protect another one of your friends' future. And here you were, in your million dollar home, in your beautiful room, getting ready to go to a fancy party with fancy people.

“Fuck.” You wiped your tears. Your heart beats hard in anxiety. JJ had the survival instincts of a cockroach as Kie would say, he had a way with words and could talk his way out of tricky situations. That wasn’t what you were distressed about. You were ridden with fear about what his dad was gonna do to him. You started to hyperventilate. You felt disgusted by your privilege, disgusted with your family, and disgusted by everything around you. But there was nothing you could do.

You’d spend the night nodding courtley in your white dress, faking a smile and politely introducing yourself to random rich people.

“Why do you still look like that?” Your mother bursted into your room once again. “Get ready right now, or I swear to god, you’ll never see the light of day again.”

You nodded and started to put make-up on and slipped on the white silk dress your mother bought for you. It was long and tight at the top, clinging to your body perfectly. As beautiful as you looked, your soul felt empty.

Your eyes were red with tears, and your lips were puffy, you looked in the mirror. You definitely looked like you had tried to cover up sobbing, but you didn’t really care. You remembered a moment before you and JJ had even started dating.

You and JJ were watching the sunrise on the beach, you on one of your runaway episodes, trying to escape the tight grip of your mother. You both knew you police were searching for you everywhere, and that as soon as you were inevitably found, you’d be in a heap of trouble, but somehow on that beach, in that moment there was nothing that mattered except the sound of the waves and the company of each other.

JJ asked you a simple question, “How do you feel?”

Your response was genuine, “I don’t know. Everything is wrong. Things aren’t okay at all, and yet somehow, I feel alright.” You looked at him with a smile, his blonde hair sparkling in the sunrise’s glow. You put your head on his lap and looked up at him. “It’s ‘cause of you J. You make me feel like everythings alright.” Tears started to stream down your face, “You’ve treated me with more kindness then anybody I’ve ever met.”

He wiped your tears and just nodded, happy to hear that he made you feel like that. “Always.” he said.

“I must look so stupid,” you said trying to clean your face.

“No.” he said. “You look so pretty, even when you cry.”

You got in the car, your mother lecturing you on what was expected of you tonight. “Be who you are. A well brought up girl, with a beautiful smile, and manners, and etiquette. You are not the pogue delinquent filth you glamorize.”

Your older sister added “Now that you actually look like you belong in this family, try acting like it.” she said with a fake smile. Your brother just snickered and your father nodded in agreement.

You tuned them out, knowing if you listened you wouldn’t be able to control your mouth and would wind up with another dull bruise on the side of your cheek.

Finally you had arrived, and your family practically fled from your side instantly. You’d think mom would have me on a fucking leash after that. You thought. But no, as much as your mother yelled at you about what you should be, and how you should act, nothing was more important to her than climbing up the social ladder and socializing with the Outer Banks bourgeois.

Your sister and brother sat down with their Kook friends, making sure you knew that you didn’t belong, and they certainly didn’t want you anywhere near them. They act like I want to sit with them.

You spotted Kie and Pope by Heywards oyster table.

“You look gorgeous.” Kie said, You smiled and thanked her.

“Not as gorgeous as you.” You tried to return the compliment, but it came out gloomy and monotone.

“What’s wrong?” Pope asked.

“JJ.” your voice cracked and tears swelled at the thought of his current state.

“The last thing JJ would want you to do, especially while you’re dressed like that, is worry about him.” your friends reassured you.

The night went on, but your nerves were anything but calmed. Kie and Pope tried their best to try and cheer you up, but it was to no avail, and they themselves were worried about him too.

You sat on the stairs towards the back of the club, drawing circles in the sand. The dull throbbing of your head was starting to bother you. You got up towards the festivities, walking over to the bar to ask for a ginger ale that could maybe cure your dehydration.

You sipped slowly, other than the lingering sting of anxiety, your mind empty. That was until you heard a familiar voice.

“Mr Dunleavy! I see you got your drink, that's wonderful. I’m actually gonna down that.” It was none other than your boy, JJ, in a typical JJ situation, being escorted out by security.

“JJ!” you ran to him and he freed his arms from the securities hold to spin you around and kiss you on the lips. “My pretty princess.” You smiled. “This is my girlfriend.” JJ started to tell the guard, who just scoffed.

You’d never been so happy to see somebody in your life. Your smile faded when you noticed the bruises and cuts on his face, you started to say something, but the guard shoved him and kept moving.

“Hey! You can’t do that!” you started. “I’m a member of this club! And I.. I invited him!”

Your sister stepped in, “No she didn’t,” she tried to reassure the party goers watching.

JJ pushed the guard into a table and smiled at you, you instantly grabbed his hair pulling him into a passionate kiss. His hands went to your waist and he smiled into the kiss. “You look fucking amazing.”

You smiled and adjusted his tie, “Spiffy.” He jokingly gagged.

More of the crowd began to stare at the situation, and you saw your mother walking with the intentional enunciated walk ever, stomping her feet and flaring her nostrils. You pointed it out to JJ and you both laughed out loud. “Don’t move a muscle young lady!” she shouted at you.

JJ grabbed your hand and you both started running to the exit of the club porch. “Mandatory power hour at Rickson’s Kie!” he pointed with his free hand at her. “You too Pope!”

You quickly let go of JJ’s hand to grab Kie by the wrist, and he kept running. “Lets go!” You smiled excitedly.

You saw out of the corner of your eye Pope taking off his stuffy apron.

“Workers of the world unite! Throw off your chains!” You giggled at JJ’s antics, the rest of the party looking in horror.

Your mother was still doing her best to chase you while still maintaining her poise, and it just made you laugh more. You and Kie ran hand in hand, Pope by Kie’s side to JJ and John B across the field, you only let go when JJ pulled you into a hug spinning around, putting you on his back right after.

You both turned around to face the party, most of the guests turning their snobby noses up in disgust, and you both peaked Rafe at the same time.You flipped him off together and you saw your mother practically faint.

The rest of the night was insane. John B’s revelation and then him falling from a fucking tower and all. So many things happened, and your brain was having trouble processing. When JJ had finally gotten word that John B was going to be okay, the pair of you left the hospital and headed back to the Chateau.

You sighed and laid down in the bed that was now known as JJ’s, taking a hit of JJ's juul.

He took off his shirt, and laid down next to you, snuggling into your chest.

“Hey baby,” you put the juul in between his lips and he inhaled hard, as you played with his hair.

You tilted his jaw so you could get a good look at him, his precious face littered in bruises and cuts, and you knew why. His father.

“Jay-” tears started to stream down your cheeks. “It’s so selfish of me to cry I-”

“Hey,” he sat up to cup your face, “Hey. I’m fine. It’s nothin that hasn't happened before.”

Perusal, your boyfriend was trying to put on a strong face to keep you from worrying, but you knew him all too well. In the sense that he wasn’t okay, but also that he didn’t wanna talk about it, he just wanted you to tell him how much you love him.

“I love you baby. You’re my world. You know that right? You know how much I care about you?”

He nodded and pulled you into a kiss, “Yeah baby?” He slid his hand up your thigh and leaned in closer to your ear, “You know what my first thought was when I saw you in that dress?” You gasped as his hand worked up your leg to begin rubbing your clothed clit. Wetness pooled almost instantly. “I wanted to rip it off and fuck the shit out of you right there.” That sentence was enough to make your pussy throb, and you gasped as JJ pushed your panties to the side, dipping his two fingers into you.

“Oh baby, you’re so fucking wet.” You nuzzled your head into his neck and shoulder, biting down on his shirt to try and have some control over yourself.

“Nuh uh,” he tsked. “Wanna see your pretty face. And hear all your pretty sounds.” His free hand positioning your face so you were looking right into his eyes.

At that, you were a moaning mess. Right before your release, he quickly removed his fingers and showed you all of your stickiness in his hand, dripping to his palm and down to his wrists.

With one hand, he grabbed your throat, the coldness of his rings sending shivers down your spine. The other pushed his sticky fingers into your mouth, and you began sucking hard, closing your eyes and pretending it was his cock.

“Oh my god. You’re such a good girl baby.”

You heard him sliding his shorts down, quickly letting go of you to lie you flat so he was hovering over your body.

He started pressing wet kisses on your neck, sucking hard to give you purple marks, so everybody knew you were his. “Your mine, you know that?”

You nodded and shimmied your shirt off. “You know exactly what I want huh baby?”

He massaged your boobs gently, worshipping your body.

“JJ. Fuck me already.”

“So needy.”

He placed his hard cock right in front of your entrance, sliding up and down before slamming into you with no warning.

“Oh fuck!” you screamed at the pressure of his dick against your walls. You could feel every vein and ridge, every throb.

“Be a good fucking girl and take it.” He said in between grunts.

You felt your clit rub against his skin every time he was fully inside. He grabbed your waist so every time he bottomed out he could slam back into you even harder.

He kept saying the most insane things in your ear, each word bringing you closer to coming.

“Good fucking girl.”

“Let me hear how good I'm making you feel baby.”

“You take it so well baby.”

“Such a good little slut for me.”

“Fuck” he moaned slamming into you, impossibly harder. You clenched around him as he buried his dick into you.Thrusting without bottoming out, hitting your g-spot repeatedly. Your walls began to converge, as JJ said, “Cum for me baby. Yeah, baby-“ he grunted loudly as you came on him, his sticky load began shooting into you, drenching your walls.

“Jesus christ.” he said panting, flopping down next to you. “I love you.”

“I love you too JJ.” You cuddled up to his chest, “More than anything.”

He placed a quick kiss on your forehead and you both drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

Again, very sorry this was so long and if it sucked.

#jj #jj outer banks #jjobx #obxjj #jjxreader #jjfanfic #outerbanks #obx #jjangst #jjfluff #jjsmut #jjobxangst #jjimagine #jjobximagine #jj maybank #jjmaybankxreader #jjmaybankobx

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ajokeformur-ray · 5 years ago

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The internet is a disgusting swarm of bullies. You will find all sort of complexes lol i’m talking real heavy stuff you will be gobsmacked at if you saw. Your bullies’ level of self hatred must be so deep + concealed with pain, they were hoping to get a kick out of someone so nice. In reality it all means nothing, because no one likes an ugly heart. You are everything they wish they were. Because that big heart is going to take you places they could only dream about

That’s very true; the internet is one of the darkest, most dangerous places and I think it’s greatly underestimated in a lot of ways. It’s also a gift, and it just depends on how you use it, I suppose; like everything is it a double edged blade. It’s easy to forget that there are actual living people on the other side of the screen and it’s only too easy to hide yourself, though everything can be traced back with the right technology.

I have since received rude messages after that horrible event, but that was because anons took a very obviously joke post that I made and twisted it deliberately, just to ‘cancel’ me or something, idk. I ended up deleted the original post and all the asks, so they got what they wanted, I suppose. Things aren’t always that deep but they were obviously bored that day and looking for a reason to hurt someone. People are awful these days. I think you’re right - in the end, they were projecting their insecurities onto me and it wasn’t my fault and I, being the sensitive soul I am, took it personally in the moment rather than seeing it for what it was. Hindsight’s a wonderful thing. They’re all blocked now and they most likely don’t even remember what was said... but I do, even months later. It was only a handful of messages but most days when I receive a message I brace for something rude; it’s almost instinctive now. I had panic attacks over the things they said and the damage is still showing itself. I almost deleted this blog over it all, but that would have been exactly what they wanted so in the end I stayed.

Thank you so much for your kind words and for your reassurance, it truly means so much to me. I like to believe that everyone’s good at their core despite the traumas I’ve been through, and sometimes I receive a harsh reminder that that isn’t always the case. That’s also true - there’s no cure for an ugly heart and more often as not those people may not even realise that they possess one. or if they do, they don’t care... I can’t decide which of the two is worse. Thank you, my love! My heart is relatively unguarded; this community (and Joker) has taught me to be more open and more honest with who I am and my feelings and, naturally, that can draw in negativity from time to time. You have just as big a heart as I do and you deserve the world!💗

#nonnie #requests closed

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surveys-at-your-service · 5 years ago

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Survey #274

“now i can hear the marching feet / they’re moving into the street”

What color was the last swimsuit you wore? I only have a black one. Is your dream job attainable? I mean define “dream job.” I’d ideally be a meerkat biologist if I was willing to live in Africa and could handle even mild heat, but I can’t/won’t do either of those, so it’s not obtainable to me. I’d also love to be a paleontologist if I could travel and handle heat once more, but again, I can’t. My only *attainable* dream job is being a photographer, which I am aiming for. I’d LIKE to focus on nature/wildlife photography, but that’s unlikely to be able to support me, so. Do you have to go to school or work tomorrow? N/A Have you slept for longer than usual today? Yes, but only because of my nightmares. I tend to take at least two (though sometimes one) hour-long naps during the day because if I wake up once during the night, as I usually do, I’m fucked because I’m very likely to have an intense nightmare. It seems like the medicine I’m on wears off with consciousness, I guess. I only allow myself to sleep an hour at daytime because my mother has noticed if I have a nightmare, it’s usually no earlier than one hour into sleep. Even then I still have them occasionally. Have you ever taken classes for a musical instrument? Recorder in elementary school was necessary for whatever stupid reason, and then I played the flute for years. Out of school, I took guitar lessons for a while. I got semi-decent (at best I could do the intro to “Crazy Train” at normal speed, I think), but it didn’t last because it was annoying/time-consuming to build up the calluses that make playing painless, I was really bad at overthinking where my fingers were, and I just wasn’t invested quite enough. I’ll tell you, it gave me mad respect for guitarists, that shit isn’t easy by any means. Have you ever been on vacation with someone other than your family? Yes, though it was brief. I was a kid (okay, pre-teen, w/e) still in my separation anxiety from Mom phase and it was literally because of me we had to go home. I still feel shitty about it, though no one seemed upset at me. How old do you think you’ll be when you move out on your own? Who the fuck even knows anymore. Do you have a job? If so, where do you work? If not, do you want one? No; N/A; yes ultimately but no at the current moment because I have to keep watch over Mom. If you wear make-up, which brand of foundation/powder do you use? N/A Would you call yourself a “people” person? Nope. What is one change you need to make in your life this month? Just one??? What’s been tugging on your heart lately? My PTSD plus self-image has been very, very bad. What is the last thing you did that made you feel guilty? Mom had to clean up my cat’s projectile vomit even though she’s supposed to stay away from this kinda stuff through chemo. I literally cannot fucking touch vomit, never mind what came out of him that night. I felt like absolute fucking shit and I still do because WOW I’m a great adult right!! Do you have any physical traits that are bothering you lately? Like, everything. What kind of dog is your favorite? I’m biased to beagles. What was the last thing you received in the mail? A book. What is the last thing you wrote? Like, physically? My signature at the doctor’s office. Do you still care about the person you first kissed? Way fucking more than I should. Do you require a lot of private time? Definitely more than most people. Do you have any songs currently stuck in your head? I haven’t listened to it in forever for ~reasons~, yet “The Mortician’s Daughter” is stuck in my head badly and really needs to fuck off. What was the last song you downloaded? I dunno, I went on a download binge a while back. Have you ever read a really funny book? I remember at least one. “Bite Me” by IDR-Who. Some vampire satire. Have you ever done something humiliating while drunk? Never reached the point of being drunk. How would you react if your celebrity crush came to your door? fuckin YIKES I am NOT attractive rn go away Has your mom/dad ever walked in on you kissing or anything more with someone? HAHA my mom has always had the decency to knock, not so much his mom a;lwkejrewoei but the answer’s still no. What electronics are in your room? (DVD player, CD player, etc) This laptop, my phone, a Nintendo DS, my iPod… Do you have a box anywhere with special items you'll to keep forever in it? Yes, actually. Grew up calling them “treasure boxes.” Do you have any pictures of yourself on your bedroom walls? Lol no, I’d definitely prefer to not see myself as much as I can. That sounds melodramatic, but I’m being serious. It either depresses me or makes me angry. Does your dad collect anything? The Cleveland Browns’ football team stuff, for one. Maybe Carolina Hurricane stuff, too? Idk. I don’t live with him and don’t go in his “man cave” at his house often ha ha. What's better, a desktop or laptop? Explain. A laptop. Portable; that’s all the explanation ya really need. Do your parents still hide chocolate eggs around on Easter for you? Nah. What do you typically do on Easter Day? We go to my sister’s house to watch the kids do their egg hunting and open their gifts, then we usually go to Ashley’s in-laws’ for dinner. Is there anyone you literally need to exist? Apparently not. Thought so. Never let yourself into that state of mind. What would you prefer to get from a guy/girl: flowers, a hand-written poem, a picture he drew of you or a nice night out? Oh, a hand-written poem would wreck me, yeesh. Or a drawing. But any would be very sweet. Do you remember why you made the last mistake you did? I don’t know the most recent mistake, but probably because I’m just in general a terrified person who second-guesses or overanalyzes everything. Did you check how many calories the last thing you ate had? Yes. I’m back on my calorie-counting obsession again. Are your nails long or short? Short, always. I can’t keep them long. What is your favorite kind of cookie? Just the ordinary chocolate chip is fine. What was the last compliment you received? I don’t know. Who will be the next person you kiss? I normally delete this question because the answer should be so obvious, but I feel like just pointing it out that no one fucking knows who they’re gonna kiss next. It’s a dangerous mindset. Don’t make assumptions about what you’ll have even tomorrow. Have you ever made your own icon? Yeah, on many sites. They’re just about always just edits, though, not truly original work. What color is your computer mouse? It’s black. Have you ever been sung to on your birthday in a restaurant? Yes. Do you like black olives? I don’t like olives period. Do you actually think there will be a zombie apocolypse? Personally, no. I do think it’s scientifically possible, we already see this in insects, but I just don’t imagine it happening to humans before we’re our own downfall. Do you like the person you’ve become over the past years? Fuck no. Have you ever gone to church just to get a significant other? … No…? Have you ever punched a wall out of complete anger? No, that shit is terrifying. Are you really ticklish? YES don’t fucking touch me. How do you decide what you're going to eat each day? I just follow what I’m craving that day. How are you similar to your siblings? Different? Compared to Ashley and Nicole at least, I can’t think of any real similarities off the top of my head. They’re intelligent, motivated, outgoing, successful, yada yada, then there’s me. What's your favorite type of non-fiction literature? Autobiographies by people I’m actually interested in. Do you believe in souls? Soulmates? Souls, absolutely. Soulmates, no. It’s fairytale ideation to think your soul has a perfect match with another, hate to break it to ya. Favorite soundtrack? BITCH don’t make me choose between Shadow of the Colossus and Silent Hill 2. Fucking masterpieces. Pianos or guitars? *shrugs* Depends on the music and my mood. Did an animal ever bite you? Never seriously. How many languages do you speak? Only English fluently. I’m poor at German by now. Wiggly worms or bumble bees? Worms gross me out, bees are Good Boys. Religion? I don’t really identify with any. I just believe there’s some form of ultimate intelligence and essences beyond just the body, and that’s all I even pretend to know. Fog, thunder, or rain? Fog gives me that Silent Hill Vibe *Italian kiss* What regret keeps coming back to haunt you daily? The way I treated Jason after the breakup. If you could cure yourself of one allergy, what would it be? Damn pollen. Do you know anyone else with your name? Yeah. What would you be most afraid of happening if you were to visit Africa? Viruses or botflies. Where are you tempted to move to sometimes? I very legitimately want to live in Canada by now, but I won’t because I’m not moving that far from family. Who seems like they have the perfect life? I try not to make that assumption of anyone. Do you ever take pictures of negative moments? Does taking pictures of roadkill count???? lmao probably Do you think it would be a good idea to post photos of negative moments as well as positive? Well… I guess it depends. Like ngl, the pictures some people share of them having panic attacks to just show how fucking real they are definitely touch you, as do those depicting poverty, etc., BUT I really do think there are limits and also differences in motivations. What time zone are you in? EST. Would you ever post a picture of yourself crying on social media? Wow, speaking of. No. ^Why or why not? I am an UGLY cry-er, my man. But I also just don’t want people to see that, and it’s definitely not on my mind to take a picture during a breakdown. What was the last thing you cried about? My life. Have you ever held a newborn baby? Yes. Do you know anyone who has twins? Yes. Where do you buy calendars from? I don’t. Do you shop at the dollar store often? Not *often*, but we’ll stop by for a snack or something sometimes. Are you following in the career path of any family members? No. Do you feel you missed out on a lot as a kid? I guess in some ways. Who was that best friend you ever had? Sara. What color is your laptop? Black. What are five careers you think you’d be good at? My work history has shown I can’t do shit right. Are you thriving in your life right now? lmao no one is in 2020. Who do you have moral support from? My family, doctor, and a few friends. Who encourages you to go after your dreams? The same as above. Do you have people in your family who want you dead? Wow, I hope not. Do you have a walk-in closet? No, but my room at the new house will. :’) Not that I need one, it’s just pretty cool. How do you feel about people like Elon Musk, Bill Gates, and Jeff Bezos having so much power and control in the world? Do you believe that any one person should have so much power? Let’s be real, in our current world, money is power, and no one should have that much control of the world, especially if your intentions are bad. NOW I don’t know jack shit about any of those are far as morals go, but just saying. It’s dangerous. Has your anxiety alone ever prevented you from doing something you wanted to do? This is ACTUALLY the story of my fucking life. Do you enjoy reading stories and novels that are heavily stylistic, poetic, or unconventional or do you prefer your prose to follow a familiar grammatical structure? Okay, I LOVE those, like Johnny Got His Gun and The Handmaid’s Tale that’s kinda like, run-on writing. Just letting a train of thought go. Those are two of the most powerful books I’ve ever read and they’re both written in a unique fashion. Have you ever fallen for any sort of Internet-based hoax? (e.g., fake celeb death, satire news article…) I’m sure at some point, especially as a kid. Do you tend to read reviews before you watch a movie or read a book? What do you hope to get out of doing so? NO. I don’t wanna have any precognition. When you go to a concert, how far must you travel for the most usual venues you visit? Most are on the other end of the state, and NC is long, so. We’re lucky if they come to Raleigh. Do you rent movies frequently? I never do, really. What is your favorite thing to do outside? Take pictures or swim. What’s your favorite meal to cook? I don’t cook. What movie has been taken WAY too far, as far as sequels go? Oh, I’m sure there are some, but none immediately come to mind. I’m not that into movies. Do you refuse to eat certain foods because of what they look like? Yes. I am VERY poor at getting past how a food looks. What are you listening to? NSP’s cover of “Don’t Fear The Reaper.” It’s fuckin gorgeous. How much homework do you have tonight? N/A Are you wearing any bracelets? Yes; one that Sara got me as well as an ovarian cancer awareness one. What's physically wrong with you right now? JINKIES I just feel really lethargic like always. Do you take any medications daily? Ha ha thanks for actually reminding me I need to now. When was the last time you moved to a new house? Two years ago, and now we’ll be moving to a much better place by the end of this month/early September, finally. When it comes to relationships, are you the jealous type? Nah. Which gift cards do you have in your wallet? Idk actually. It’s not like I use it a lot. Can you remember the last time you felt ill? What was wrong with you? A few nights ago. I was extremely hot, dizzy, and pretty nauseated. I was fine, though. If you wear make-up, do you take it with you, to reapply throughout the day? Does your make-up stay for a long time after you first apply it, or do you find that you need to reapply often? Are you wearing any make-up atm? I pretty much never wear makeup so have never really had a reason to reapply it. I’m definitely not wearing any now. Does your kitchen have a theme? No. Do you like ice cream sandwiches? GIRL yes. Do you prefer earbuds or headphones? Earbuds. They’re more comfortable imo but more importantly block out exterior noise very well. Are you a fan of any independent films? ngl, I don’t know exactly what that is and I don’t feel like looking it up. Could you possibly write a successful novel? I very genuinely think some of the RP stories I’ve taken part in are novel-worthy, yes. I wanted to make them books when I was younger, but now I no longer do mainly because there are areas that are just way too fucking dark that I don’t wanna put out there but play massive parts in the stories, so like… Do you regularly watch the news? I never do. Facebook is my “news” source lmao. Who was the last person you video-chatted with? I don’t remember for sure, maybe some doctor? What do you want the theme of your wedding to be? I don’t really think about this, seeing as my mind has changed enough, and it also depends on what my partner wants, too. Have you ever been caught passing a note in class? Noooo, I absolutely hated passing notes because I was genuinely a good student. I only did so very, very rarely if another friend started it. Have you ever had dandruff? I have dandruff AND a dry scalp. It’s a wonderful mix. Have you ever gone through a phase of crushing on EVERYONE? Definitely not. Do you have any clothes with spikes/studs on them? I have a spiked choker, and I might still have gloves with studs? Can you remember what you last clapped for? My mom’s birthday! :’) Have you ever given a pet to someone else? Yes, with cats; we had to do that quite often when I was a kid because we had so many cats, none which we could afford to fix. Then we’ve done it with two dogs we just couldn’t handle. Oh yeah, I gave my iguana away too because he was too high maintenance for me, but also because he DESPERATELY needed a much bigger terrarium, which we couldn’t afford. I absolutely could not watch him in that tiny tank. I miss him a LOT, but he went to a wonderful home! The lady who adopted him sent me pictures upon pictures months after taking him in. Do you know anyone named Walter? No. What's your least favorite ice-cream flavor? Strawberry is fucking disgusting. And that’s coming from someone whose favorite fruit is strawberries. What's your least favorite song by your favorite artist? I’m not sure. There’s a handful that just don’t grab my attention that I don’t even remember them. What was the last good news you heard? I can FINALLY talk to my psychiatrist tomorrow. Who’s your favorite singer of all time? Probably Freddie Mercury. What airline do you fly most? Idk, I don’t really pay attention. I haven’t flown very often though anyway. Do you have a dog that is destructive? I don’t have a dog. What’s one TV series you’ve seen every episode of? Meerkat Manor is the most obvious, ha ha. Maaaaany times. Assuming you have Facebook, who last left you a wallpost? Probably my friend Sammi. Assuming you have hair, how are you wearing it today? It’s too short for me to “wear” it any particular way. It’s just… there lmao. Assuming you're not homeless, what kind of living arrangements do you have? I live with my mom in a house she’s renting. Have you or have you ever considered messing around with the same sex? I’m bisexual so you can guess I’m not opposed to it. Are you particular about any brands of food you will or will not eat? Are there any restaurants you refuse to go to? Brands, no. I don’t eat Chick-fil-a because they’re run by fucking homophobic bigots that monetarily support conversion therapy and other anti-LGBT projects. I’m not giving you any fucking money. What was the most current dream you can remember about? Do you generally dream every night, or hardly at all? It was actually last night, when I dreamed about accidentally running into Jason where I last knew he worked, and he was really hostile. If I don’t take my medicine, I always have nightmares when I sleep.

#survey #quiz #questions #questionnaire

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diveronarpg · 5 years ago

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Congratulations, LIA! You’ve been accepted for the role of ROMEO. Admin Minnie: How many times can we tell you how much we love your Roman, Lia!! Our darling boy has changed so much since you began writing him, and it’s been a wild ride and an honor to see him develop. The crown weighs heavy on those whose hearts still believe in good, and Roman is proof of the burden of carrying that weight. I can’t wait to see how you continue pushing Roman forward and capturing our hearts and imagination with your writing. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Lia

Age | 21

Preferred Pronouns | She/Her

Activity Level | 6/10. I’ll actually be more active than usual since my classes are online for the time being, but in general, I’ll be able to pop in a few days a week to do replies.

Timezone | EST.

IN CHARACTER

Character | Romeo— The beautiful boy king Roman Montague.

What drew you to this character? | Mannnnnnn… Honestly, my entire body and soul belongs to Roman. Watching him grow in the RP has really been like watching a child grow up??? (yeah I don’t have kids so idk how accurate this statement is) But I wanted to revist the *cough* second time I revisted this part of the application.

“There’s something I’ve always loved about his inherent goodness, and how much he was loved for it. He was never a false prophet, he didn’t need to formulate a false persona, he was always himself, and that was enough for him to be adored. To Verona, Roman was proof that there still was some goodness in Verona, that there was some hope that the entire city wasn’t completely doomed and corrupt. He was proof that the gods hadn’t completely forsakened them. So what happens when he is no longer being shielded from the destitute of Verona? What happens when it begins to corrupt him, when it permeates through his essence? This is exactly what I intend to explore, especially with it being my second time around, and with Roman being a bit more in touch with his sinful side than I left him. ;-)”

He’s just so much more than people give him credit for? And that leads him to be underestimated, but boy— is ready to prove everyone wrong. >:-)

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

(I’ve kept the majority of the previous plots as they are still plots I hope to see through!)

MOTHER DEAREST | There’s no secret that Alba’s mind is deteriorating, and Damiano and Roman’s dismay, not even the best doctors, flown in from all over the world, are able to find a cure. I’m interested in seeing how this would affect the Montague empire, with Roman’s own mother being one of the biggest risks for the empire. I think this would force him to make some tough decisions, ones not even his father is capable of considering, absolutely blinded by the love he has for his Alba.

KING’S NOT DEAD | Roman’s gradual transition of power from his father is occurring much faster than he’d hoped for. Although he’s learning the ropes of being a boss rapidly, it would be interesting to see how he’d react to suddenly being forced to step in for Damiano unexpectedly. Maybe his father suddenly has to suddenly go away on business, or something involving Alba. Shadowing is one thing, but actually acting as the boss, that’s something else entirely. Will Roman be able to step up to the task? Stay tuned and find out ;) (I figured this is something to further be discussed with the admins, lol.)

NO LOST LOVE | If there was ever a woman suitable to rule alongside Roman when he eventually inherits the throne, it would absolutely be Pandora Phan. She is a soldier at heart— clever, determined, and unrelenting. But despite having this in common— the two couldn’t be any less alike. It would be a union devoid of love, completely for purpose and betterment of the mob. Roman understands this, but his love is something he is unwilling to compromise about. Although he’s agreed to the engagement for now, he’s only been keeping it up for the purpose of appearances, and he’s been secretly plotting about a way to end his engagement. It’s only a matter of time before he lets Pandora in on it.

MOST YOUNG KINGS GET THEIR HEAD CUT OFF | Not to say that we have Dark!Roman now, but… we kind of do? I think what is drawing me to Roman once again is his multifacetedness. He’s gradually become a person that is no longer an extension of his father. His motivations have shifted enitrely— before he wanted to take over the mob to appease his father, but this is no longer the case. He recognizes what he’s capable of now, and honestly seeing my bb believe in himself now is amazing. He’s becoming the leader he was always meant to be.….but he’s far from perfect. He’s growing more comfortable with his own depravity. He used to be disgusted at the idea that he took pleasure in the harm of another, but there’s something oddly satisfying about watching the Capulets fall, and rightfully so at that. It makes him feel good— in a twisted, fucked up way actually. It’s as if he’s purifying the streets of Verona. To him, the destruction of the Capulets is his way of serving the greater good. He also now recognizes the benefit of his charm— more than charming people into bed, that is. When he was younger he was just naturally charming without any other ulterior motives? But now he recognizes the advantage it gives him. The adoration that it emits from the people of Verona. They worship him for it. And Roman likes to be worshipped. I think this is a dangerous line for Roman to be crossing… and I am excited to explore this further.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yeah kill him with fire honestly

IN DEPTH

SAMPLE:

SIDENOTE: So, I wanted to revisit Roman’s first heartbreak as a way to show his growth. This is still under construction honestly (as I would like to develop in further for in character purposes), but for now… here you go! I was hoping to show a shift in dominance??? Damiano’s voice is the dominant voice from the beginning, but in the second para, it shows how much he’s grown into himself by how he stands up to his father and by his taking control of this part of the narrative. :)) I’ve been Roman for so long good lord, so I felt it was only right to give you guys something fresh to show just how much he’s grown over time! Sorry this is long as fuck omg forgive me.

VERONA, 2012

He heard him before he saw him.

It had been Damiano’s idea to have Rafaella write the letter. In reality, Alba wanted to do far worse, but with time, he’d been able to talk her down. It was he who realized Rafaella had been playing him, something the mafioso suspected from the start— but Alba’s insistence that Damiano’s interference would only cause Roman to despise him—beyond repair that is, as he’d already been aware of his son’s distaste for him—led him to sit back and allow everything to play out.

You have to allow him to make his own mistakes, amore mio. We mustn’t interfere until it goes too far— until we suspect he’s putting the mob at risk.

It wasn’t long before the information got back to him— information that could only have been acquired from the loose, fickle lips of his heir. Rafaella had become untouchable and she’d known it. Allowing her back into society, with all the information she’d managed to extract from his gullible son had been risky— but having her blood on his hands would be even riskier. Roman would already despise him for her exile, but her demise? That wasn’t something he was confident his son would bounce back from. The mob was no longer the place for his delicate heart. The loving bubble in which his mother had carefully surrounded him in would no longer do. It was now Damiano’s responsibility to prepare him for his destiny— and he would do so on his own terms.

He recognized the sounds that could only be likened to a wounded animal— the quieted, choked back sobs that Roman so desperately attempted to disguise. Damiano sighed, a mixture of pity and disgrace surging through him. The letter, to put it plainly, wasn’t cutting it. He needed the truth. It would be the only way for him to learn.

Damiano pushed the slightly ajar door open, before taking the seat across from Roman’s bed. He did not acknowledge him, but he attempted to quiet his cries even more. Neither of them said anything for several moments.

“There’s more to it— isn’t there?” Roman began softly, his hands still firmly gripping the dampened letter. “I know it was your decision to make her leave, but I also know there’s more to it.”

Damiano placed his elbow on his thigh, cradling his head carefully in his hand.

“It’s only fair that I give the girl the credit that she’s owed. I wish I could say that this was wholly of my own volition, but unfortunately, there’s far more to the story. Far more than I wish.”

Roman’s head turns up slightly. It is not anger that contorts his father’s face, but disappointment. “C-Credit? For what?”

“She was playing you, figlio. And you made it so easy for her. But I recognized that weakness within you long before she did. You were raised that way, after all. But it will be this way no longer. I can no longer do you a disservice by allowing you to be weak. Naive. Gullible. Because if I do?” Roman recoils as if he’d been struck with every name that falls from his father’s lips. “Then another Rafaella will come around, chew you up, and spit you out effortlessly just as she did.”

“No… Rafaella wouldn’t…. would she?” His eyes searched his father’s for sincerity. Possibly for comfort, he would not receive. It was comfort he’d never received from Damiano, but he still sought it out anyway. Pathetic. Even after everything, he still could not fathom that her love wasn’t true.

“She would, Roman! And you know why? Because the entire purpose of her involvement with you was to undermine you. To undermine our family. She didn’t love you and you need to recognize this. You need to be able to recognize the weakness within yourself, to prevent such ridiculousness from occurring again. You made it so easy for her. Do you know what you do the next time you feel inclined to confide in someone you love?” He paused for a moment, knowing good and well Roman didn’t know the answer to that. “You don’t. Not people outside of the family, at least. People like Rafaella— the recognize what you have. You’ll come to learn that this life— the life of a princeling is a gift and a curse. You’ve never needed to want anything, but everyone will want what you have. And they’ll do anything to get it. When you lay with rats, Roman, you realize that every inch of their being is committed to not appearing like one. But a rat is still a rat. And you gave the rat everything it wanted with minimal effort on its part. And my biggest regret is I allowed it all to happen. I allowed you to be stupid— to be foolish, to believe that what the two of you had, that superficial—” He could not even bring himself to say the word love, not after knowing what true love was. As if Roman and Rafaella’s dalliances were a disgrace to the word. “Do not embarrass yourself like this again. If you are going to be a fit leader, then you can’t continue being somebody people recognize as vulnerable. They’ll never respect you.” His only regret was not turning Rafaella into a weapon— such wasted potential on the slimy Capulets. But even Damiano was not convinced his efforts would work on a pest so deeply committed to being a pest. She’d been better off with Cosimo and his deplorable ways.

“I don’t respect you. You make it so hard to do so when you… ” he bites back his disgust, but he recognizes his efforts are working. The gradual chipping away of Roman’s soft exterior. He would shed his skin in favor of an armor far thicker. “But nevermind that. Your official training begins tomorrow at sunset. We’ll be interrogating a suspected informant. Be prepared for things to get messy. Don’t embarrass me either.” Damiano stands up swiftly, no longer able to stand the sight of his son.

“Papa?” Roman utters quietly before Damiano has completely exited the room. “Would you not allow me comfort? Not even this once?”

“Comfort doesn’t win wars. Neither does compassion. I won’t do you the disservice of believing it will get you anywhere in this city. Not in this life it won’t. Do you know where comfort and compassion got you, Roman? Mourning the likes of your rat lover. A person who probably hasn’t even given you a second thought. And you really think that I came here to comfort you? Don’t be inane. I came to give you a wake-up call. You’ll probably hate me for it in the long run, and guess what? I’ve accepted that. You’ll be a better man because of it. A stronger one. And that what matters. You’ll soon realize that you can have practically any woman or man you’ve ever wanted— but never allow them to make you weak. Never allow them to steal your honor. You’re a Montague. It’s time to start acting like one.”

VERONA, 2019

He heard him before he saw him. The hurried footsteps. His father was late.

Roman watched as the minute hand abandoned it’s partner, opting instead to move forward, now noticeable enough that his father was obviously late. Instead of quickening to anger, he focused his attentions on the paper lantern on his desk, attempting to funnel his emotions inside of it. It’d been easy enough in that current moment, but would it when it actually counted for something?

The door to his office opened and closed swiftly, but even as his father settled himself into the seat across from him, his eyes still remained on the paper lantern.

“Roman,” Damiano stated in a low, habitual growl.

“Father. You’re late,” Roman says plainly, something that takes Damiano off guard, mocking laughter vibrating his large frame. There was an energy radiating off of Roman that had not been there years prior. Confidence. He was not asking for respect, but commanding it. Damiano recognized that there was little option for him in the matter. Had he been…? Had that time finally—

“I’m serious.” He momentarily tears his gaze away from the lantern in order to meet his father’s. “I expect the same standard of professionalism you’ve always held me to. If I am to take over the mob one day— I expect that same level of respect.”

This response is enough to quiet the mob boss— maybe more so out of shock then the respect he deeply desired, but it was a start. “I have several issues that I hoped to address with you today.”

There was a fierceness to his silence— one that subdued any ridicule, any possible patronization emitting from his father. He watched as his father’s eyes searched his stoic expression, waiting for the exact moment in which he would realize. He’d suspected it, but acceptance would take much more effort on both their parts. Roman no longer feared him. He had cursed the invisible hand that guided him. bit it, fought it, bloodied it, rebuked it. The heir refused submission— he refused to be a vessel for his father to enact his torment. He wholly accepted his destiny, no longer seeing any use in running from it— but the power he now recognized was entirely his own. Damiano had no choice but to listen. And this had been everything that he’d ever wanted. Everything he’d ever hoped for. A son who refused to take a shit, even from his own father. He had to ensure that it was not good to be true. That Roman was not merely enacting the facade of a leader.

He nodded, waiting for his son to continue.

“As of recent, there are a few concerns I’d like to address regarding the mob’s administration,” Roman began cooly, eyes still searching the paper lantern. “Long story short— you’ve lost your touch. I don’t think your pride would ever allow you to admit that to yourself, but everyone can see it. The world can see it. I know how much you care about the reputation of the mob— which is why I’m offering you an easy way out.”

Roman could see the tinges of anger permeate through his father’s being, but it meant nothing to the man who did not fear him. Not a boy, not a princeling, but a conqueror. Hearing that you’ve lost your touch is never easy, Damiano knew better than most that he was getting old. He knew the time to usher in a new regime was rapidly approaching. But he also knew that Roman could not be asked to take the throne. He had to do so of his own volition. He had to command the throne. Demand that what was rightfully his be handed to him.

“The easy way out would be you gradually transferring your duties as mob boss to me. You’ll tell everyone that in your old age, you think its best for you to spend time with your sickly wife. That it is time to usher in a new era. You’ll tell them that your mind isn’t what it used to be, that dealing with your wife’s debilitating disease has driven you to irrationality.”

In all 27 years of his life, Roman had never driven his father to the point of stupefaction. Confidence surged in every word he spoke. But he could not lose momentum. “The difficult way out is you’ll be forced out. I mean, technically, the first option doesn’t leave you much of a choice either, but at least in that instance, your exit will be effortless on your end. I currently have a board of advisors within the ranks. I won’t reveal their names quite yet, though several of them will be fairly obvious. They wholly support my transition to the throne.”

Goade him. Test the thickness of the armor; ensure that it is authentic. Better you than anyone else. “You can’t seriously believe that you’re—”

“No!” Roman begins through snarled teeth. “You don’t get to do this to me anymore. The gaslighting, the berating— you can entirely fuck off with all that, dad. I didn’t call you into my office for you to listen to yourself talk. You’re going to listen to me. I won’t let you destroy everything we worked for. I won’t let you destroy me. Not anymore.” What was it that swelled in Damiano’s chest? Had it been… pride, perhaps?

“I’m ready. In fact, I’ve always been ready, father. I just was never what you wanted me to be. And I’ll never be who you want me to be. I’ll never be you and I’ll be a better man for it. A better leader for it.”

Damiano looks at Roman challengingly— expecting him to back down, to recoil as he always has— but Roman does not flinch. This was not the same boy who once mourned his lost love. Maybe Roman liked to believe so, but Damiano knew his son far better than that. He was different, maybe not in the way that he’d raised him to be—but he’d been different. He had not molded himself to be fit for the throne but instead shaped it into something that would be fit for him. Damiano’s test had been nearly complete. “You expect to lead a mob? Do you truly think you can garner the respect that I have?”

“And that’s the difference between you and I. Me— I never respected you. You convinced me that was what respect was, but that isn’t respect. That is fear. Do you truly think this city respects you? They’re terrified of you! But me? I don’t have to scare people into following me. They follow me out of choice— not because they believe it to be the only option. So let’s not make this any harder than it has to be, dad. It’s over. You’re over. What good have you or Cosimo brought to Verona from this stupid fucking war? Do either of you realize how ridiculous this all is? People are dying for your petty fucking war, and you don’t even care!”

I came to give you a wake-up call. You’ll probably hate me for it in the long run, and guess what? I’ve accepted that. You’ll be a better man because of it. A stronger one. And that’s what matters.

The authoritative air that seems to shimmer around Roman— it was real. Roman was not performing heir as he once had. This was real and even Damiano could now recognize it. He’d underestimated his son, a fault within himself that he was able to recognize. Maybe it’d been a result of his pride. Maybe he had lost sight of things. Maybe he and Cosimo had truly resorted to a petty pissing match. But nevermind that now.

He leaned back in his chair leisurely, hands coming together in a slow, dramatic clap. “I’m impressed, son. Truly. This backbone— where is it coming from?”

“I know you would like to think it’s from you,” Roman begins, laughing almost mockingly. “I know that you’re apart of me. I’m your blood after all. I tried to run from it— fearing that I would become you and lose every other part of myself. I thought becoming you was the only way that I would be able to rule, and that scared the shit out of me. But then I realized something— you have no true power. You only have as much power as everyone believes you to have. Without them— your power means nothing. So if you would like that illusion to be kept for the remainder of your days— then I wouldn’t cross me. You’re in the way of what I want, and if forcing you out is what it takes— then so be it.”

It had been this way for eons. Just as Kronos had overthrown his own father, Zeus had overthrown him. It had only been a matter of time. Even the gods got old and lost their touch. Even Damiano’s own father, who’d barely possessed such likeness in the first place. It would happen to Roman with his future child eventually— maybe not quite on the same terms, but it would happen with time.

“This is your final offer, father. I truly wanted to make this as easy possible for you, even if you don’t deserve it. After everything you’ve done— you deserve far less courtesy than this. So let’s not make this difficult for either of us. You knew this day would come. You just never knew when. Let my board of advisors and I proceed as planned, and your retirement will be a happy and prosperous one.” He smiles that 1000 watt smile— the one that will bring Verona to its knees. The smile that would end the war, that would finally usher in a new era. That smile had been the greatest weapon Damiano could’ve ever hoped for— how was he just now realizing this? That was the advantage Roman had and the one Damiano possessed no longer. That tantalizing charisma, and a clean canvas of a mind.

His work here had been done. Damiano had been convinced. Roman’s belief in himself had been genuine. He felt warmth— something he rarely felt at this point in his life, but it felt good. He was proud of his son. Of the leader, he’d become. But compassion had never been his way. Hw fumbled for the right words to say, something to encapture the depth of the pride he felt for his son—

“You don’t have to say it. I know you’re proud of me. I know that for whatever stupid reason you can’t admit that to—”

“No, Roman. You and your mother have shown me that it isn’t always a weakness that comes from compassion, but vice versa. Sometimes it is your own weakness that prevents you from showing compassion. A valuable lesson I needed to learn— even if it took more than half a century. Verona will be a better place because of you.”

He could see the emotion rousing in his son, the wetness settling in his eyes, and gods he had no desire to wait around while Roman ruined the moment.

Damiano began his exit in a single, furious motion.

“Thank you,” Roman manages, stopping him in his tracks. Damiano offers him a single nod before shuffling out of the office.

And for the first time in 27 years, Roman Montague had the last word.

EXTRAS:

SIDENOTE: This was actually the first part of the long ass sample I made, but I realized it had LITERALLY 0 to do with Roman??? Like he wasn’t even born let alone a thought? But it did help me find my daddy Dami and Mama Alba voice so it was fun afjwaeifj here you go!

VERONA, 1989

He heard her before he saw her.

There was something utterly engrossing about her voice, with the smokey richness only comparable to his favorite bourbon. But it was the huskiness that sold him— her passion unwavering even as her voice threatened to fail her, presumably from her repeated shouts.

Damiano stopped briskly in his path. He was late, but his curiosity bested him.

She was ferocious in every aspect— from the way her curls pooled heedlessly around her face, to her slender brows furrowed in determination. The dripping sweat only enhanced the bronze glow of her skin. Her willowy frame had been draped in a loosely fitted, Angela Davis t-shirt and dark bell-bottom jeans. She was chained to a towering tree, repeating over and over again,

Morte per gentrificazione!

Death to gentrification.

It was then he noticed everything else around them, the outside world previously silenced at the sight of her. Several police vehicles littered the surrounding street, as well as several aggravated men in suits discussing something fervently with a construction worker. He did not care to hear the circumstances of the situation from them, finding himself instantly pulled in the direction of the woman, disregarding the announcement made by several people that this was indeed private property he was entering. Even if he hadn’t been so focused on her— he couldn’t have cared less. He stopped at what he thought was a respectful distance, close enough to hold a conversation, but hopefully not close enough to impede her personal space. His mouth opened in preparation to speak, but the stranger managed to beat him to the punch—

“You can tell your bosses to stop sending stuffy fucking corporate lawyers my way. I gave them my terms already, and they’re non-negotiable.”

He blinked stupidly, not knowing how to react to her mistaking him for a stuffy, fucking corporate lawyer.

“I— was actually hoping to gain more clarity on the circumstances of your protest. I just moved to this part of town, and I’m not too familiar with the area.”

Her facial expression softened slightly, her eyes meeting his own with a raised brow. “Quite the nosey newcomer I see,” she begins challengingly yet playfully. “But this, mio amico, is the location of homeless shelter and soup kitchen. These bastardi di maiale—” she shouts in their direction as she states this, “—want to tear it down to build luxury apartments.”

This had evidently been enough to draw the attention of one of the bastardi di maiale, as he began his commute from the other bastardi, his face a sickly shade of salmon.

“This is my property. What don’t you get?! I have a right to do with it as I please. Now, if you don’t plan on getting off my property, I’ll have you forcibly removed, cang—”

All it took was Damiano’s hand positioned in front of his face to disrupt his throaty rant.

“I would stop while I was ahead if I were you,” he offered to the significantly shorter man. “You wouldn’t want to say anything you’d later regret.”

Gargles of protest exited his throat as he attempted to scramble for a retort. “Excuse me? How dare—”

“You’re going to sell me this property and go about your day. Understood?” Damiano says, lowering his hand. The woman watches him curiously, but his eyes remain on the bastardo.

“Now why the hell would I do that? This property is a gold mine! I’ll make mi—”

“Because your property won’t be worth merda once I’m finished with it. Build your luxury apartments. Fine. You will be reminded of my wrath each and every day. Your tenants will gradually forget what peace ever felt like. I’ll buy your property for whatever you paid for it plus 5%. And the more you run that bastardo mouth of yours, the less generous I feel, and the lower the offer will become. Do I make myself clear?”

The coloration of his skin reddens— a mixture of rage, embarrassment, and most likely fear. He did not truly need to build the apartments there, he supposed, and for some reason— his eyes met Damiano’s momentarily before returning to the ground— this man was someone he did not desire to have on his bad side. Maybe building luxury apartments on the property of a homeless shelter hadn’t been good—

“Sir? Have you considered my terms?” Damiano says smoothly, but there is no tolerance in his tone.

“I— accept your terms. We can draw up the paperwork immediately. I-It will be a pleasure doing business with you, signore—”

“Montague. Damiano Montague.”

The man’s eyes widened; he’d heard that name on some occasions, but never had the opportunity to meet the man in person. He’d been the man taking Verona by storm, with such a tightly held grasp that he did not need a face to accomplish such feats. He simply needed a name, and that was enough to bring the despondent city to its knees.

“Si-Signore Montague, it’s a p-pleasure—”

Damiano’s hand returned to its former place, heading the man’s blubberings once more. “Now, I would like to return to the conversation I was having with my companion before we were rudely interrupted by your ramblings. For the moment being, I’d like you out of my sight.”

His lip trembled but he did not protest— returning to the group of now wide-eyed bastardi di maiale. He returns his attentions to the strange woman— her arms now crossed, studying him peculiarly, attempting to figure out what he was after.

“Now that he’s taken care of—” he began with a sigh of relief. “Tell me more about this building. I hope to restore it to its former glory. In fact, I hope to make it even grander than before; in order to reach even more people than the original owners could’ve ever imagined possible. With your help, if you’d be willing, that is.”

She undid the chain, before sizing Damiano up, something not difficult for her to do as she could not have been more than two inches shorter than him. He couldn’t blame her for being wary of his intentions. This had all occurred in a span of fewer than fifteen minutes, after all. “Why would you need my help? You seem to have things pretty well handled.”

“This place means something to you. It means something to you to the point where you were willing to chain yourself to a tree and face off with these wealthy bastardi di maiale. You didn’t care about the consequences you might possibly face. The people are what was most important. They mean something to you, and quite frankly, something tells me you’d do a much better job of running it than I.”

She ponders his proposition silently for a few moments, before offering him her hand to shake. “Sounds like we have a deal. Alba Fascelli.” He shook her hand, before carefully bringing it to his lips, silently requesting her permission, only proceeding when she nodded. “I hope you know it’ll take more than a grand gesture to win me over, Dami. You haven’t even asked me out on a date yet.”

Damiano smiled warmly, as the familiarity the nickname roused within him made him feel as if he’d known her for years. “Trust me— I knew from the moment I walked over here that it would take far more than this to win you over. But I’ve never been one to step down from a challenge.”

She allowed her hand to linger in his for a moment longer, before crossing in front of him and releasing it. “0458446149. I’ll let you know when I’m available. Do forward more details about To Tame a Soup at your earliest convenience.”

He waved stiffly, still slightly stunned over her presence. “Addio, Alba.”

Alba. The name whose meaning he would come to understand later on in life. Sunrise. It would take meeting Alba for Damiano to realize that in his 27 years of life, the sun had not truly risen— not until meeting her, that is.

here’s his inspo tag!

there’s probably hella typos pls forgive me and tumblr deleted all my bold stuff and i’m sickkkkk but i’m too tired to fix it :/

#accepted #accepted: romeo

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shirtlesssammy · 6 years ago

Text

8x22: Clip Show

Then:

Cas almost gets hit on by Dean

Now:

Lost Creek, Colorado

A couple are at a cabin in the woods, and the woman is so happy that her boyfriend finally joined her. He acts like it’s no big deal but we flash back to a memory —specifically of Supernatural season 1, episode 2: Wendigo. He’s Tommy and has some serious PTSD from the terror he experienced that night in the woods.

He thinks he hears a growl and pulls his girlfriend away from the window. He knows that a Wendigo is outside and pulls out a flare to take the unseen monster out. He crumples to the floor and then just explodes right in front of his girlfriend. Eeerp.

At the bunker, the brothers continue to find records that the Men of Letters have kept over the years. Sam’s not doing so well due to all the Trials. He’ll feel better once they finish them.

Cas shows up in the war room, and it appears that Dean and Cas didn’t follow the golden rule of not going to bed angry. Dean doesn’t even acknowledge the angel. Cas is still convalescing. He sits down to talk with Sam a bit about the trials. Dean comes back with food for Sam—well, jerky, beer, and peanut butter cups.

Cas offers to go with Dean for more food, but still gets the cold shoulder. “I’m sorry.” “For what?” “For everything.” Classic DeanCas, lol. (Brb, off to throw myself off a cliff.) Oh wait there’s more, Dean calls out Cas with the whole bolting with the angel tablet and adds, “You didn’t trust me?”

THESE BOYS ARE NOT IN LOVE:

Cas is contrite but Dean is not accepting his apology. Sam stays out of it all for a bit but interrupts eventually to pull Dean aside to make it clear that Cas is one of the good guys. What’s that saying? Dean’s harder on Cas because he loves him the most? Well, meh, I do like their later seasons of grumpy banter more than the divisiveness of right now.

In any event, the brothers head to a storage room.

Sam wants to find a case that their records mentioned. He finds the box, and Dean finds a dungeon! Sam’s box contained a movie film.

They set up the movie (They even made popcorn, guys!)

It’s an old black and white film of the Men of Letters. Josie, the woman that Abaddon possessed, is filming the experiment. They have a demon captured in the very dungeon the Winchesters just discovered. They throw holy water on the demon, recite an incantation at it, and then one priest cuts his hand and presses it on the demon. It flares out, apparently gone. The film stops. It was weird (!!!) One of the priests is still alive and Sam thinks it’s a good idea to get the lowdown on what they just watched on the film. Cas wants to go too but Dean won’t hear of it. (Brb, flinging myself off another cliff. DO NOT LIKE.)

Cut to the brothers meeting with the priest. He tells them that the other priest believed that demons could be saved. He thought that they could cure the demon and they could be a normal human soul again. There were other experiments after that one attempt, and then the priest ended up dead a couple months later. Something had torn him apart. Sam tries asking about records but goes into a coughing fit, complete with blood. He heads to the bathroom while Dean continues to talk with the priest. The priest agrees to give them the other priest’s papers.

Meanwhile, Cas is on a mission to make up with Dean. He’s at a Gas ’n Sip and pulling all the essentials to make Dean like him again.

Ways to woo Dean Winchester:

Beef Jerky

Porn

Beer

Protein

AND Smiting the sap who can’t provide the pie

Cas almost smites the poor attendant. Metatron interrupts. They need to talk.

He wants to talk about Heaven. It’s apparently a mess up there without the archangels. Naomi isn’t in charge as much as she’s led Cas believe. Cas blames himself for everything that’s happened in heaven. (URGH, no! —I mean, yeah, but NO). Metatron thinks they can buddy up and save the day! They can sort everything out. First, they need to shut down Heaven. Then he mentioned crepes and flies away.

At the bunker, Sam can’t find Cas. Dean doesn’t care (URGH, no!) They decide to watch the last audio recording before the priest died.

Once again, there’s a demon in chains. This time, the priest injects the demon with purified blood. He continues to do this 8 times. And the demon seems to be cured.

They decide to try the experiment out on their own decapitated Abaddon.

Meanwhile, Cas flaps over to Metatron’s brunch location, a cute restaurant with an outdoor patio overlooking the water. It’s a perfect place to relax!

Iconic dialogue alert:

Waitress: Cool coat.

Cas: No, it's actually quite warm.

Waitress: Cute and funny. Okay…

Metatron: I should have picked a better looking vessel.

You’re not here to accidentally flirt with the waitstaff, Castiel! Cas asks for clarification on Metatron’s quest to close the gates of Heaven. Metatron waves it away as just another godly safety switch - you’ve got one for leviathans, demons, and Heaven, of course. Metatron tells Cas that it’s time for a heavenly lock-in to work out all their feelings. And he needs Cas, the warrior, to do it. Cas owns to feeling responsibility for the current state of Heaven but recoils when he hears the first trial. He’ll need to cut out the heart of the cute waitress, the sole nephilim on earth. (Pronounced in this episode as neph-IL-im.) “What’s more important?” Metatron asks. “Her life? Or your family?”

With season 9 under my belt, I watch Dean and Sam sewing Abaddon’s head on with particular horror. Like, you took on the Mark of Cain to defeat her, Dean Bean. Which led to a whole bucket of depression and sad men. Nobody likes buckets of sad men. (JK obviously I love it or what am I even doing here?) What a spectacularly bad idea! Still, it wouldn’t be my beloved show if characters were making smart choices. Abaddon wakes up, cracks her stitched neck, and greets them with “Morning, sunshines.”

“I can’t wait to tear out those pretty green eyes,” she says, lovingly. The Winchesters smirk, drawing her attention to her handless state. (They chopped off her hands - or maybe just left them detached.) “I’ll stump you to death,” she says and...that’s the spirit, Abaddon! She knows about the priest and his work curing demons. In fact, she was a special dispatch straight from Hell to make an example of him. The priest led her to Josie and possessing Josie helped her dismantle the entire Men of Letters network. Yeesh.

The phone rings. It’s Crowley! Abaddon is appalled to learn that Crowley is the King of Hell. Dean and Sam leave the room to talk to Crowley and FOR THE LOVE OF GOD BOYS they leave Abaddon alone.

Outside, the Winchesters chat with Crowley. He directs them to some news stories, “sexts” them an address, and bids them farewell. They discover that Crowley’s been putting out hits on people the Winchesters have saved.

While Crowley’s giving them the news, Abaddon makes like Thing from the Addams family and puppets her hands out of the loosely closed box on the table.

Her hand crawls into her mouth and pries out the demon trap bullet. It’s freedom time, mofos.

The Winchesters return to find Abaddon gone. You FOOLS! Sam keeps his eyes on the prize, though. Crowley’s latest address is from their “witches and baked goods” case and is clearly a trap. Time to make a play to catch themselves a different demon.

Prosperity, Indiana

The power’s out in the target’s apartment (and so are the cupcakes! yum!) Unfortunately, Jennie’s body is also out - sticking out of the oven, that is. “You were a great gal, Jennie Klein,” Dean says and...okay? Great mourning, everyone.

Crowley calls them up again. He’s killing off everyone they’ve saved (and using the books as a reference guide) until they deliver the demon tablet to him.

Metatron and Castiel stalk the waitress outside her place of work, Metatron goading Cas to make a choice. Urg. It’s just the bad decisions gang all around. She whirls around to confront them and saves them the trouble of introductions. “I could see your halos.” (I start to hum Beyoncé to avoid thinking about this next part.) Metatron calls her an abomination and she begs to be allowed to just live her life. (She apparently works twelve hours shifts as a waitress, for heaven’s sake. It’s not like she’s exploiting her power.) Cas looks disturbed, apologizing even as he advances on her. She throws him across the grounds like he’s nothing and then advances on Metatron. Castiel kills her from behind. Oof.

The Winchesters race to the next location, only to discover Sarah - the art dealer Sam flirted heavily with several seasons ago. She’s staying in a seriously adorable hotel room, with actual art on display. Dean greets her like he’s just dropped by for a casual visit. OMG Dean. Sam briefs her on the plan. Devil’s traps at all the exits, shotguns, and an exorcism ready to play on loop. We learn that Sarah’s married with a kid. (Sam gets a peek at what-could-have-been.) Sarah tells him that he’s changed - he’s more confident and grown up. She misses the old haircut. Awww…

Crowley calls and starts counting down and when he reaches zero, Sarah starts to choke. She collapses. “You son of a bitch!” Dean shouts. “Son of a witch,” Crowley clarifies - his mother taught him a few useful spells. The Winchesters start tearing apart the room to try and find a hex bag. Crowley continues his villain monologue: he’s keeping all things hell-related far away from the Winchesters - no more demons getting close enough for them to kill.

“I think the people you save, they're how you justify your pathetic little lives. The alcoholism, the collateral damage, the pain you've caused – the ONE thing that allows you to sleep at night, the one thing is knowing that these folks are out there, still out there happy and healthy because of you, you great, big, bloody heroes!”

I mean, when Crowley’s right, he’s right.

Sarah dies. Ugh. UGH. Crowley gives an ultimatum: they stop their quest to close Hell or people keep dying. In rage, Dean hurls the phone across the room. When it breaks, they finally find the hex bag. (Me: But okay she only stopped breathing a minute ago? Start CCR and call 911!)

Back at the bunker, Sam is Not Okay™ and does not respond well to Dean’s attempts to cheer him up. Sam, who continues to look awful and exhausted, suggests giving in to Crowley. “We’ll kick it in the ass like we always do,” Dean insists. Rousing speech, babe.

We fade to black, with everyone we love on dark paths of one kind or another.

______________________________

I NEED Quotes:

Well, that was weird with three exclamation points.

I NEED pie.

I can't wait to tear out those pretty green eyes.

First things first – what are you wearing?

You’d better find him toot-bloody-sweet.

I know this is insane, but insane is kind of what we do.

______________________________

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #spn rewatch #spn 8x22 #clip show #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #cas #metatron #crowley #sarah blake #abaddon #supernatural season 8

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365daysofsasuhina · 6 years ago

Text

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Two Hundred Nine: Folk Singer ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Uchiha Itachi ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Divine Light ] [ AO3 Link ]

They’ve been on the road for nearly a week without respite. And while Sasuke has no qualms about roughing it out of doors, he has concern for his brother’s condition. After all, despite having a light mage with them...he’s not yet been fully cured. While she has the inner talents for it...she lacks the knowledge to truly apply it.

Hence the hare-brained quest to make it back to the abandoned capital of her people to find - or so they hope - the proper information to heal him completely. Until then, she’s using what she’s learned by trial and error over the years to keep him stable...but the travel is wearing on him. It’s easy enough to tell.

“One night’s stay isn’t going to be enough,” he insists the evening before they’re set to enter the next town on their route. “We have to take at least two in order to let him recover properly.”

“...I’ve no issue with that,” is her reply. “We can balance a good pace with proper rest. For now, I’ve managed his symptoms well enough. A few days’ break from our journey won’t hinder us in the grand scheme of things.”

“Good. And...don’t tell him it was my idea. He’ll only insist otherwise.”

She gives a small, knowing smile. “I’d guessed well enough. Should it come from his healer’s lips, he’ll surely listen.”

Satisfied, he retires to a place by the fire he’s started with his own fire energy. Part of him is still wary of that woman...even if he can’t precisely name why.

Coming up from nearby, Hinata puts a stopper in her waterskin. “There...that should last until we get to town tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry about it too much - we’ll be staying in town a few days.”

That earns a blink. “...really?”

“Itachi needs a break - light mage’s orders.” Might as well lay it on for her sake, too.

“...oh! Well, that’s good...maybe we can pick up some supplies. Do some trading, or...m-maybe find some small jobs while we’re there for some coin.”

“So long as we’re careful. Don’t need to stir up any trouble. Not every city is friendly to our kinds, remember?”

“I know,” she replies softly, sitting beside him. “But people will pay for the convenience of ven. You just have to know who’s sincere, and who would turn you in.”

“And that’s not always so easy to see.”

“True...but something simple, just for a few gold, wouldn’t hurt.”

“Mm…” Sasuke doesn’t agree either way. He’d rather just lay low and rest...but she has a point. True, he can hunt well enough...and her skills mean never running out of water. But a few basic supplies and comforts they can come across while still back in civilization certainly wouldn’t hurt.

Maybe even just something simple...like those sweets his brother has always liked. Sasuke’s always been the sort to spoil his elder brother. Perhaps a bit backwards, but...given their difference in health, it’s to be expected.

He takes first watch, the night quiet as the rest of his party sleeps. Itachi gave no argument to the light mage’s insistence he rest, and Sasuke breathes a quiet sigh of relief. Some respite from the road and saddle will do him good. Let him regather some energy and spirit before they take the next leg of their journey.

Hinata takes the second half of the night, and they all rise come sunup. Tearing down camp as they’re by now well-practiced, the group saddle and mount their horses before continuing down the path.

By noon, the city’s in sight. A humble place, but clearly of decent size. They soon merge into traffic of carts and other riders all looking to get to the same place.

“Feels like it’s been forever since we’ve been in town,” Hinata notes. “Especially one like this!”

“A welcome break,” Sasuke agrees, looking to the tiered stone walls. It looks decently fortified, swaths of land having been cleared for several acres to make farmland from what was once forest. They pass through farms first before arriving to the city proper.

Hoods on, they pass with the rest of the traveling crowds without problem. Sasuke can sense a few others like them - those with far brighter, colored auras than the blessless mor around them.

Immediately, they’re swept into the bustle of town. They pull to one side to reorganize.

“We’ll find an inn, first - lay claim to some rooms, then see about resupplying. Otherwise...I suppose we’re all free to do what we must until we’re rested. Just take care not to draw undue attention. Last I heard, this place is fairly tolerant of elves...but best to be cautious. Keep your heads down, and we’ll take our leave without any trouble.”

The party all nod, heading further in. Clearly a town of trade, finding an inn with rooms to spare takes until late afternoon, stabling their mounts and finding two rooms: one for each pair of men and women.

“I’d best tend to Itachi for a time. Would you two mind scoping out some supplies? I’m sure you know well enough by now what to look for. Otherwise...you’ve the evening to yourselves!”

Sasuke nods, heading out with Hinata into the streets. Markets are busy, but they replace worn cloaks and lacking foodstuffs, ensuring they have what they need before leaving in the following days.

“...oh!”

Turning as Hinata pauses, Sasuke perks a brow. “...what?”

“Do you hear that?”

“...hear what?”

“Music!”

Before he can clarify, she walks briskly in another direction, forcing him to follow as not to be separated. They both know their inn, but best to remain together.

In a square not far, seated along the rim of a fountain, is what appears to be a bard. One leg atop the other, umber hair twisted into two piled braids atop her head, she strums a loot and sings heartily to the crowds. Several have stopped to listen...and a few even make to dance.

“Look! A folksinger!”

“...what?”

“They sing traditional songs! You know, like auditory history. Tales of battles and sieges, and other events. They turn it into s-song, and keep traditions. It’s easier to remember when set to music and rhyme. I know a few, but...well, I’m not one to sing.”

Sasuke eyes the gathering a bit warily. It seems jovial enough...but he’s not eager to attract attention to themselves. “...do you want to sit and listen?”

“Can we?”

“So long as we’re still and quiet.”

Only lightly burdened, the pair find a nearby bench, perching atop it to take in the sounds for a time. Sasuke knows none of the words, or even the tales told, but he patiently takes it in. While he’s studied plenty by scroll and tome...there’s something pleasant about a history lesson set to rhythm and rhyme.

Beside him, nodding in time, Hinata smiles and listens attentively. At one point, he sees her mouth along, familiar with whatever particular ballad is sung.

...he almost wishes she’d sing. Something tells him she must have a beautiful voice.

Between songs, the bard gives smiles and nods of thanks as spare coppers and silvers are given into a chipped wooden bucket.

“...do you think it safe to give her some?”

Sasuke glances to his companion. “...I can think of better ways to spend our coin.”

“But we’ve sat and enjoyed her craft! She should be rewarded for her talent, and the work she gives it.” Making up her mind, Hinata rises despite Sasuke’s momentary rebuke.

In the end he relents (it’s not like he can ever stop her once she’s made up her mind), watching as she gives the tip and even a curtsy to the musician. The woman smiles and laughs in turn, bowing in return as best she can over the instrument in her lap.

Around Hinata, several kids take to dancing as the music starts up once more. Amused, Sasuke watches as they weave to and fro, making the path back a bit laborious. But eventually she makes it, sitting with a breathless laugh. “Well...this has been fun! I can’t remember the last time I got to hear music…”

“Maybe we need a bard in our party,” Sasuke muses, earning a soft snort.

“I think we’re crowded as it is. As grand as our adventure is...I don’t think it yet w-worthy of song.”

“Not yet, perhaps...but maybe someday.”

“Maybe someday.”

With that, the pair make their way back to the inn as evening falls. The rest of their party is down in the belly of the inn eating, and they quickly join them.

“Have a good romp through the city?” Itachi asks, and Sasuke is glad to find him already brighter-eyed.

“Aye. Stopped and listened to a bard for a time...and I think we’ve all we need.”

“Well, we’ll be here until the morn after next - we’ve time to make sure nothing is missed.”

With full bellies, they retire to their rooms: the women to one, the men to another. “Goodnight,” they all call, shutting doors and getting ready to sleep.

“Did you know any of the bard’s songs?” Itachi asks once tucked into bed.

“No...I’ve no talent for music, nor interest. But Hinata seemed to recognize one or two.”

“She seems the sort, yes. Perhaps we can see if she is there again tomorrow, this bard. I’d like to sit and listen for a time, enjoy the sun…”

“I’m sure we can.”

“Perhaps you can have a dance,” the elder brother mumbles, clearly slipping into sleep.

Perking a brow, Sasuke doesn’t answer. In truth...he did consider it...but, well...maybe tomorrow.

.oOo.

Oooof it's late, so I'll be brief~ More crossover with my original fantasy verse! This time we find our heroes having a bit of a break. Poor Itachi needs it. And at least the rest can also benefit from a little time off the road. A little music always helps rejuvenate the soul~ But yeah, on that note...I need sleep, lol - thanks for reading!

#sasuhina #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #uchiha itachi #divine light [ au ]#365daysofsasuhina

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